Three Polish Poems…

On Direction

As I wander up the high street
I imagine jackboots marching
Straight and narrow, as if arrows,
Hurtling towards their quarry.
Shall we stop to drink a coffee?
Thick March clouds appear autumnal.


Beneath the towers of the church
A man is promising angels.
Heaven is yours for half an hour…
The clock strikes and my stomach growls.

Sacred Suprises

There are shadows in the chapel.
There are gold and stone suggestions.
There is silence like the breezes
Of dense woodlands, clear and thrilling.

About bsixsmith

I am a writer of stories and poems - published by Every Day Fiction, The London Journal of Fiction, 365 Tomorrows and Det Poetiske Bureau - and a columnist for Quillette, Areo and Bombs & Dollars.
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s