I was saying to my friend the other day that sometimes, if the hideousness can be portrayed with some kind of beauty, it can also be inverted in different ways. Then the words can bring beauty and relief in devastation.
Thank you for posting the link, but it seems to be broken. Is there another way to access it?
The shape of your engine room,lovers carve into tree trunks.
In war you blossom from every wounded soldier and civilian. In the field hospital you glisten on the gloved hands of surgeons and each busy scalpel.
You’re not to be trusted, rummaging in the attic of our skulls, studying the blueprints of our veins, deciding where to place your quick assassins, clot and haemorrhage.
I hold my breath, check my pulse,as you make your rounds. (from Beneath Our Armour)
POSTED BY PETER BAKOWSKI AT 3:13 AM LABELS: BLOOD, MORTALITY 2 COMMENTS:
Marshall-Stacks November 22, 2009 1:17 PM thank you for that breath-takingly emotive assessment of the circulating poet within us all.
Peter Bakowski December 14, 2009 9:21 PM Dear Marshall-Stacks, Thanks for your kind words regarding my poem "Portrait of blood". Remembering one's morality stops us from being under-appreciative. Remembering that everything can be taken away from us should make us value our learning time here on earth. Every good wish, Peter Bakowski
poetry makes me sad. another great Melbourne poet is Peter Paul Bakowski and his Blood Work should have won him prizes.
ReplyDeleteX X
I'm sorry Ann.
ReplyDeleteI was saying to my friend the other day that sometimes, if the hideousness can be portrayed with some kind of beauty, it can also be inverted in different ways. Then the words can bring beauty and relief in devastation.
Thank you for posting the link, but it seems to be broken. Is there another way to access it?
Thanks Ann, for your lovely comments, as always!
xx
Bakowski Poetry News blog
ReplyDeleteI hope that works. he's a lovely guy. X X
Thanks Mr Stacks!
Delete(He has a new subscriber.)
xx
The thin armour you give the newborn,
ReplyDeletethe midwife washes away.
In playgrounds, when the bullied fall,
you rush to the hill of a bruise.
The shape of your engine room,lovers carve into tree trunks.
In war you blossom from every wounded soldier and civilian.
In the field hospital you glisten on the gloved hands of surgeons and each busy scalpel.
You’re not to be trusted, rummaging in the attic of our skulls, studying the blueprints of our veins, deciding where to place your quick assassins, clot and haemorrhage.
I hold my breath, check my pulse,as you make your rounds.
(from Beneath Our Armour)
POSTED BY PETER BAKOWSKI AT 3:13 AM
LABELS: BLOOD, MORTALITY 2 COMMENTS:
Marshall-Stacks November 22, 2009 1:17 PM
thank you for that breath-takingly emotive assessment of the circulating poet within us all.
Peter Bakowski December 14, 2009 9:21 PM
Dear Marshall-Stacks,
Thanks for your kind words regarding my poem "Portrait of blood".
Remembering one's morality stops us from being under-appreciative.
Remembering that everything can be taken away from us should make us value our learning time here on earth.
Every good wish, Peter Bakowski
Thank you for posting this for me, Mr Stacks!
ReplyDeletexx