Economy, this morning live at ‘I am not a silent poet’

(for Timothy Snyder)

 

At first, we reduced the water supply.

The poisoned city wells dried up.

The light burnt the crops.

 

At sunset, everything crumbled into a black peace.

 

Then somehow we got used to an economy of words.

We collected ideas and thoughts in one book.

We spent the days memorising chapters.

 

For those trapped in the outer world,

for the privilege of staying alive.

 

Photograph: @John Stadnicki, MMXVII

Published today in ‘I am not a silent poet’ https://iamnotasilentpoet.wordpress.com/2017/07/12/economy-by-maria-stadnicka/

with many thanks to the editor Reuben Woolley.

Hunger

Photo: @John Stadnicki

 

A great writer said in 1920s that ‘a man did not have to be insane to be sensitive‘, I believe. But there are people who could be wounded by a simple dot and whom a single word could kill. And this, at times, is true about the world itself.

Toxic Petals

photo: @John Stadnicki

 

A poem for ‘Europa‘ by Andrew Heath https://www.amazon.co.uk/Europa-Andrew-Heath/dp/B01LYHL716 

For further information on Andrew Heath’s music, please click here: https://andrewheath.bandcamp.com/

White Breakfast

It was, after all, a beautiful day.

Your hands, resting on the white tablecloth,

the lost sheep in a perfect desert with no compass.

You passed me the tea, I took the newspaper and

arranged my dress in a neat knot on my lap,

smiled and looked the sun in the eye.

 

The fresh air suffocated us.

The summer, gone.

 

‘Too much beauty’ I thought to say before I slowly placed the cup in front of me,

‘too much of you’

but I kept a symmetrical distance between my toes and yours.

I stood up and went to the other side of the room

to watch you watching the sea.

 

On the floor, the breakfast crumbs.

Memory of my passing.

Photograph: @Maria Stadnicka, Lines’, Stroud