My response to inferno by dante. where would you guys end up?

[bgre9184]

This path eclipsed from light and life i find

Relates to pages once viewed under a bind


My only option to dive into darkness

To be judged by those who think of me less

The choices of past life were none but mine

So brand me a tragedy and bury divine

March me to my endless despair

For I have lived a life of a debonair

[just mercedes]

You asked "where would you guys end up?". My response to Dante's Inferno - (this was published in Danse Macabre XLVIII and in my book After the Danse)

A poet’s hell




It’s Friday night, I’ve had a hit
I scored from some back alley beasts;
their stuff was bad, it’s blocked my fit

but I shot half it up at least
and started tripping ‘til I fell
before three nuns with poet priest

who said he’d lead me straight to hell
and save my life if I believed,
abandoning all hope as well.

I don’t know if I was relieved
to see the banners blank, the worms
were not for me. Then we deceived

the ferryman, and reached the firm
ground on the other side. The arc
of pagans there, in writhe and squirm

left us alone, and in the dark
around us lust arose in storm
so I relived that lusty spark

it made me gluttonous for more
until I struggled deep in mud
and mud rained down, and shit galore

in such a great prodigal flood
it turned to rocks; solidified
it made me angry, drawing blood

that swamped me in a river tide.
I struggled hard for refuge gates
the poet still was by my side

a ring of heretics, where fate
showed me myself in ugly guise -
this freaks me out, I start to hate

seeing myself without disguise
to hide behind. He leads me on
with roughness, under bloody skies.

I hit back, friendliness withdrawn -
I want to kill him, then myself
and curse the God who brought this dawn

I’d like to punch that cosmic elf
right on the chin and cheer his cries
and leave him bleeding on the shelf

of outgrown needs, then set up shop
right on the temple steps, and lend
solutions to the ones who stop

and charge them more than they can spend
to find the whores to feed their greed
to whip them ‘til they comprehend

we’re in this shit together, feet
on fire, hung above the bowl
head down like sheaves of drying wheat

whose dropping grains strange omens tell
to me, my head turned to my rear
until I buy my way out, howl

at pitch of fork, then aim to please
the very demons who attack.
I dance in circles, leaden feet

then steal a fork and bite them back.
It’s fitting I am now a snake
as Eden’s glory I attack

and spread the tale Eve’s on the take.
As tumors on me gape and close
I know it’s God who gave me Aids

while all the world around me froze.
We drop down through a giant well
onto a lake of ice and snow

where I betray my kin, and tell
my country to get lost, I’m beat
and all my guests can rot in hell

I make the poet kiss my feet
my ass as well. The triple head
gnawing on corpses has it sweet.

It seems he doesn’t want me yet.
I need another hit. I itch
and shiver, shaking, scratch, forget

all but the need. The faithless bitch
euphoria has left me here
on Sunday morning, in a ditch

sober and sore, with no one near
to hear these words;
The poet’s queer.

[bgre9184]

There are so many things I want to say about this poem, but I'm without words. Marvelous work. Yes I ask where people would end up if they should have to pass through hell. Inferno strikes me as a subliminal piece of art that, in the end, all will be judged for crimes/sins committed no matter how minor or major and will test the will of said person to reflect and recognize errors made of the past. Thank you for the reply and sharing your poem it will be added to the collection. Would you happen to have any pointers for my poem mentioned above?

[just mercedes]

Sure, post it in one of the poetry threads - novice or mild - or serious workshopping, if you're up to it.

[milo]

There are so many things I want to say about this poem, but I'm without words. Marvelous work. Yes I ask where people would end up if they should have to pass through hell. Inferno strikes me as a subliminal piece of art that, in the end, all will be judged for crimes/sins committed no matter how minor or major and will test the will of said person to reflect and recognize errors made of the past. Thank you for the reply and sharing your poem it will be added to the collection. Would you happen to have any pointers for my poem mentioned above?

A better way to get pointers would be to post in one of the forums for pointers. Of course to post in one of the critical forums you need to make five (5)(V) separate well thought out replies in the critical forums so I have moved this post to the newly registered forum for you.

[bgre9184]

Ok thanks for that. Should've mentioned this was my first time on here.