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James Mullaney, 31 grudnia 2011
LUCINDA'S EYES
Lucinda's eyes like diamonds shone,
And in her slender wrists, the moon;
And in her hammock swayed and sighed
As I drew near, impelled by pride.
Lucinda's eyes like diamonds shone,
All silver in the crescent moon;
As through a buzzing cherub's haze
I pined to snare Lucinda's gaze.
Lucinda's eyes like diamonds shone,
Through whom that sylphid loon the moon
Detained me there in dreams, four days,
Until I'd gleaned their subtle phrase.
Lucinda's eyes like diamonds shone.
But who can fault the aged moon?
For every man who's dreamed and died
Is stirred by Woman's sensual tide.
James Mullaney, 30 grudnia 2011
A WOODLAND LAY
While skeptics level magic arts to myth
And syllogism swears the truth it yields
Cauldrons of the cunning brew mandrake pith
And Beltan fires christen barley fields.
The churches in ciites teach father gods -
Men of the cloth solicit banditti.
White-shirted sharpers set casino odds;
Salvation is by select committee.
Then up a quail flutters, harmless as down,
Whose habitat is Peace, and Light, and Fair,
Pleated summer meadows, broad woods of brown -
Hale woods of viceroys in a vibrant air.
At day dusk, all along the river weirs
The Mother Goddess winks, and disappears.
James Mullaney, 29 grudnia 2011
SONNET TO KAHLYNE
You cased not for sickly everlasting
Banks of that noxious industrial creek.
But my blighted bracts, my corymb casting
Seed in abhorrent air, my axis, weak
And sere, you noted. You unsheathed a spade,
Combed my caked roots and laded a bell jar.
A glass vivarium in a cascade -
Sheer mist, sheer light - became my reservoir,
My humic sacrarium. Those vert months
Your care cleansed me like a windswept downpour,
Till my frail corolla bloomed ten millionths
Of an inch from the ley of joy. Therefore,
Seed the stygian banks with pale asphodel
And let pressed poesies be your immortelle.
James Mullaney, 30 grudnia 2011
ZEN DAWN
This antique morning is
The consummation of history.
Shoguns arose, worlds warred,
And numberless processions passed
Like thunder in a bonsai garden
To prepare for this -
My green sencha tea with wedges of lime.
How grave and staggering my debt to the world is!
Centering, I dip my fingers reverently
Into a bamboo bucket
To douse my face with spring water.
I marvel that the sky shivering there
Is a blue witness to the direst ordeals
Of countless, faceless rascals and questers
Disinterestedly being us.
James Mullaney, 29 grudnia 2011
SONNET TO LAURA ANN
For Hansel, Gretel's jazz slayed the dire wood.
Her native valor wowed the Brothers Grimm.
Their jaunt was vexed and fraught, Laura: A lewd
Hag stirred bhang round and round a cauldron's brim.
Hikers we two on a wood hollow path
Have shared a torch that cleft the raven dark.
A shrill hush; weird shadows; a gigue of death;
Flared by the Yggdrasill's numinous bark.
Still, trailways divide and trailmates must part,
So snap off a deadwood djinn and ignite
A blaze that purges this gnarled woodland heart
Where gnomes hunt snails and gremlins spit and bite.
Halved yet whole, our flame does not diminish.
Fancy a fairy tale forest's finish!
James Mullaney, 28 grudnia 2011
VIRTUAL LIBERTY
1.
Virtual Liberty carries the prisoner this festive Fourth
Through littered parks where immigrants barbecue redolent chicken and el maiz;
Across cafe-crowded sidewalks;
Beneath opulent, exploding fireworks by the riverside the balmy evening air,
Where he scans the variegated faces in the throng.
He seeks one character in particular whom he knows he loves.
She's beautiful; the most comely woman he's met
During his incarceration. So he walks,
With the apparent ease of freedom,
Through the circus light of neon in taverns
Where drunken bullies brawl;
Past the fire station, and the Post Office (closed now);
The pool hall; and the endless cavalcade of passersby;
Until, rounding a corner,
He descries the shapely physique,
The flowing auburn mane,
And pink dimpled cheeks of the one he loves,
Stepping out of the light of an old-fashioned ice cream parlour, laughing;
Licking her ice cream cone and holding it
At such an angle to her body
That it cannot drip and stain her white cotton dress.
2.
The desperado follows, swiftly and silently,
His sole aptitude vicarious penance.
He thinks to run up from behind but somehow smothers the impulse.
