Two Polish Poems…


After gold and suits of armour
We find simple unframed posters
Bearing empty, bomb-torn ruins
In stark and spectral black and white.
We know these streets. We wandered them
And lunched beneath their stately walls
And arches that seemed like old eyes
Observing their inheritors.
They are as old as our houses.
It was good to eat our dinner
In their great undaunted shadow
With the thought of flowering vines
And old, thick, twisted, sturdy roots.

Little Beskids

Darkness is falling. We are lost
In endless snow and tangled trees.
We left the path so long ago
That it could not be found again.
My boots are soaked and feet are numb.
Most of our chocolate has gone.
“What is our theme song?” How about
“Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For”?
“Five Hundred Miles”? “Here Comes the Sun”?
No, better yet, “Don’t Stop Believing?”
We laugh, and we laugh, and we laugh
And we laugh, until we reach the path.


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.
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