by Marcin Malek
My world is rusted
and don in a hoarfrost coat
to make a bard of hustler
gods had to skip the code
this may seems wild
but gods are making things
not always as mankind
no soul have wings
and yet it's rises all along
or wind - a jolly lad
despite the lack of tongue
still whistles like a mad
my world is straight
and narrow as poet words
demands no more but faith
of ever-anxious gods
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Marcin Malek (born February 24, 1975) in Warsaw, Poland) is a Polish/Irish poet, writer, playwright, journalist, photographer. Published in: „Fronda”, „Tygiel Kultury”, „Akcent”, „Nowe Państwo”, „Stosunki Międzynarodowe”, „Opcja na prawo”, Leinster Express, Winner of the annual award of "Poetry&Paratheatre" journal (category: poem of the Year) for year 2012, (work: „Bieg – Czyli list do współczesnych”/"Run - a letter to the present"). Since 2006 lives in Ireland.
Last updated December 02, 2013