Poetry from mysterious Irish writer in Leipzig


Ok, he’s not that much of a mysterious writer if you get to see his picture here. And you can catch him hosting and performing at events around Leipzig, like open mics and literary concerts at Poniatowski the Polish bar and arts hangout. But I still find him mysterious because he doesn’t seem to reveal much about himself and uses a pen name to sign his poetry. Which is not the name I have heard him use when reading his writing live. Or when playing pub quiz. Anyway, you can ask him yourself if you can find him (Hint: You can visit http://poniatowski.cnscp.de/ for the Poniatowski event schedule). For now, here’s a poem of his I liked and asked if I could post here. To which he said yes, fortunately.

Anthill, by Kapuczino

I sat smiling on a German bus, enjoying
people’s minds breathing tranquility
and sharing all there was
with the comforting rays
gently dispersed through greasy panes
half-heartedly damming
an ant-like stream of cars, humming
their Internationale, a collective mind
narrowly focused on contributing
to the queen of their colony

behind my polished window
I now stay put
trying to recapture
a white sheet of paper
thin as air
hovering on a wind
carried like driftwood
to an ocean

(For more of Kapuzcino’s writing: http://thefolksonthehill.com)

A Global Studies doctoral degree holder and former newspaper reporter, avid eater, pseudo-philosopher and poet, occasion-propelled singer, semi-professional socializer, movie addict, Brazilian-American nomad. In this space, she will share some of her experiences and (mis)adventures regarding various topics, with special attention to social issues.

Poetry and prose
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