TOURNAMENT sound-WORDS
Inspired in 2010
And this year is also not lacking Inspired Bieszczady, who under the influence of positive emotions give a field can not easily. The poem sent by Monica Kawulicz of Cisna, tournament winners in 2010, This is certainly resound. – Great homage to p.Jadwigi Denisiuk of the icons in Cisna who decided to pay a reward for 1 place -. Ms Monika K. is not the only installment of the art to which realizes how important element in everyday life is spoken by us “word”. Natalia Kohyt also communicates his poem Inspiration.
Angels departed
Angels departed
It was followed by a handful of scattered feathers.
Bieszczady angels
Will not come back to the mountains.
Even the sunrise has not seen
When stretched
Wings of the backpack
In odfrunęły.
Fled to the sky
I play in the green
But we still have in my head
The smell of mown meadows.
From the top to better see
His beloved orchards
And especially the mountain meadows
Połoninami called.
There is no more angels
Nobody sleeps in shrines
Were only tears
What's flowing down his cheeks
-Monika Kawulicz
„Zachory”
I envy the people of the forest .
They have a lot of time.
Magic, Spells are the every day.
Sadness is on the bottom,
Everything around it is something ,
Do not destroy them one.
Someone does not have a weak field
Because nature is angry.
Wind fall from tree
And the joy we pozabiera,
But there are also animals.
They can not be niepamiętać,
Joy is a fun round .
The river flows,
It is in the valley .
Nobody is bored,
Nature does not dirty .
Everything has an end,
Waiting for our life messenger
„Złoto, Srebro”
Beauty in the Bieszczady mountains knows no bounds.
Here people from prison,
Taste is not as calm on the streets.
Peace of good magic.
Such a strange sensation makes.
River reveals its silver.
The sun gold bows.
I am still here I come.
I come to the Bieszczady
Everything is magic
I stopped living Manie
Here nature is waiting
And the wind playing.
-Natalia Kohyt
Inspired in 2009
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
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, does not know any map..
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,
O earth Bieszczadzka dearest ...
and I mean, thou art my ...
My from valleys to peaks,
Although beautiful, I can not speak
O earth Bieszczadzka dearest ...
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
possessed by Dusioły,
przesiąknięci retortami,
beloved by Angels…
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…