When even hell has closed its doors
we’re waiting by the river shore
empty purses, swaying, waiting.
saying: we cannot pay the ferryman.
And every night the river suicides
will bring us back again.
Drying our wings at dawn.
The boys of town are hiding,
behind the sewer main,
dream between our legs,
They’re growing to be men,
with miner’s callous hands
soon to soil our wings.
Van Gogh – Das Bordell
Grace wants us to write poetry inspired by James Wright at Toads. This one is written in response to the poem named “In response to a Rumor that the oldest whorehouse in Wheeling, West Virginia has been condemned.” I have borrowed some sentiments and tried to talk the voice of the prostitutes. I will will also link this to Poetry Pantry.
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December 13, 2014
Björn Rudbergs writings 
It definitely is a grim, grim day when both hell and the whorehouse have closed their doors.
Maybe they are the same thing… ?
I specially struck by: Not being able to pay the ferryman, and those men soiling the wings ~ The voice of the prostitute comes clearly, fraught with grim reality as the cycle is unending ~
Thanks for linking up with Real Toads Bjorn ~ Happy weekend ~
Haunting – truly powerful imagery. You brought this to life so well, Bjorn.
Phrased forceful.
I love how you connecting inspiration with grounding….nice
The drying of and soiling of the wings is so effective.
You have given a voice to women who often have none, and have hardly ever had one. Very powerful!
doomsday…………
Bjorn – you write as though you are a classic poet reborn!
We cannot pay the ferryman- that line hit me hard.
Beautiful in its gritty honesty.
Wow I felt the smack of these words like the smack of these women finally given voice…very powerful!
I may be wrong, but I think you have taken us into the very depths of hell…
A Tiny Whirlwind
I think that this was exactly what I felt when I read the inspirational poem
Bjorn, This tragically speaks for the prostitutes bound to slavery. The hopelessness they feel. — Suzanne
such a delicate topic but you have conveyed it very well. was being in a whorehouse, a choice or not? question for both the men and the girls.
the image of drying our wings is very poignant. but at the same time it screams hope.
I didn’t think of prostitutes until I read your comment, Bjorn, but then the poem seemed less surreal and more of a gritty realism that could be a painting of Cannery Row as well as the dock to the underworld.
Good work! This was marvelous!
i can hear the cold water smack the pylons of the pier and the lights are dim while she awaits the slithering boys to pay for her next meal
well done mi amigo
The world has dark places ..”dream between our legs” and soiling wings…a sad reality for many…
Much enjoyed.
Sounds like the men and the prostitutes are stuck in a never ending cycle of “that’s just the way it is”. Excellent writing, Bjorn!! Always a pleasure to visit your space here 🙂
Despair resonates , a well crafted one
Much love…
Excellently executed Bjorn. There is despair in every river, licking against the sides of life. Sometimes the comfort is in drowning.
Anna :o]
What a grim view to show us.
Excellent title and a really well-worked poem.
Often truth is gritty. You brought truth, grit and compassion to this topic.
Really good work in this poem.
Truth often has a dark side….great write
This made me recall T. S. Eliot. A powerful and thought-provoking piece.
fascinating piece and an interesting take on the prompt.
a dep and fearful sadness… powerful writing!
Haunting and mesmerizing. The “crack” of rhyme/near rhyme throughout (doors-shore, sway-waiting-saying, again-main, hiding-behind . . .) is masterful and, for me (even though it is, indeed, free verse) imparts a dirge like incantation to the piece.
Powerful and sad.
Excellent, Bjorn. I think you convey their circumstances quite well.
Grim… Yet charming
This is gritty, Björn. You’ve got under the skin of those prostitutes and I didn’t have to read your explanation to understand what the poem was about. It brought Dylan Thomas to mind.