Only her femininity spurs him on, but how exquisitely!
Suddenly his spirit shrinks and his feet become leaden.
Should he approach, well he knows, the beauty,
Affrighted by his boldness and mistaking it for treachery
Would cry out, and the game would be at an end.
She's done exactly that time and time before
And must again, always.
Because this cityscape, on this Fourth of July, is virtual.
The time is actually midwinter,
And behind the reinforced concrete and steel walls
Of a Federal penitentiary
The only partaker of living bread in this scenario is
The prisoner.
3.
Nations, too, may dote upon ephemera.
When disc jockeys hawk celebrity cookbooks and sex books
And petrochemicals make a lethal hothouse of the sky;
When cabals vote to surveil outspoken dissenters and their friends by satellite;
To subpoena the email of college professors;
To clutter the public discourse with sports statistics and weather forecasts;
And if possible, to trick the trickster-god,
Or bribe him at least,
Or sleep with him -
It -
Witness the curse, witness the curse, coercion.
4.
A rude iron bell shrilly rings, and a rough screw
Pushes a prisoner down through a stony hall
Bootheels clicking endlessly,
To a 6' by 12' cell, and slams the steel gate shut.
Then the prisoner lies down on his pathetic cot,
Grinds his rigid member against the mattress,
And enters upon more vistas of Virtual Liberty.
James Mullaney, 9 stycznia 2012
WHAT THE CAMPUS BARMAID SAID
With every glass I pour a libation
From the still of worldly knowledge.
How eagerly you imbibe your desolation.
Of course: It's college.
A string concerto newly found, once discovered
Sweet notes abound! (when uncovered.)
Like the bard whose epic tales of desperate zeal
Claim, "...None may see, but some can feel,"
Deny the loss and seize the day -
Live to win!
What makes a star a star so distant and obscure
But nebulae within?
James Mullaney, 28 grudnia 2011
AGAMEMNON
A sitter of public benches will come to
In nether fog tonight.
He drains heeltap from a beer bottle and lights a nubbin.
Pigeons are roosting but who can say where?
The scabrous skin of this urban autochthon
Bubbles with pustules;
The whiffling fringe swaddles larval eggs.
He rises and declaims: Lines from Agamemnon?
Or the gibberish of dementia praecox?
Earlier while he was foraging for food
In the back of a chop house
A peace officer sauntered up and said,
"Get outta my garbage."
Get outta my garbage.
He reclines.
The hollow heart at the core of the wild nighttime
Beats time in desolate duple measure:
Red light, broken promises;
Green light, a penchant for grandiosity;
And trucks thunder in the mute naught
Like iron stallions,
Or the iambs of Aeschylus. That cordial detritus
Teetering on a sewer lip reads:
It's Our Pleasure To Serve You.
James Mullaney, 30 grudnia 2011
SONNET TO HEATHER
Autumn in Niagara Falls, spring in Rome,
Hawaii, Amsterdam, Portugal, France -
Yet more romantic still our happy home
Should you consent to dance this spirit-dance.
What argument persuades like tender tears?
What logic can my deep affection prove?
If Heather lends them grace, my earthly years
Will blessed be, by lithesomemost true love.
I see you as a delicate bouquet -
A garden where the lily petals fall.
Eschew the solemn spinster soubriquet
And de rigueur funereal banquet shawl.
But maybe I have overgauged my worth
And must abide in hopes beyond this earth.
James Mullaney, 15 stycznia 2012
MARY ON EASTER MORNING
Woeful nights, the pure gold of Mary's faith
Blazoned the brighter for the stillborn dread
That roiled inside like a nether wraith.
On the third day he arose from the dead.
That golden dawn, purled sunbeams rayed the way
God's gleam lights Mary's face: From end to end
Of colours' spectrum. It was a Sunday
When death and doom were destroyed and the rend,
Wrought by sin, was grafted over with gold.
Sunrise in Mary's heart arrayed splendours
Across the vasts of space. Now as of old
The Spirit of Wisdom richly renders
The Easter bonanza in Eucharists,
Sun-gilded morrows and scintillant mists.
James Mullaney, 27 grudnia 2011
7 SONNETS TO CHRISTINA
1.
Three Ming vases rusticate in a ring.
I choose one, for its simple garden scene
Razes my poems to rice grass. Cardinals sing;
A beanpole fronts a lean-to; flutes flash clean.
Fishermen in a horizonless haze
Apostrophize the ancestral spirits
Who tramp the mountains and the forest ways.
