A few days before Christmas Eve, the rain drips into the morning coffee. Graphite sky instead of the ceiling in the kitchen.
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Two orbites of Małgorzata Wątor’s poetry
One afternoon, Destined / Namienionô – a bilingual poetry book by Małgorzata Wątor fell through the letter slot in the blue door of my apartment in Galway, Ireland. A first poem called to me in the corridor yet.
Continue readingDo It Yourself – Australian birds in my kitchen
My life is small things.
I placed my favourite spices in the little glass jars with special inscriptions: LOVE (MIŁOŚĆ in Polish) – for the orange saffron, SUN (SŁOŃCE in Polish) – for turmeric, MAGIC (CZAR in Polish) – for black sesame seeds, FOREST (LAS in Polish) – for flax seeds.
Continue readingYour own ritual
The morning has the taste of dates
nostalgic and quite rough.
The rain is dripping into the coffee
– a friend who listens
my morning poem
I have one regular ritual in the morning for two or even three years. I sit down on a plush sofa with a cup of coffee, with nice porridge (today full of dates), and sometimes with fresh orange juice and a cat on my knees (depending on cat).
Continue readingGalway after sunrise #1
This city wear jeans and spreads poems in culs-de-sacs. Here time is like the ocean, patiently shining between my fingers.
Twelve years ago I met a city inlet of the Atlantic, full of shimmering colours, sincere tolerance, songs flowing to the heart – and the loud cries of seagulls. Then I thought that I would like to live here someday. After some years, the fleeting vision turned into reality. I have lived in Galway for seven years.
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