Bad Poetry

She was not deadly, he told himself sacredly.

Her dark eyes did not hide flames, but they were like ancient remains.

They were fire; filled with energy and desire.

Skin ebony did not burn in hegemony.

The blood boiled in his beloved .

Teeth white, weren’t bared at night.



She smiled.



He was not saint, she said in plaint.

His blues were true, but not like a Jew’s.

They were like the sky in the high; free and in glee.

Skin pale she could trail in detail.

The blood wasn’t divine, but rich like wine.

Golden curls, but he was hers.



He brought her pearls.



Adam and Eve, but they did not believe.

Hell dissaproved and Heaven wasn’t moved.

She knew the apple, and shared it in the chapel.

They tasted the sweet and the deed was complete.

Walked the Earth, she was forced to give birth.

His descend brought an era to an end.



They were condemned.



Because Hell and Heaven can go into oblivion but Love will not be denied.


Blue flowers don’t bring love.

When Aniela Zielińska was ten years old, she fell in love with a boy who rode around her neighbourhood, throwing newspapers at people’s yards, and who did that a little too slowly near her house when she was playing in the yard with her sister and her friends. She loved him with alove stronger than a young person should love with.

She made eye contact with him for the first time when on the first Thursday morning of July when he was distributing her mother’s gardening magazine. As he rode, the wind moved his shirt from side to side, and the morning sun played with his hair, setting some strands of it on fire. That scene reminded Aniela of the ones she saw on television when her sister and her watched romances. Everything was right. The world would seem to slow down when their eyes met, the wind would ruffle his hair in a perfect way, and at that time she would sigh heavily in his direction.

When she saw him for the first time, she threw the toys into the sandbox and lifting the ends of the dress, so as not to get dirty, she ran towards the stairs in front of the entrance where the boy would throw the newspaper. She caught it, panting, and read “monthly” in small letters underneath the price with sadness in her eyes.

She tried not to think about him, to take care of other things. Instead of analysing the look they exchanged, she invented scenarios in which they shared more. Instead of writing about him in her diary, she addressed love letters she would never give him. Instead of drawing him, she painted a dog they could have in the future when they were married and they would have three children.

A month of vacations passed quickly on not thinking about a boy on a red bicycle.

On the first Thursday of August, since the sunrise, she sat under the front door and looked through the glass part to see if anybody was approaching.

Point ten o’clock in the morning, she noticed movement in front of the door and without thinking, quickly opened it and smiled broadly at the boy who was putting the newspaper on her doormat. The door that opened hit him and caused him to lose his balance, knocking him over.

Aniela inhaled sharply and ran to the boy, on the way stepping on the gardening newspaper, to which a sachet of blue flower seeds was attached.

Although the child was already getting up from the stairs, the girl already caught his arm, a little too excited.

„Come on quickly, I will take care of that! Mom is just at work, dad too, and my sister is sleeping at her friend’s. We are alone here, but it does not matter, I learned first aid at school”, she spoke quickly, dragging the boy into the living room, where she sat him on the couch and put a pouf under his feet, and pillows by his sides. „I’l be back in a moment”, she said. „Do not move anywhere.”

He didn’t have to wait long for her- he only managed to quickly look around the place.

„I think I should head back now, I really didn’t get hurt”, he said quickly as she stepped into the room, proudly holding a white first aid kit in her hand.

„Nonsense, I cannot let you out in this state, your arms are all scratched and bloody almost, and it’s my fault! Oh, I was so careless, I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed and sniffed, hiding her face in her hands.

„Hey, hey, don’t cry. Will it be okay if I stay just for a moment longer?”

She nodded slowly, resigning from the tears and only sniffing a few times. He smiled at her awkwardly, putting a hand on her shoulder, and she thought she would melt under his touch.

He told her about himself. His name was Antoni Zienkiewicz (she would be okay with that last name), he was fourteen (perfect age difference, she thought), he had siblings (sisters, so he certainly would treat a woman well), and his parents were wealthy (and despite that he worked in the summer – he was an adult, responsible and hard-working).

With every word that came out of his mouth, hse fell in love with him more and more, she saw their common future more and more clearly.

He coughed.

„I think I should go back”, he said uncertainly, slowly getting up.

„What?” she exclaimed, a bit too loudly and a bit too aggressively. „But you just came. You need to rest! Convalescence is very important”, she added, proud to have used a rather unusual word, always trying to look the best and give the best impression.

