# Over the edge, four flights up



## Chris Green (Jul 21, 2017)

.

I opened the rusted iron gateway 
bound in chain and wire, to find a landing 
caked in muddied footprints, scattered about like roaches 
Magpie shadows course the rain soaked streets 
and puddle patterns reflect temptation as light flickers 
from second floor moan filled parlors, painted nails scratching 

Navigating the fog entrenched alley, garbage bins fallen 
create a maze of skinned shins and bloodied lips 
when I come to an arched opening, only hinges remain 
The staircase up is dark, creaking under my weight 
I count the holes collected in plaster walls yawning, 
prior frustrations showing no mercy 

The stench of tar and factory waste wallows, 
catching me stumbling through the opening to the roof, 
gasping in the ever thinning air 
Dark clouds retaliate for earlier lost days 
when stale bread pudding was a treat 
served to those of less fortunate standing 

What life is this to lead anyway, empty pockets 
and hand me down promises, watching shadows below 
taking chances and knocking up opportunities 
Red door, black door, be careful which you choose,
for one color leads to the lower city, 
the underground where opium flows like crazed sewage 

The other holds within sexual fantasies 
and red lipstick smudges,
but beware when jiggling those tarnished handles 
with your best foolish grin, 
the cost is what you can't afford to lose 

Swine roam the busy square freely,
splurging on last night’s tossed garbage, 
grunting approval in an off key symphony 
of stringless digestion, slobbering regurgitation 
beyond the blinded eyes of the others 
lost indefinitely within themselves 

Street lamps spit hot oil through fractured glass 
dripping onto the formal evening wear 
and diamond brooches worn by the elite, 
making their way to the opera house where marble steps 
are lined with evergreen topiaries 
losing needles to the addicts of the night 

A carriage passes, glazed eyes peer from lace curtains, 
hidden hands roam freely the velvet seats and occupants, 
as wooden wheels follow ruts in the worn cobblestone 
Smoke spews from stained brick chimneys and cracking mortar 
discoloring the moon and choking stars 
with a filth to be reckoned with 

I sit on this rooftop alone, looking down, 
scarred legs dangling over the edge four flights up,
wondering if anyone would care if I jumped 
When startled by a noise behind me, footsteps perhaps 
I turn to see the silhouette of a woman, flowing hair, 
hand extended, "I would," she whispers...


----------



## -xXx- (Jul 21, 2017)

indeed!
how much room is there on that ledge?
i have chips.
_*plunks down*_


----------



## Chris Green (Jul 21, 2017)

Plenty, I'll bring the salsa. O  Thanks for stopping by.


----------



## andrewclunn (Jul 21, 2017)

I could not help but notice the care put to symmetry here.  I'm going to do a few more read throughs later on for more detailed response, but the turn did not go unnoticed


----------



## Chris Green (Jul 21, 2017)

Thanks so much, I appreciate you stopping by today.


----------



## Sebald (Jul 21, 2017)

Very good. I'll be rereading this too. 'the cost is what you can't bear to lose' is like a punch to the guts.


----------



## sas (Jul 21, 2017)

I would look to make the preceding stanzas as concise as the last (except I would eliminate the word "beautiful"). I was wading through more words than needed. Great images. Great promise in this work. sas


----------



## Firemajic (Jul 21, 2017)

Short story... yeah, without stanzas, this absolutely would be a short story... so, edit, edit, edit... with poetry, less is more, emotion, mood, message and imagery distilled to a few precious lines...


----------



## Chris Green (Jul 21, 2017)

Sebald said:


> Very good. I'll be rereading this too. 'the cost is what you can't bear to lose' is like a punch to the guts.



Thank you so very much. I appreciate you stopping by.



sas said:


> I would look to make the preceding stanzas as concise as the last (except I would eliminate the word "beautiful"). I was wading through more words than needed. Great images. Great promise in this work. sas



Thanks so much for the suggestions, I made the easy edit and eliminated the word "beautiful" from the final stanza. That does make more sense.



Firemajic said:


> Short story... yeah, without stanzas, this absolutely would be a short story... so, edit, edit, edit... with poetry, less is more, emotion, mood, message and imagery distilled to a few precious lines...



Thanks so much, I will take your suggestions into consideration. I appreciate you taking the time to read and critique my work.


----------



## Firemajic (Jul 21, 2017)

Chris Green said:


> Thanks so much, I will take your suggestions into consideration. I appreciate you taking the time to read and critique my work.




Beautiful, strong imagery, gorgeous turn of phrase and word selection... welcome to the fabulous poetry thread, Chris


----------



## Darren White (Jul 22, 2017)

Love it Chris. I know, not much of a critique my friend, but I promise more later


----------



## Rick Keeble (Jul 22, 2017)

Chris, I just adore your work


----------



## -xXx- (Jul 22, 2017)

Chris Green said:


> .
> I opened the rusted iron gateway
> bound in chain and wire, to find a landing


_*checks loading code*
*shores a buttress*
*opens new bag of chips*
*crunches quietly*_


----------



## Darren White (Jul 22, 2017)

Chris,
I love about everything about this poem, the darkness, the imagery that is breathtaking, I have a favourite stanza here:



> A carriage passes, glazed eyes peer from lace curtains,
> hidden hands roam freely the velvet seats and occupants,
> as wooden wheels follow ruts in the worn cobblestone
> Smoke spews from stained brick chimneys and cracking mortar
> ...



The play with sound and words, alliteration and assonance, and the conjured up images here are....
awesome.

glazed lace
wooden wheels
smoke  spews 
discoloring moon choking

I can go on really.

Just love it my friend.


----------

