Association inspired BIESZCZAD

Bieszczady mountains are invariably associated with poetry, Acting since the inspiration for subsequent generations of authors. And so did not fail in our project space for poetry. Our brave committee despite the hardships of the mission has chosen two winners in principle and that's zwyciężczyń:

Second place went to young because only 12 Natalia Kohyt its summer line is presented below

The weather changed for the better
Stay here,
Become a Noise Forest
so little time.
In Bieszczadach optimism grows
we look at the pine tree.
Zauroczona forest this dense Bieszczadzkim am.
Wach colored flowers,
called seasonal,
watch cuckoo, nightingale
In wiewiórkę co coffee.
From the tree I want to see
Pine falling stars
Here everything is new for me
These cones are the stars
decorating the large bieszczadzki
I feel small, like a drop in kałuży.
dreaming, I see that as much protected flowers
On the meadow of small worlds,
increasing rare one by one.
Laughs to himself, that have long,
Debts owed to the nature.
But lost in the rainy weather,
People wyrywają them as weeds
World is for them to be parochial

First place went to Magda Apostołowicz which poetry speaks for itself, so without further preface presents a sample of her work.

TRUE

If you are looking for the truth

- stand at the foot of Korbanii,

Bow low

in idź ...

Follow the trail

as by its own force,

though the road disappears over time

- defeat astray,

the greenness burst bush

by spikes of fresh raspberries

and parzące nettle

floundering in the mud

still higher and higher ...

No! Do not turn back

- and so did not see anything,

just listen to the heart

and wind,

It will show you the way

And when you stand on top of

tired and dirty

with blisters on his feet

thirsty for the Water of Life

- kiss you angel.

And You

- zobaczysz…

zrozumiesz…

odnajdziesz…

And do not wait for absolution

I do not hear,

but go

and you will be better.

The Queen Krywego

Wind-combed hair,

and weather-beaten cheeks from the sun,

work-weary hands,

and rubber boots on his feet ...

And some such rough,

nieromantyczna,

without guitars

and does not write poems:

the Bieszczady ...

she loves ...

the angels ...

I do not fruwają nad nia motyle.

She – sometimes – zaklnie!

Wolves ate goat,

swath of Rylim did not succeed,

and the stream dries up.

The smokehouse cheese matures.

Compote of sloe waiting in the shade of friendly.

Even so, the 30 years.

Arrived in a dress.

Riding.

Was,

only a cloak wrapped in fog ...

And look harde,

without a shadow of a complaint

And in the eyes of a seemingly hard

- flame

unconditional love

This land

And unspoken gentleness ...

No, She does not fight ...

He listens to the heartbeat of this valley.

Here Tosia. Antonina.

True Queen Krywego.

That our love

How easy for me to love you,

When the sun woven into braids

blue ribbon Solinka

and a tiara with Łopiennik ...

When you dance in flowery dress

and so you're smiling ...

Painted as the wonderful pictures

How difficult for me to love you,

patrząc and twe pochmurne oblicze,

when the sky is still crying over you ...

And you are silent mists wrapped

and defend in front of me,

concealing its secrets

Distrustful and wounded deer

How easy for me to love you,

when touched me and delight,

You raise spiritual

meadows high above the altar,

and dancing with angels

sailing on a white cloud

Happy as a child

How difficult for me to love you,

When you are looking for the wilderness,

and the stones hurt my feet, and soul,

When I can not understand Cie.,

embrace, understand, possess,

if you give me just enough, Even though you

Available as a fortress

If I cried, and cried

for anything you have my efforts ...

Such is our love,

beauty, but confused ...

„Dziewczyno moja”

Straight to the dress

of linden honey gold from

and red corals

with wild rose and hawthorn ...

Foreman – fresh raspberries,

leather wind lashed,

Kissed by dew or rain,

sun-kissed ...

Shoulders shawl wraps

from the mist and gossamer,

and hair smelling herbs

angel in pigtails reward ...

That she is the one ...!

I want to always keep her in my arms

I want to scream out loud her name!

Łopienka! My girl!

„Gdziekolwiek jesteś…”

Wherever you are my Angel

just here, in this valley

where, among the blessed silence

heart beats loudly that the earth ...

Where days deliberately gets up in the morning,

bathed in dew, in the golden dawn

like the queen of the most beautiful

but without a crown, no applause.

Where the herb smells, rumiankami

breaks with ripe apple tree,

and earth – Holidays and nieświęta

sleeps wrapped in the mantle of the sky ...

Where in the stream maliniaku

gathered all the wonders of the world

to, immeasurable by any means

to, których nie zna żadna mapa..

And suddenly I hear – bell resounds,

asleep in the quiet homes raises,

and I see a church that direction again,

and I see those people again ...

And when the valley wind spreads

odor is cut fresh meadows,

and the smell of freshly baked bread,

In "Pomyłuj ..." – cichością gromki…

Wherever you are, My Angel

Discover the wings of this valley

kiss please, my Łopienkę

let it lasts, let it live ...

I know, that you're here ...

"Bieszczady beloved land ..."

Say,was that you,

wild and inscrutable,

Bieszczadzka Ziemio najmilsza…

and I mean, thou art my ...

My from valleys to peaks,

Although beautiful, I can not speak

Bieszczadzka Ziemio najmilsza…

I love you. I understand you.

I hear you, I feel you

heart and under my feet,

O land beloved Bieszczady,

polonyny smelling ...

You're all, what I love

my friend, and home

O land beloved Bieszczady

You are my angel ...

Who looked at least once in your eyes,

who has heard your cry

O land beloved Bieszczady

always be faithful to you ...

my

my, natchnieni Bieszczadami

opętani przez Dusioły,

przesiąknięci retortami,

ukochani przez Anioły…

my – crazy, my – dziwacy,

Romantics with the wind in your hair,

We kielonkiem of the arm,

with honest heart, Although penniless…

my – dancing in the morning

koszulinie in the mists of woven

my – worshiping at sunset

Połoniny bathed in dreams…

My – codzienni, as ordinary

My – wątpiący, we - believers,

powsimordy in włóczęgi,

tough, tender loving…

my – lashed by the sun, rain,

We - the freedom of intoxicated,

stooped own shadow…

My – natchnieni…