The noontide turns. An urchin child near its
Dharma guardian answers slights to newts
And skinks, but shuns the cross-eyed billygoat.
Tacking east, across dreamscape river routes,
Vase painting glides the Ming by sampan boat,
Where once we two, Christina Ladylove,
Mulled a blushing maple moon, balmed thereof.
2.
Now drink mead to Ceres' agronomy -
You've plowed a sage into a country rube;
His solemn pretense of autonomy
Felled by your hook like a fat wet jujube.
So Ida squeezed ewe's milk again this May
When oxeye daisies drowsed between the briers
And warblers tuned their rustic roundelay.
Our bodies shell because the ghost suspires.
Thunderous rains replenish tenderness
When urbane polish dazzles to a fault.
What makes wishes wine, Christina? This kiss...
...and pledges pure beneath the starry vault.
Pastures in the heart require a bumpkin -
Their fruitage yields such a pretty pumpkin!
3.
A snowy lodge lay nestled in the hills
Where fragrant spruce pine scorched a fireplace;
A frosty crust whipped at the windowsills
And twilled a veil contrived of icy lace.
So placidly the firewashed cottage twinkled
Amidst the bluish drifts of virgin snow
That in a-crept a pine mouse, wintry-wrinkled,
To warm beside the phosphorescent glow.
Berime, the mousie mourned, a Princess fair,
For whom enchanted knights at yuletide pine.
'Twas then save locks of golden heathen hair
She deliquesced per crystal flakes and fine.
The mouse evokes a glassy patina -
Of sturdier stuff is made Christina.
4.
The moon alone requited me tonight,
Lit in a lissome apricot sarong
On the fenestella, waxed carmelite,
And wrapped her thighs around my evensong.
Prayer became improbable. Facing up
To my craterlike desires, I felt small
Wonder time's antecessors, lacing up
The sky's chaste eye, cast hymeneal
Banns to youth: Artemis and Athena
Lashed the duffers arched to those immortals.
As they did do you to me, Christina,
Steeling out astrological quartiles.
And so I share my bedroom with the moon -
Grave virgins in the wake of mirth's typhoon.
5.
Pals picnic, Judas-kissed, all-forgiving,
Wan as the blush and lavender cirrus -
August fraternity of the Living
Plainchanting our supermarket peeress,
Christina. One by one we smile, listening,
Rapt - around Riesling, cottage cheese, and pears -
To her blithe rebuffs, the river glistening
Like the faux diadem commonwealth wears.
Inner Truth isn't the end of the road -
Buddhahood makes an eternal return.
We share a planet, a breath, an abode,
Ensemble commedia/earth's diurn.
Apostles declare self-giving devout -
I seek Christinahood, inside and out.
6.
Come naked night, come sawdust and tinsel,
Pillow plush her footfall: My - our - "Maitresse"
Christina. Help a Prince and a Damsel
Script a rogue Romeo's carnal distress.
Women misvalue me in this movie -
Be thankful it's just Universal glam.
True, in Starsphere I'm considered groovy;
Forbid that whom I seem were who I am!
Peppermint Priestess, condescend to read
These panegyrics, husbandmen of fame.
Never was ennui foxlessly flurried -
We know ourselves through a glass darkly, Dame.
No Bergman blocks, grips, or lights your glory:
Movies within movies strangle story.
7.
Before putting pen to a dry broadside
Vouch these sonnets a just lineation -
Christina heralds the good sidhe worldwide,
Calm, sagacious, and past numeration.
Her quest is redress for the lovelorn heart.
In revels and vision trance wild she tells
Inscrutable sorrows - the sibyl's art -
Then renders the blue dove valentine spells.
What need to hail her in secular script?
She augurs the age in vatic verses.
Seal this tribute in a helium crypt -
Make of these sonnets heavenly hearses.
Because we commend you your endeavor
Prosper Christina, always and ever.
James Mullaney, 4 stycznia 2012
MARY'S CHILDREN (i)
A bleak, mildewed sump cellar just permits
The girl to breathe. It's late: Men will come soon.
A casement high above her bed emits
A sallow luster, pale as Hades' noon.
They promised her work: Housekeeping, sewing.
Her own papa arranged it. Ten pesos
And a pint of 151. Knowing
She'd try to escape, they dosed her a dose
Of barbiturates here in Jackson Heights,
Beat her, raped her, tried to induce despair.
Cursed, dismal dungeon, where she recites
Her brokenhearted, broken English prayer:
Guadalupe! I nothing have to lose.
