Poetry Forum

The doctor's voice fades, fades, I become more and more aware of the sound of water, the rhythm of water, a lapping, I open my eyes.

Blue sky, white clouds, puffs, trails, then the prow of a boat, the blue water. And across the water, something singing on the bank, an angel?! And beyond her, another, wandering with a man in the shade of trees, so many trees, all in full leaf, in fruit, and a peacock, feathers fanned, crooning, so beautiful! I must be forgiven, I have a place in Heaven! I weep. Thank you, God. Thank you.

I breathe, at last I can breathe again, no pain, no cancer, all gone and only the beauty, the forgiveness, the angels.

Suddenly a smell, a stench, meat, burning. I turn to the other bank and see… horrors! People, thrown into flames, screaming! Fields of mud, shit, people thrashing, sinking, wailing!

Please, God, not here! Please, forgive me!

This is your place. A voice, deep, gruff, above my head. I look up, a mass of man, feet, calves, thighs, genitals covered in blue and white, like the clouds, then stomach, chest, arms, shoulders, face, blue eyes, so cold. Charon.

Please, not to Hell! I wail. I beg, I cry, but he stands over me, the mass of man, the blue eyes, frozen.

The boat is turning, turning towards Hell, a gatehouse, people weeping, one man hanging over the top of it, trying to die again, and by the gatehouse, the three-headed dog, Cerberus, one head sleeping, one sniffing, one staring. Please, God, not here! Please, forgive me!

This is your place. Charon, relentless, steers us closer, closer, over the blue water, beneath the blue sky, his blue eyes frozen.

Macavity wrote: ↑

Sun Jan 16, 2022 5:27 pm

Scary nightmarish stuff Fliss. You make it feel real, which it was to believers of the period. Yet, this is the fever of a contemporary mind, perhaps visions induced by morphine (the mention of cancer made that thread for me).

Evening, MacPhil! Thanks for taking a look at this. Yes, pretty scary and nightmarish, lol. I'm glad it feels real; I was trying to channel the soul in the boat as actually experiencing the trip to Hell, but perhaps that hasn't worked. Morphine visions is certainly a reading; I know this because I've been on MST (the slow-acting tablets) since June 2020. Just a low dose, though

The doctor's voice fades, fades, I become more and more aware of the sound of water, the rhythm of water, a lapping, I open my eyes.

To me this was a disconnect with the hospital and sinking inwardly. The opening of the eyes was ironic in that sense, since this mind is locked inward looking. I presume the comma punctuation is there to reinforce the flowing inevitability of the sensations.

The idea with the opening eyes is that N has died and woken up in the boat. Yes, going for a rather informal comma style to try to make it stream-of-consciousness type thing.

Blue sky, white clouds, puffs, trails, then the prow of a boat, the blue water. And across the water, something singing on the bank, an angel?! And beyond her, another, wandering with a man in the shade of trees, so many trees, all in full leaf, in fruit, and a peacock, feathers fanned, crooning, so beautiful! I must be forgiven, I have a place in Heaven! I weep. Thank you, God. Thank you.

The consciousness flows from sky to boat to water to land...the focus coming to details...the feathered peacock. Here the mood is thankful and joyous.

It looks like this paragraph is working, so that's good!

I breathe, at last I can breathe again, no pain, no cancer, all gone and only the beauty, the forgiveness, the angels.

A sense of release, the escape from the prison of illness, though the mention of forgiveness made me wonder. What needs to be forgiven? Or was there a sense of being punished with illness?

Earlier drafts of this piece made it clear that N has committed crimes, hence being taken to Hell rather than Heaven. I haven't decided yet, but I think he might have passed away in prison, on a life sentence for murder.

Suddenly a smell, a stench, meat, burning. I turn to the other bank and see… horrors! People, thrown into flames, screaming! Fields of mud, shit, people thrashing, sinking, wailing!

Effective switch from sight to smell to sight...ethereal to 'realities'.

Hooray, the switchy-bit is working

Please, God, not here! Please, forgive me!

This put me in the mind of a believer. I see guilt/forgiveness very much a religious construct.

Yes, a believer. Perhaps he sought forgiveness while in prison? I might have to research this, to make sure it's historically accurate.

This is your place. A voice, deep, gruff, above my head. I look up, a mass of man, feet, calves, thighs, genitals covered in blue and white, like the clouds, then stomach, chest, arms, shoulders, face, blue eyes, so cold. Charon.

I wasn't sure about this description Fliss. Felt like a list. He seemed to have more substance in the picture for me than sky and clouds? There is a wildness about him. The indomitable element come through though.

Yes, it's a bit of a list, MacPhil. The blue and white refers to Charon's fashion accessory, whatever it is. Some sort of wrap? It's a bit precarious, I think. You wouldn't want to wear it to Tesco. He is wild, yes.

Please, not to Hell! I wail. I beg, I cry, but he stands over me, the mass of man, the blue eyes, frozen.

the mass of man is effective, though you have already mentioned this.

Oh, 'mass of man', again. I think I want N to sound slightly derailed, hence repetition.

The boat is turning, turning towards Hell, a gatehouse, people weeping, one man hanging over the top of it, trying to die again, and by the gatehouse, the three-headed dog, Cerberus, one head sleeping, one sniffing, one staring. Please, God, not here! Please, forgive me!

trying to die again...really gets into the desperation.

Yes, despair. I zoomed in to see what was going on there.

This is your place. Charon, relentless, steers us closer, closer, over the blue water, beneath the blue sky, his blue eyes frozen.

Like the repetitions of 'blue'. I do think you enter into the horror, convey that horror, and fix and blend the medieval mindset into the 'drugged state' (as I presumed).

Hope that helps some Fliss. I want to digest some more before further commenting. I've been summoned to meal prep!

Yes, blue blue blue. I'm glad it's sort of working, maybe? Do continue to digest; I hope the prep went well. I had chicken soup this evening


best

Phil

And beyond her, another, wandering with a man in the shade of trees, so many trees, all in full leaf, in fruit, and a peacock, feathers

Suddenly a smell, a stench, meat, burning

A voice, deep, gruff, above my head. I look up

I wasn't sure how to express that, unless it has to do with something like external versus internal forgiveness of sins. So a sinner might confess to a priest and receive forgiveness, but their soul remains unforgiven insofar as they can't forgive themselves. Perhaps that's a more contemporary reading, though?

I suppose I could submit both a poem and a piece of prose