Painting With Words – A City Bombed

Standing in the midst of the ruins that was once the city she lived in, she watched as a child, washed out by war, handed a posy of flowers to his dishevelled mother. Where on earth had he found those flowers? A tear ran down her cheek. Beauty is painful now, she thought, we’re all so full of death.


About Don

I love life. Sometimes it makes sense, other times not. Discerning its underlying patterns and beauty always provides great reward and meaning and is a passion I ineptly follow. I feel deeply attached to nature and love the sea with its distinct moods and colour and find walking along its beaches wonderfully inspiring. Writing, sketching and photography is a sheer joy for me and the blog is one of the places I am able to express these pursuits.
This entry was posted in Beauty, Life, Painting With Words, Poetic Imagination, Prose, Spirituality, Warfare and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

12 Responses to Painting With Words – A City Bombed

  1. Hudson Howl says:


    Still, in the stillness of thought, these words inflame, blazing sediments of remembrance. There is beauty in suffering, though am torn to acknowledge it exists. but it does, and it strikes a chord that challenges our ability for deep, honest, heartfelt empathy.

    Don, your pallet, your brush strokes, well spoken.


  2. josna says:

    What is the origin and context of this, Don? (Though perhaps, on Remembrance Sunday, what it tells us is all we need to know. . .)


    • Don says:

      Josna, I would say it is the context of every city in Europe and England that suffered the destruction of bombs falling on it. The brief scene is the product of my imagination, although the seed for it is found in a war diary called, “A Woman in Berlin.”


  3. nrhatch says:

    A marked reminder. Thanks, Don.


  4. You’ve portrayed this truthfully and poignantly, Don. Beauty is, indeed, painful when we’re surrounded by death.


  5. ladyfi says:

    A very moving post. Painful indeed.


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