I far from you. Sincerely, Anna Cruz.
James Mullaney, 3 stycznia 2012
MARY AT HOME
The sunrise finds you mending broken toys
For Jesus. Softly rouse him. You sing hymns,
Boil curds - then off he stomps with other boys.
The hills hint modestly of cedar limbs.
Blessed are they who shun the world's conceits,
Who never shrink from anonymous toil,
Who still shake out the sandy linen sheets,
Prepare unleavened bread, and olive oil.
A mother's love tells on tongues of true bells
From age to age in the Star of the Sea.
Chaste is the chalice where our Savior dwells
Fired with dominion and for you, Mary,
Who never waxed more flush than at the hearth;
Who supped the bosom bliss of planet Earth.
James Mullaney, 3 stycznia 2012
THE PIETA
Who weeps for Jesus at the clutch of doom?
His mother, whose face most mirrors his face.
A sword has pierced her soul, so full of grace.
The wondrous youth who ambled in the coomb
She renders to the wolvish-throated tomb.
What grief-staind mercy for our wayward race.
In her lineaments all mothers trace
The nameless shapes of loss such hurts assume.
She clasps his head to her breast, shouldering
The lifeless trunk, but the spirit is fled.
She studies Golgotha, bewildering
And otherworldly, now that Christ is dead -
Ever the crown of her long-suffering,
Ever the flag of mothers sorrow-ed.
James Mullaney, 21 marca 2012
THE ROSARY
My quietest hours, when longings cease,
In predawn peace steadfast and billowy
I ramble, pondering those Mysteries,
That safe sylva, the Holy Rosary.
My intellect arbor, frowzy at first,
Entwined in every viney distraction
Became clearer, more sure: If thought is thirst,
Daily prayer is holy liquefaction.
Mary and her Son branch around me now -
No blasted air expelled by Satan's sob
Unlimbs them. Phoebe, pray, alight the bough,
And drowse in an aerie while still a squab.
Preen well for him for whom wee sparrows glide
You nestling dauntless on the mountainside.
James Mullaney, 31 grudnia 2011
HORSECHESTNUT TREES
Horsechestnut trees in my dreams, it seems;
Horsechestnut trees in my dreams.
Lizzie looks sexy in blue denim jeans -
Sexy as pie in those jeans, it seems;
I love her so much in my dreams.
I want to make love to her down by the sea,
I'd love to get down with her right after tea,
I'd like to make love to her, soft as can be -
I'd love life if Lizzie'd love me.
Horsechestnut trees in my dreams, it seems;
Horsechestnut trees in my dreams.
Lizzie's the girl in the onyx and jeans -
Sexy as pie in that onyx, it seems;
I love her so much in my dreams.
James Mullaney, 27 grudnia 2011
OUR LADY OF CZESTOCHOWA, QUEEN OF POLAND
Scarred by two red gashes in ebony
The Black Madonna assays her demesne.
Still Poland's protectress, still Poland's Queen,
She safeguards and defends the history
Of a proud land, imbued with majesty.
When a base Hussite slashed her blackened mien
Blood beads dappled the countenance serene.
That brigand perished in ignominy.
In time to come, whatever may befall,
Her shrine will be Poland's loveliest school.
You Pilgrims to Czestochowa, come call!
Come saint and sinner, knave and holy fool.
Whether on earth's stoop or in heaven's hall
All must adore at Mary's mercy stool.
James Mullaney, 28 grudnia 2011
VICTIM
In an Aztec priest's state of feral grace I survey
The unsleeping barrio from this tenement-temple.
I count minutes, quarter-hours, half-hours,
Hours and hours. Jupiter will rise at 11:37;
Saturn sets shortly thereafter.
Last night the storefront evangelist put a cross
Fist through the astrologer's plate glass window.
The night before that my neighbor Luisa
Was shot through the heart by Mara Salvatrucha
For testifying in Federal Court.
An honors student in life science
At La Guardia Community College, she was
To have been the soprano in a requiem for sea turtles
Tonight, in a recital at P.S. 1. They flew
The body back to Yucatan for burial
Where for fifty centuries sage astronomers
Keen and quiet as puma eminences
Patiently plotted civilzation's ceiling,
Until men in mountains floating on the sea
Torched their archives and purged their superstitions.
I watch with golden rays in my eyes
As people place wreaths, candles, along the avenue.
Graffitists paint a hieroglyphic mural.
Surely Quetzalcoatl will not withhold the rain.
