Bill Yates Poet Free verse

Notes About The Poem

THESE ARE MY RECENT POEMS.  MY FIRST BOOK OF POEMS WILL BE RELEASED SOON BY GOLDMINDS PUBLISHING.

http://www.goldmindspub.com/#!bill-yates/c10a6

Old Bridges Torn Down

They lie asleep
With no wheels ajar--
No turning of the sky
Awaits their doom.

Rusty is the color
Of the painted steel.
Long lost to beauty
But yet a certain charm

Reveals them to pleasure
Of the eye.
Born to support more than
Their own; lofty it seems

Above the roiling water.
Old bridge-wood knew
Rolls and rolls, uneven
Tires and spikes of steel.

Have you heard the rattling
Of the bridge through time
And times evolution being
More than clock?

Walk no more here
Where paths no longer cross,
And barefoot boys 
No longer fish with worms.

A certain flood came down
Muddy and swirling,
Logs afloat and rolling,
Bumping like friends.

Such dents appeared as to
Surprise the passerby
Who appraised the steel
And rubbed the wood.

The river was raging, raging.
Time was passing, passing,
Rolling with a certain humility
Toward uncertain breathing.

They plucked the planks
And cut the steel with fire.
They hauled away the years
And blotted out the span.

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M. L. Kiser March 24, 2015 at 9:38 AM Beautiful! Reminds me of an old wooden bridge near where my Dad grew up. He would take us visiting on Sundays and we'd always cross that bridge, with the planks banging as the the tires rolled across them. Dad used to take me fishing beneath that same bridge. There's something about those old bridges that I miss. Bill Yates March 24, 2015 at 9:41 AM Thanks. I never met a bridge I didn't like, especially the old ones.