„I really have to go”, said Antoni, this time more confidently, albeit with an almost undetectable note of fear somewhere in the background. However, Aniela caught it right away.

„Are you afraid of me?” As she spoke, she also stood up and began to approach him slowly. „Don’t you think I’m worth your time?”, she growled, quickly peeking around in search of things that could help her stop him.

She grabbed the scissors she used to cut the bandaids, and without thinking much about what she was doing, she pressed him against the wall with them. Theoretically, they were in such a position that they could not do anything to him, it was more of her hand she put on his chest (his heart was beating almost as fast as hers when she thought of him) that was pushing him against the wall. Antoni, however, did not seem to take it that way. He stepped out swiftly from her embrace and began to run towards the door. Closed.

With horror in his eyes, he turned to Aniela who was standing at the end of the corridor with the keys hanging on her finger.

„Are you going somewhere? I can forget how you treated me if you apologise nicely.”

The boy panicked, seized the vase on the table standing near and threw it at the glass door, which shattered into thousands of sharp pieces, which he rubbed against, getting out.

Aniela reacted too late. When she stood on the doorstep, a blue pack of forget-me- not seeds appeared from under the broken glass. They would later grow on her patch in the common family garden and remind her of her first and only love.

CAS inspiration #2: How to do your CAS for free

The nice thing about this programme component, in theory, is that you can do whatever you enjoy doing the most, and the possibilites are almost endless. For Activity, for example, you can take up jogging or finally start going to the gym, but you have to/must have a supervisor, someone qualified to tell you what to do, someone without whom you certainly will be completely lost (I hope you can hear I’m dripping sarcasm rn) and that, sadly, unless you have some connections, can cost you huge amounts of money. So what are your options if you don’t want to spend a fortune on your self- development? One of them is to do it all in our school! Since service is in most cases free by default, this article will focus on the first two letters of the abbreviation.

Let’s start with Creativity. Here are some activities to choose from:

– Free language classes
Learning a new language is a great option for someone who doesn’t like to get too creative and is not too fond of activities such as dancing, painting or learning how to play an instrument. However, according to the IBO, learning a language is not very creative and you’re only allowed to take foreign language classes only if its alphabet is different from the alphabets of languages you already speak. Our school can organise Chinese, Hebrew and Russian classes. Here’s what one of the students says about them: “What I like about these classes is that they offer insight into a completely different culture by and I get to learn about mechanisms of the Chinese language, which are really

– IB Journal
Doing your CAS writing for IB Journal means flexible hours and mostly free choice of topics – both, in my unbiased professional opinion, excellent reasons to join our team.

– Theatre
You can choose between theatre in Polish and in English.

When it comes to Activity, here’s one suggestion: if you don’t fancy paying tens of złotys every month for gym or you are not talented enough to be on a team with a professional coach, you can always attend PE classes here in this school. You can either come during designated hours or join others during your free period or after you finish your classes. Pros of attending these classes when it’s not a compulsory subject? You don’t have to receive grades for stuff you can never get right (You run too slow, lack coordination to do a backward roll properly or the volleyball you serve can never get through the net? Fret not! It literally DOES. NOT. MATTER anymore! Life’s great, isn’t it?) and if you don’t want to do something, you can always grab your friend and go play table tennis.


Bad poetry


The midnight sky has its charm

It looks at me and makes me blush

For its stars together conjoined

Form love letters from the unknown

The darkness glooms

And she speaks

in soft whispers like the milky way

sweet sighs like the blue of her eye

and she leaves me forever unsatisfied

She does not bring an escape to the realm of dreams


She kisses my swollen lids and hides the key to my doors

Away from the sand ghost

The golden man won’t find the way

For passion rules in may

The night will come and I will be awake

waiting, laying, praying

When she finds me I’ll be prepared

Looking out the window

Until her silver carriage

Glamours my bare skin with a pale glow


“I’ve waited a fortnight for you.

And every moment alone

Kept me restless for one more

And I counted every second

Breathing in at one, and out at two

Waiting for you.”

My lips are dry and my abdomen is sunken

Yet she kisses every inch of my body as I were

Ethereal for her

My body burns with desire

But my fingers can’t feel her hair

I feel her lashes touching my forehead

But my forehead can’t feel her lashes


And before I know it I’m left alone


And a fortnight will pass before we meet

And I can still smell her flowery sccent

And she brought me may

And I have to breath in at one, and out at two


Bad poetry


Read those lips

and sing the song of redemption.