James Mullaney, 19 marca 2012
PASTORAL
A trellised rose garden rose gold and white
On the crest of a lavender landscape;
A rill dimpled bright like a cut glass in light
When a bashful moon punctured the cloudscape.
A maid gathered bluebells and baby's breath
On the skirt of an evergreeen woodland;
And when the time came to gather up Death
She was swept to Arcadian Goodland.
She met her big sister, Emily Ann,
And the two-month-old stricken with fever.
Then mother informed her her fancy-dan
Was with Dis. She refused to believe her.
A rooster may strut a whirlwind hour.
The Devil, though, lurks long in the bower.
James Mullaney, 21 marca 2012
THE DORMITION
A crack in that exquisite virgin vase,
A funereal shudder of taut strings,
And Mary is gone. Quake ye angels' wings!
Your roaring rumbles Rome's basilicas,
Beclouds the Arab's cunning algebras
And tolls the knell of everlasting things.
Lulling the infant church a bald boy sings.
His voice foremuses dolce arias.
Abed and strewn with sprays of jasmine sleeps,
In drape, a sweet and saintly mother's heart.
Shall a kinder flower emblossom love?
Unveiled in mystics' cool and dewy deeps,
Serene on a catafalque of verse art,
The loveliness of Mary rests thereof.
James Mullaney, 21 marca 2012
MARY IS LIKE A FJORD
Now if the King of Kings is like a sea
Who fathoms all, Mary is like a fjord -
Tirelessly channelling his mercy,
In spray and swell exulting in the Lord.
Hail Mary ever. And when the lagoon
Tops its banks with brine and fossil remains
And casts ashore the Trident of Neptune,
Hail the elder gods. Betide the sea lanes
Between us and heaven spume churlish moiled
Tremulous waves, who'll see us to a bridge -
One that braces all walkers? Undespoiled
Eulalia, saint of sailors. When ridge,
Slope, shelf, slough their deeps and whitecaps burgeon
The Yo's! of drowned salts will gale the Virgin.
James Mullaney, 19 marca 2012
I MET A MAID
I met a maid who tamed a philomel -
A likely Kelly knitting tufty prayers,
A fairy piccoloist piping airs
Behind the hayricks in a cozy dell.
The bird, he huffs his plumes into a swell;
And taken by his tune all unawares
The tawny swain who shucks the vetchling tares
Mistakes that music for his dinner bell.
The rube aside, the maid departs her hose
And ties them streaming to the yokel's plow.
Come stumbling back, he nuzzles with his nose,
Then lets the golden zephyrs graze his brow.
She plays this prank on all the Romeos -
Delighted, purring softy, even now.
James Mullaney, 25 kwietnia 2012
2nd SONNET TO MISTRESS FELICIA
Empress, receive dominion over me -
My life, my craft, and all it touches here.
Thou art my Muse, Thou art my Holy See,
Unheedful yet as summer beaches where
Cherubic tendercare hath Thee enearthed
Or elegantly crowned in ocean spray;
With wind and sand and fondest love engirthed -
Epiphany upon a Saturday.
Then follow I, gardenia-scented Ms.,
A hero or a clown to do Thy will.
A better man may aptly call Thee his
But I submit my pen to Thee until
Released from writer's care and worldly plaint
I worship Thee as heaven's seaside saint.
James Mullaney, 25 kwietnia 2012
1st SONNET TO MISTRESS FELICIA
O Mistress mine, that total gift of self,
Thy sweetly swelling heart's desideratum
Is naught but Nature's tribute to Herself -
A favor less bestowed than owed verbatim.
When men of low repute presume to render
Abject obeisance where and how they please
Stanchions eternal fall asunder -
And bothersome annoyance frets Thine ease.
Kingdoms pass away, but not my function:
Dethroning imps who cause Felicia strife;
And someday, taking Host and Holy Unction,
I'll praise Felicia more than natural life.
But Mistress, salve my heart's sore controversy
And promise hapless slave You'll practice mercy.
James Mullaney, 29 grudnia 2011
SONNET TO JENNIFER
Aurora Borealis lights the black hole
Which gnawed me till I watched her in the hallways
Draw circlets round my solitary soul
With twin caducei that tend her always
When suddenly the veil was torn asunder
And sprites and pixies whirled their tambourines
Accompanied by acrimonious thunder
Whose blast caused ten times ten more wondrous scenes.
By what white magic has she conjured bliss
Where beatific starlight never shon?
Dear Jennifer, intently swear I this:
To Thee I pledge my troth till time be done.
