The flavor of pain
And its carnal fedor
Strikes a minor chord
Echoing Acidic memories
Sending stinging shocks
To the marrow
Of raw splintered bones
Tearing tears
Of clotted blood
From my mind's eye
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Author:
sorenbarrett (
Offline) - Published: July 28th, 2022 15:52
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 16
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
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Comments2
(forgive my rudeness, dear poet
I wanted to share with you
on of my fav Bukowski poems
so you may see, how favourably it compares with your write)
'The Loser' by Bukowski:
'and the next I remembered I’m on a table, everybody’s gone: the head of bravery under light, scowling, flailing me down . . . and then some toad stood there, smoking a cigar: “Kid you’re no fighter,” he told me, and I got up and knocked him over a chair; it was like a scene in a movie, and he stayed there on his big rump and said over and over: “Jesus, Jesus, whatsamatta wit you?” and I got up and dressed, the tape still on my hands, and when I got home I tore the tape off my hands and wrote my first poem, and I’ve been fighting ever since.'
Thank you L.B. your shares are always welcome. We are all fighters in this life. Some of us go all the rounds others either win or loose early.
Those are the sort of things which keep me out of any butchers shop on the high street.
Flesh and bone butchered in war has the same aura.
Thank you dusk for your comment and review. Yes war and life itself sometimes is brutal.
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