This painting, “TN,” by Zdzislaw Beksinski has always fascinated me, as does most of his work. I’ve found that writing about something I feel is beautiful or fascinating is a good way to start actively creating, since the foundation is already set..
Below is an example — a poem attributed to this piece by Beksinski.
In My Arms
When I cradled him
His bones
Clicked
Chimes of
Clinking skeleton
And clacking feet
Knocking gently with
The rhythm of my stride
He moved his forgotten hand
to cover his naked head and
Let the other fall in defeat
Across this staff of contradiction
Barring him from leaving
The security of my arms
And if his eyes were still connected
Still hidden in the sockets
I do not believe
He would cry
Even through his spirit lingers behind
Crawling
Paralyzed and pathetic at my heels
A long bearded heap
Of wrinkled skin
And sallow thoughts
Begging for my mercy
But
Mercy will not be mine to give
The wolf follows
Gleaming teeth in warning
Guarding my prey against
Life
And I hide my face in
The shadow of this body
My head shrouded in ebony
Veiling what you are too afraid to see
As the ghost moon sets in
I walk forward towards the judgment
Arms full of loose bones
Connected only by memories of
Sinews
I will not let life have you
You can only be mine.
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