In 1975, Ilona Lagowski-Timoszuk was born in Warsaw, Poland during the height of communist rein. Her father landed a professorial position at MIT and relocated the family to the USA. Her father opened the first doors to Ilona’s creative drive–freedom of speech. Growing up in Boston was coarse. A teenager in the height of the 80’s drug boom, Ilona’s life was threatened numerously. It was through her writing, and teachers who believed in her unique voice, that she bloomed, publishing her first poem at sixteen. After graduating Cum Laude with a BA in Creative Writing, Ilona’s priorities took a radical swing. She didn’t want to be torn between children and career, so she gave up her scholarships to graduate school in order to focus on her two children. Ilona is a graduate student at University of Manchester, UK, where she is completing her MA in Novel Writing. Her writing has been featured on the BBC and published in numerous literary journals. Ilona resides both in Florida and the UK with her husband and their two children. She can be reached here.

For a veritable compendium of Austen related links on the Jane Austen Compendium website, click image; to visit the Austin.com Front Door website, click here or for related items on Amazon, click here

Click image for biography, pictures, geneology, reading tips on the Leo Tolstoy website; for a selection of online texts by Tolstoy on the Under the Sun website, click here or for related items on Amazon, click here

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MY FATHER

POLISH POETS (ESPECIALLY THOSE WHO WROTE UNDERGROUND DURING COMMUNIST MARSHAL LAW

MY BLOG

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MY SPACE

SELECTED POETRY

by
ilona Lagowski-Timoszuk

LITTLEST BROTHER

Once, you drew me a picture. An airplane,
crooked wings crossed through the body
like a “t” that had fallen over.
You were proud, smiling, eager for approval.

I put the picture close. For your birthday I bought
an art box, one like the real artists get –
one we couldn’t afford. You dreamed
of becoming an artist. You laughed.

You were that kind of man.

Years spun and tangled. They sent you away
to a boarding school where airplanes needed
angles to carry dreams, angles they refused
to teach – and there was nobody to buy you
a special pencil when the one from the art box
ran out.

Then, I found the art box –
you left it behind.

You were becoming another man.

There were rumors – first kisses, shyness,
sentiments – became memories. You forgot
my birthday, then Christmas – owing me,
eventually forgetting your debts.

You wore a rubber band on your left wrist.
I read the tiny black letters printed on it
“PLAYER”

You had become a different man.

Now, twelve years since you gave me the
airplane drawing, I wondered if you’d become
an architect. No, no! No art, no creativity!
Vanity replaced the pencil. A BMW wasn’t enough
anymore. Women became disposable trinkets.
Pride searched for opportunities to win.

A compulsory smile, as they handed you a diploma.
Finance-Business-a drink, many drinks. You returned
to your condominium, to a puppy forgotten about –

you stuck his nose in pee –
he tried to hold it just for you –
he failed, couldn’t help it –
so happy to love you –

and you hit it.

You are now – that kind of man.

© ilona Lagowski-Timoszuk

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UNPUBLISHED

I can’t tell you your shit is bad.
‘Cuz you aint gonna see how bad
it is ‘till you get better.

Think ‘bout it – everyone believes
they got epic lines, original crap
they slapped together after smokin’ a jimmy.

You think that your shit is getting ink fo’shizzy
and when it bombs, you freak.

‘Till years pass and you finally figure out
why your shit wasn’t key…

…or maybe you wont.

© ilona Lagowski-Timoszuk

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BAND-AIDS

They were little cuts at first. I almost didn’t notice
till I saw the crimson trickle on my wrist, moving
towards my fingers. I didn’t realize it was you –

you running for a band-aid, silent, head bowed,
cheeks red. You tended the wound. The scar
quickly faded, the band-aid now occupied a tiny
spot in a landfill; my DNA mixed with rotting
fruit or shredded documents, waste.

The next time I noticed. Your angry eyes cut
through flesh. It was painless, the bleeding.
I was numb with realization. Again you grabbed
a band-aid and used remorse to wrap the wound.

The scar was deeper. It wouldn’t disappear.
I forgot it, moving ahead, swallowing cautions.

Then it happened again. My blood laced in your love.
You shrugged. Another accident? A deeper slice and
not a single band-aid left. They have all been used
and lay buried in trash –

my blood, bits of my heart, gone, cut away.
So I bleed. You cry, knife in hand.

Somehow, you are able to mutter why.

© ilona Lagowski-Timoszuk

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ANAS

Anorexia

We, the ones – they –
buried in holes – our negative spaces,
perfection demands the unattainable.

Strongest are weakest vying
for sanction – not interpretation.
Punishment of innocence

we, once so innocent,
melting red bracelets –
inspiration – as we fall between

creases smelling of Downy,
promising relief, safe softness
for our rough edges –

our edges – transcending boundaries
in search of immortality, a fingerprint
on beauty – we covet.

By hunger, by control,
we, the brave – or cowards?
walk the darkness.

© ilona Lagowski-Timoszuk

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NIGHT RAIDS

To my grandfather, who taught me love is greater than war

We are strangers, yet we dance
under black smoke – hurling
and whistling. We know
we will die.

Two strangers – where were you
yesterday? Had we met then,
I could have loved you twenty hours
more; a lifetime in twenty hours.

The night howls death’s whisper.
My lips caked with ash,
burned lives; I can taste
relinquished dreams.

Bombs tiptoe closer. My tears wet
your shoulder as you cup my head,
and close my eyes; teaching me to sway
to the beats of our hearts.

© ilona Lagowski-Timoszuk

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TOP 5 M.I.L.F. NO-NO'S

1. A minivan. Opt for a sleek 4 door sedan. Silver, Black and White match most outfits. It is hard to look sexy in a beige minivan, besides there is no reason to hall an entire kids' playroom in your backseat.

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2. Box haircolour experimentation and your mum cutting your hair. Unless you have a standard box colour that is reliable, do not try to become a hairdresser during a P.M.S. episode. If you can't afford a proper cut and colour (grey hair is on the way mums!), work with your hairdresser to come up with a low maintenance cut. She can also help you formulate a low cost at home hair colour that will not leave you with green tinge.

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3. 2 inch fake nails/ acrylic nails. You probably gave these up while dealing with nappies, but maybe recently returned to the habit since the kids are now older and there is no risk of gashing skin while dressing them. Fact is, they are tacky. Opt for a nicely manicured natural nail. Keep them "sport short" and even blue nail polish looks nice.

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4. Tapered and/or pleated pants. Watch What not to Wear. Tapered pants need to be banned! They would suck the sex out of Angelina Jolie.

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5. Don't take MILFdom too serious. This means hitting on your teenaged kids' friends, accumulating underage boyfriends and trying to seduce every male (and female) you encounter. You will not be a MILF, you will be a TART. Be internally beautiful to balance your outer beauty. Embrace kindness, be faithful, helpful, considerate, and don't forget to SMILE! A MILF is an idea, a fantasy. Kindness is real.

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