Ace by Zuzana Kučerová

Hunting for the flirt
in endless nights
conversational dirt
your real soul hides

Hunting for the flirt
light prompt of passion
bandaged secret hurt
no need for compassion

ocean of meaningless words
pulls you down to the abyss
only time can heal the shreds
made by destruction of evanescent bliss

I was not impeccable
neither were you
that’s what I miss, inexpressible
I wish you loved only me
I wish you did not screw













The light, by Martin Kuchta


Light on the wall

In my white room,

Seems a lot like all

That is a pleasure to me.


Light on the wall,

Is a hope and dope, actually,

It’s short and tall,

Hypnotising you continuously.


It shines like a white shadow

In a room which is darkened by white,

And time doesn’t play much of a role,

I realize that this illusion rules my life,

Clears it, spits on it, clears it again,

Crushes it and strokes it lovely,

Same as live itself. Such a shame.

Not knowing what or who is to blame

That my life is stuck

In the vicious circle of love without feelings

And the light on the wall


… is in my white room.





Coffee, by Martin Kuchta


The feeling in the morning

when you feel coffee in your blood,

it starts when water is boiling

and you water that mud.


Smell of freshly poured black gold,

the steam that comes from the cup,

the moment you want to hold,

and want everyone to shut up.


Morning coffee is not just a ritual,

it’s a reason why we awake,

you are a proud coffee drinker – habitual,

since waking up is not a piece of cake.




Desire, by Martin Kuchta


The flood of emotions,

is said to be deadly,

like waves on the oceans

change into tsunami.


Life is a sad desire,

desire for food, drink, love,

desire is a wild fire,

a strong hearth shove.


And the ocean…

the ocean is never still…

Butterfly, by Martin Kuchta


Sitting and watching,

where, I asked myself,

that even a butterfly on a blank wall,

did not know which course he should fly,

just sitting and watching,

so we were watching together and I thought how to catch him,

hold him in my hand without holding his life,

let him fly through all these years

of my meadow life,

let him land and …

He waved his wings, gracefully,

I wanted to tell him

that he can’t change the world with a flap of his wings

but he believed in his …


The world is beautiful but in whose lap do you need to find it?


Saxophone, by Ladislav Novotný


My dear old friend

Relaxing in your case

I still recall the moment

I brought you home

Do you remember?


The touch of mother-of-pearl

Your body shining all around

My fingers slightly trembling

Eager to make the first sound

Can you remember?


Stages and crowded ballrooms

Cities and country towns

Even those smoke-filled beer joints

Streets full of passers-by

Can’t you remember?


Waiting for drumstick signals

Which make us fly

Girls in their flowing gowns

Who wave us goodbye

You must remember!



Long journeys, coffee in the morning

Bittersweet taste in the mouth

Pairs of green bottles dancing

All that stuff we’re crazy about

You will remember!



Confession (a message on the fridge), by Ladislav Novotný


Everything’s been eaten

Hope not to be beaten

For my wicked deed

Listen up, take heed


Vanilla ice-cream

Vanished like a dream

Even that sweet jelly

Jumped into my belly


Five tins of sardines

Sausages, baked beans

Died between my teeth

That’s still not complete


My old friend Jack Perkins

Ate a jar of gherkins

And to make things clear

We drank all the beer


My dear, please be quiet

I will change my diet

But now I’m to hop

To the nearest shop


“Oh please don’t stop my train again”, by Tatiana Savchenko
My train is fast and fast it goes
From motherland to other lands.
Do I regret? Yes. Maybe. No.
Oh please don’t stop my train again.

Who stopped your train? I can’t remember.
It was a day or maybe night
When someone else for us decided
That killing people is no crime.

What do I run from? Life in fear,
Life with no future, life in pain.
What will I gain? I am still not sure
But please don’t stop my train again.

Who will I meet there? People… judges
To judge if I am skilled enough,
To judge my culture and traditions,
To judge if I can wear a scarf.

What is my life? A train on a road.
A train on a road with no end.
Once it was stopped. My only prayer:
Oh please don’t stop my train again…

Summer Midnight Poem, by Marie Šimáková


Catching the light in the fire

and inspiration which runs

away and high and higher

I’ve been the bullets without guns


Where have you been, my muse, my fuel

Never leave me! Never do!

Could see much water and no pool

Nowhere to dive in summer blue


But you’re back! You’re there, right there!

Brought back the life of rhyming air

I missed you, muse

… I desperately did…!






EARLY MORNING, by Adam Zeisek

First beams of early morning sun

The fiery giant slowly rising and

Turning from reddish orange to yellow

Its beams lighting diamonds

Drops of dew glittering in the grass

The green canvas sprinkled with

Tiny yellow suns of dandelions

Ears filled with heavenly melody

All the birds singing their lungs out

Crisp morning air filling my lungs

A bit chilly yet so fresh

Breathing in, breathing out

The rhythm of life going in cycle

At peace with the Creator