So lift a glass to conjugal wassails:
Wee Cupid's portion starts and ends in veils.
James Mullaney, 3 stycznia 2012
THE SAMARITAN WOMAN
At Jacob's well a mille of teardrops dried:
Without repenting of a sin she found
A spring of water welling up inside
To life eternal, perfect, and profound,
Where Jesus makes his glory known: to scamps
And junkies, cons and mental patients, drunks
With dogs unloved in migrant squatters' camps,
Samaritans in lousy shelter bunks -
Yet stands sunk in thought as deep as taproot
When empires implode and dynasts crash hell
Because they were too blanched to kiss the foot
Of one aqua cool saint by a blue well
Who found the living water in her soul
And showered down a marigold-spiked knoll.
James Mullaney, 4 stycznia 2012
MARY'S CHILDREN (ii)
In Africa there's a boy brutalized,
Days and nights by, in ghostly jungle camps.
He's stripped, shred by shred, of the civilized
Dashiki he wears when he glims the lamps.
They chop off his hand. Exposed to vermin,
Lice, cold, gangrene, malaria, AIDS, death,
His childhood bashed, he recalls a sermon
About a mother in heaven. With breath
Bated, neck craned, he naifly extends
His toy to you: A silver gas station!
You repose him where the Vintager tends
Canaanite vineyards for the glad nation,
Shouts of mirth rock the baobab in the stars,
And Echinacea salves a brave scout's scars.
James Mullaney, 15 stycznia 2012
MARY AT THE FOOT OF THE CROSS
When Mary swayed beneath that tree, she owned
The purest spirit mauled by purest spite
That wherefrom ever mournful music moaned;
And the gift - or the curse - of omnisight.
Millenia pressed to a breathless flash
Like phantom pharaohs in Egyptian tombs;
And history's telos burst like the plash
Of molten meteors' demonic plumes
In Mary's gaze. Woman, behold your son.
Behold, your mother. A reciprocal
Seeing, then, settles the world's salvation:
Hers the universal, ours the local.
From focal points in heaven and on earth
The rood in Mary's eyes makes fortunesworth.
James Mullaney, 21 marca 2012
THE ASSUMPTION
The Logos who indwells Isaiah's verse -
Maelstrom-mounted yet tender as a man
Bends breath to Mary where his breath began.
Saints on bediamonded psaltries rehearse.
She speaks! Gladsome lambs of the Universe -
There never was a gentler command than,
Avow you each to each a guardian.
The pliant sky plushes her grand traverse.
And as Mary rises - a rarer sun -
Row upon row of adoring angels
Blow trumpets, beat timbrels in promenade.
For he would not cede her to corruption.
As psalmodies rise on oceanous swells
She rises, robed in mauve velvet brocade.
James Mullaney, 4 stycznia 2012
PETITION TO THE VIRGIN
Am I deceived, Mary, to trust in Thee
When orphans in Shenzhen sew my new shirt,
While the ice caps melt in the swollen sea
And four million Congolese die over dirt;
While Mesopotamia howls in strife
And fires expunge what remains of the West;
While Frankenstein patents modified life
And torturers shame us - under arrest -
While triplex condos house sleek neon bars
And debutantes kiss-kiss showered in light,
And media baron affix false stars
And Yankee Stadium roars through the night?
I trust in Thee, and call the world my home -
New York, New York...or Imperial Rome.
Ostatnie komentarze:
20 maja 2024
Jaga
Dziękuję za plusy i komentarze :)
20 maja 2024
można je mieć każdego dnia :)
20 maja 2024
...pitne, tylko lekko musujące ;)
20 maja 2024
... i nowy początek ;)
18 maja 2024
kb
jakoś kojarzy mi się z "siostrami wielkiej
18 maja 2024
no chyba że pomieszkuje
18 maja 2024
zdaje się że nikt tu już nie mieszka
18 maja 2024
bardzo
18 maja 2024
orzeźwieni... prawie jak otrzeźwieni... i to
16 maja 2024
violetta
Może w lipcu będę miała takie wakacje:)
16 maja 2024
jeśli tylko
słońce w płynie..
15 maja 2024
Weronika
Za jeszcze jeden rejs!
20 maja 2024
Jaga
19 maja 2024
wiesiek
19 maja 2024
Arsis
19 maja 2024
Marcin Olszewski
18 maja 2024
kb
17 maja 2024
Deadbat
16 maja 2024
violetta
16 maja 2024
Marek Gajowniczek
15 maja 2024
Jaga
14 maja 2024
violetta