For my words

bring thee

the sign of salvation.


Watch the red

as it blooms in the night.


the arc of time.


A new century has come.


To forget is to see

how the future draws near

and with it

the fall of the dream.


The land of your life

is not the land of your death.

Liberty is the queen

that will win thy heart.


Dip your anger in oil

set their ingnorance ablaze.

Look at the flames

reflected in those eyes.

And scream till your lungs

give out.


And then


Listen to the silence.

Smell the revolution.

Touch those greying hairs.

Whispering your last wishes

as you fall to the ground

with a loud thud.



“Hey, buddy? You alright?” A strange, distant voice called out to him. Ernest slowly started to raise his head to see the person the words were coming from.

They were in this dark alley, trash bags all over, stray cats and all, and in the other corner, about ten metres away from Ernest, sat this homeless man. He was staying in the shadow, so he couldn’t make out much of what he looked like, but he could see the impressive beard of the man. It was the first thing he noticed in the dark as he himself had tried to grow a beard. He wasn’t very successful at it, though.
„Oh? Yes… Yes, I’m fine, thank you” he heard himself say. He didn’t mean to and didn’t mean it, but he said it anyway.
He looked away from the man and focused more on his breathing as he still felt sick from running. He had his hands on his knees, head down and all, just like they told everyone to do when you felt dizzy. He noted that it didn’t really work and decided to correct everyone who would say that to anyone in the future.
„C’mon, man. I can see something’s wrong.” The voice was now close to him.
Ernest looked up and the man was reaching out his hand to put it on his shoulder. He quickly straightened up and stumbled away from the bearded man. He looks just like Jesus. The similarity struck him at that moment. As the man approached him once again, he stepped into the light and it poured on him just like it did on the paintings in churches.
He used to go to church with his mother, she was really religious with her rosaries and praying five times a day (she couldn’t stand Muslims being better than her, even if she though their religion was the wrong one), so he knew what Jesus looked like even though he never believed. He hasn’t been to church since the funeral of his parents, though, for all he knew, Jesus might have had a makeover. He could have even changed his sex or whatever, Ernest had seen a lot of that in TV lately. He was alright with that, by the way.
(And the hair suited a lady more than a man, in his opinion.)
This time he let the man touch his shoulder. He expected some kind of revelation, a feeling of God’s touch – at this moment he was convinced it really was Christ himself – and decided that’s what his mother would like him to do. „Open up your heart for Jesus”, she used to say when he didn’t want to go to church with her. He always did go after all.
All that he felt, however, was the smell of garbage. Cheese, perhaps? Not very pleasant.
„Everything’s great, thank you very much” said Ernest with a faint smile, he didn’t want to make Jesus upset but the nasty smell was really making his head hurt.
„You can tell me, Ern.”
Kowalski looked up at the man. Did he just almost say his name? Was that intended or did he just stutter? Suddenly the smell of alcohol hit his nose. He preferred to think that the man addressed him, it made him happy that someone knew his name. He suspected there was no other person that did, now that his parents have passed away.
„Well, you know” he started. „There’s just a lot going on right now.” Is that how you make small talk? Ernest couldn’t tell, it was usually made out of pleasantry and he couldn’t say anyone has ever tried to be pleasant with him. „It’s my fortieth birthday today and I’ve just been moved to a different facility by my boss and although I’m sure the lady in there is great and all, I just panicked, you know? I ran out – and this goddamn bell, like in a cheap ice cream place, the ones that your mum takes you to on holidays because you’re short of money – and I ended up here. Didn’t want to bother you or anything, I just got exhausted and had to stop for a while, you know?” He probably didn’t know. He almost certainly hadn’t the slightest idea as to what it’s like, whether he was Christ or a homeless man. Or both.
But Ernest didn’t seem to care. Now, that he’s allowed himself to speak, he wasn’t going to stop. He had to let out everything he’s been keeping to himself for the past year, since he was left alone, without anyone to talk to.
„And I’m sure we’re gonna have a great time working together, the lady and I. But I’m just so… frustrated, you know?” He wanted to find out whether Jesus knew so badly. His mother would have corrected him and told him not to repeat himself but she was nowhere to be seen. (Which wouldn’t be so peculiar as Ernest was known for talking to himself – or rather his mother – at work. Just ask one of his coworkers.)
„My boss… He’s the one I have a problem with, if I’m going to be honest.” He always was.
Ernest sucked the air in rapidly and asked: „You’re not gonna tell anyone, right?”
„Of course not!” Jesus seemed trustworthy enough that Ernest broke a rule he set for himself about not oversharing. He hated when other people did that. We get it Jack, the „open relationship” you’re talking about is just you cheating on your wife, there’s no need for that smirking over a fourth beer, I just wanted to say hello.
„Well for starters, he assumed I was fifty which is just so rude. And he’s always with these girls, you know? They’re everywhere. Even if you didn’t want to look at them, you had no other choice but to. And it just gets so frustrating because you’re nothing next to them. And I’m all for the female empowerment and that fun stuff, but come on, man. They don’t even have a degree and he’s employing them everywhere. Maybe he’s and undercover pimp” he chuckled. „He might just be, God, that would be so incredible.”
He looked at Jesus, who was still standing next to him. The light disappeared but Ernest could still see his amazing beard. He made a note to himself to ask how to grow one so impressive. It was truly a work of art.
„Tell me, Er” he interrupted his thoughts. He hoped not to forget the note he had made.„Would you like to do something about that?” Jesus looked at him with a spark in his eyes. Was that a suspicious thing or a God-thing? Ernest didn’t want to ask.
„What do you mean?”
„I have this friends, you know.” Aha! He’s not the only one saying that. If Ernest’s mother were here, he would look at her with the I-told-you-so look. „He’s got a gun.”
„Oh no! No, no. There’s no need for…” Ernest looked around, he’s a very careful man, you have to give him that. „You know, killing him!”
„I wasn’t suggesting that, come on, man, I’m not like that” explained Jesus quickly. „I was just thinking about scaring him. So that you get a raise or whatever you wanted. But I can see where your mind is going to, Er, and I don’t blame ya.”
„You don’t?”
„Of course not! If I were you I’d probably strangle that guy right there when he told you all that nasty stuff, I truly admire you for not doing that.”
„You do?”
„Of course I do! So what do you say?”
„Really?” Jesus looked at him with concern.
„Yeah! It’s not like we’re going to hurt him or anything, right?”
„Look at us, we wouldn’t kill a fly” said Jesus, pointing at them, two men standing in a dark alley, one looking (not to mention smelling) like a homeless son of God and the other – businessman wrecked by his life.
They were smiling at each other. Ernest felt like it was the first time for a long time that he has grinned and it wasn’t fake, but rather meaningful. He was about to change his life. Get a raise. A new position. He was about to show these women their place.
„So where’s this friend of yours?”
„Oh, he’s just right over there, the next alley.”
So they walked past the soon to be his ex-workplace, the lady inside made eye contact with him and opened her mouth having seen Jesus walking next to him. She must have been pretty surprised to see the Lord Himself.
They were entering the next alley when Jesus pushed Ernest. He took out a gun and shot him. Blood was gushing all over his pink shirt. Not the prettiest duet of colours.

