Purgatory (ver 3)

[LeoVictorBriones (poetremains)]

Purgatory

"The sharp edge of a razor is difficult to pass over;
thus the wise say the path to Salvation is hard."
Katha-Upanishad.


It is cold in the depths of this nether land,
where men no taller than toad stools
with the breath of a Slavic count pronounce English vulgarity,
tickle the fancy of nymphs who are neither taught
nor led beyond the mud huts of lepers and misfits.

Where for four dollars a day
we are all given keys to the bronze gate,
then surprised to learn it will never rust
just slowly tarnish as warlords and demagogues
rule dry mountain sides, towers of massive glass, and rotting, wretched alleys.

So different they looked in another life—
perhaps painted warriors, perhaps pin-stripped capitalists,
perhaps homeless heathens on heroin or angel dust.

Still, for who ever shall be
and for what ever shall be done
it is in front of the same throne they bow,
bloody kneed and proud chinned.

They like it here, the scent of blood in the vampire’s breath,
the swirling confusion of stir fried brains,
and the cup of coffee mixed with cream and immorality.

Yet, not for a second should we think this is perdition—
for it something quite different all together you see—
the barren desert, no! the white packed summit, no!

the great crevice between nothingness and love
in which the good have slipped
and struggle in every age
to reach the razor’s edge,

Yes, that’s what it is!

[Marion Poirier]

Imaginative and powerful poem, Leo; I have a few minor suggestions -
not much to change – very intriguing piece. Marion
(May I add great satire!)

It is cold in the depths of this nether land,
where men no taller than mushrooms
pronounce English vulgarity with the breath of a Slavic count,
tickle the fancy of nymphs who are neither taught
nor led beyond the mud huts of lepers and misfits.
Where for four dollars a day we are all given keys
to the bronze gate,
then surprised to learn it will never rust
just slowly tarnish as warlords and demagogues
rule dry mountain sides, towers of massive glass and rotting
wretched alleys.
stanza break
So different they looked in another life—
perhaps painted warriors, perhaps pinned stripped capitalists,
perhaps homeless heathens on heroin or angel dust.
Still, for whoever shall be and for whatever shall be done, it is in front of the same throne they bow with bloody knees and proud chins. stanza break

They like it here, the scent of blood in the vampires breath,
the swirling confusion of stir-fried brains
and the cup of coffee mixed with a pinch of creamy morality.
Yet, not for a second should we think this is hell—
for it something quite different all together you see—
the barren desert, no! It is the white packed summit, no!
It is the great crevice between nothingness and love
in which the good have slipped and struggled in every age
to reach the razor’s edge. period
Yes, that’s what it is!

[Ron Wallace (Scotshawk)]

Leo, this is graced with your always interesting voice. I can see the stanza breaks, but for me the work works well undivided too. I wondered about "pinned stripped capitalists" was it intended as a play on pin-striped? Regardless, it's very interesting and well paced. Long time, no hear from you, Bud. Ron

[Marion Poirier]

Much improved, Poet, though you do take a great deal
of poetic license - you must have given your English
teacher fits.

M

[mfwilkie]

Leo,

The way you have it now, you go from people to place to people.
What about switching the first two stanzas.

I think it flows much better.

Maggie



Purgatory

Where for four dollars a day
we are all given keys to the bronze gate,
then surprised to learn it will never rust
just slowly tarnish as warlords and demagogues
rule dry mountain sides, towers of massive glass, and rotting, wretched alleys.

It is cold in the depths of this nether land,
where men no taller than toad stools
with the breath of a Slavic count pronounce English vulgarity,
tickle the fancy of nymphs who are neither taught
nor led beyond the mud huts of lepers and misfits.

So different they looked in another life—
perhaps painted warriors, perhaps pin-stripped capitalists,
perhaps homeless heathens on heroin or angel dust.

[Jo Lynn Ehnes]

Awesome read.

[antman]

I haven't read you in a while my friend, methinks it's your
title that drew me in. The surreal imagery is captivating and
I really enjoyed the coda and find it very appropo, even if it's a
very thin slice : )

peace,
antman