Bad poetry

Your pretty eyes

I struggle with expectations                                                                                                                      and hurtful revelations

You left me                                                                                                                                                            or did I leave you?

Because now I’m haunted                                                                                                                              by the colours You used                                                                                                                                to mark my life.

The rage of a sunset                                                                                                                                            The glow of your soft lips                                                                                                                                Shining on my bare legs                                                                                                                                And reflecting off my bared teeth.

The hue of a thousand ‘sorry’s                                                                                                                    The light of a couple ‘yes’es                                                                                                                          And your pretty eyes                                                                                                                                        To get lost in

The shade of my mother’s nails                                                                                                                    The bowtie on my father’s neck                                                                                                                And the smile I couldn’t find                                                                                                                        On that special day

The scream of the night after                                                                                                                        The silk in my memories                                                                                                                            And your pretty eyes                                                                                                                                      To die for.

The silent sigh of the moon                                                                                                                            The bricks under my feet                                                                                                                            And the colour of the bridges                                                                                                                      We have set fire to.

The cool sensation on my skin                                                                                                                  The wind on my face                                                                                                                                        And your pretty eyes                                                                                                                                        To remember forever

I struggle with pain                                                                                                                                        and you’re away

You left me                                                                                                                                                        before you really met me

I left you                                                                                                                                                            before I had to stay with you

Because now I’m haunted                                                                                                                            By the pretty eyes You used                                                                                                                            To change my life.