Best Bridge Poems
i believe we all
have a poem in our hearts
some need no metaphors
for a poet is a bridge
between words and emotions
connecting hearts and souls
through all four seasons
my heart is not a guesthouse
it's an asylum for the broken
a treasure of memories
of those forgotten
so all the names
written within it
i place into a box
to shelter from storms
as long as there is oxygen
i'll keep them warm
but sometimes I am thunder
because they are like lightening
sometimes it's really frightening
so i curse my heart
for feeling too much
sometimes it curses me
for not forgiving enough
maybe that's why
when they move forward,
i take a step backwards
losing the gravity of my voice
because sometimes i feel frozen
isolated on an unknown island
profoundly pondering
about the equity of love
it's not always fair - if ever
all i ask from these strangers
is to leave their ego at the door
for dishonesty and hypocrisy
disturbs one's tranquillity
from silence of the womb
to darkness of the tomb
some pens remain dormant
some suffer from insomnia
life is not butterflies and lullabies
so i keep writing in the hope
one day someone will understand
continuing to release emotive ink
with a message in each poem
hidden behind metaphors
A Bridge Over Silent Waters
Never judge your fellow man
Before seeking your own reflection
Not the one that shines in a glass mirror
Seek it in the eyes of your fellow man
His eyes shall reflect your compassion or lack there of
When a pond has no ripples
Look for the lies, underneath
When you see the waves upon the water
Know that the winds are singing to you
Truth will always seek you out
Never close your heart to a strangers smile
His smile may bring you serenity or deception
Trust in your inner being to know
It shall open up towards the rainbows or seek refuge
To protect your soul
When you see a human suffering
Flea not inside your reflection
Instead reflect upon his suffering
Share the waters of your pond with him
This shall promise you both more rainfall
Notes
This was inspired by a poem written by Charmaine, she was kind enough to let me use a few of her lines in the first verse of this poem. Its amazing how when you read something it can open your mind to think of things you otherwise would not have. For some reason, maybe more because of his messages than his style I find myself thinking of Richards’s poetry as well. This for me is the beauty of the site, the inspiration one gets from fellow poets, it’s a great honor to have met so many, and to have shared so many ideas and views and opinions. More important than any poem is the laughter and smiles, this among friends is like giving away gold bars. (Although I do accept the occasional gold bar now and then)
In London fog, the river stills.
In silver sleep, it cools and fills
with cobalt mist as dawn unfolds;
above the Thames, the sun bleeds gold.
Into the haze, it pours and pools
like melting opal, liquid jewels
until the brume of morning fades
to prune the sky with unseen blades
that slice the flaming clouds in two
to frame a glimpse of Waterloo.
*Inspired by Monet's painting, "Waterloo Bridge: Sun in a Fog"
Into the timeless wood he fled, running from the night
While demons of his past gave chase beneath the pale moonlight
The man dressed in soiled rags, filth of his own making
Had spent a life unto himself, all others there forsaking.
But in the night, as shadows came, though nothing made a sound
A voice there in the dark he heard, though no one was around
Calling out to him by name, “Go… seek the blood stained bridge
Its ageless timber, dogwood made, up on yon high ridge.”
Somehow, he knew the voice he heard while running from the night
Was not from friend or foe without, but came from deep inside
So run he did through elder wood, to find the yon high ridge
The Voice there still was guiding him to reach the fabled bridge.
In agony, all power spent, found he the edge of night
His demons dogged him all the way and pressed him for a fight
The host advanced and pushed him back, back toward yon high ridge
But, when he turned to his dismay, he found no “saving” bridge.
He questioned if the voice he heard and trusted in the night
Was naught but wishful thinking; a last ditch hope-filled lie
In anguish and frustration there, he stood in fear and pain
And cursed his stubborn nature that kept him bound in shame.
Despairing for the life he’d lived, in fear of coming death
He fell there on the shifting sand and cried with his last breath
“I’m sorry for the things I’ve done and regret the life I’ve led”
He turned then to accept his fate, but there appeared the bridge instead.
The shadows all began to fade, his soul started to mend
As he took the first step ‘cross that bridge, the night came to an end
Waiting on the other side, the risen sun in brilliant light
The Voice within him beckoned, “Come,” then freed him from the night.
~Christopher Thor Britt
There is a bridge, it crosses over deserts
It cements oceans, binds the icy seas
Flies over fiery vulcans, sings melodious
Breathes over you a cooling welcome song
A bridge that binds where first was separation
Oblivious to race, beliefs, or sex.
Does not care for timidity, bravado
And all it sees is sheer humanity
This bridge is art, its splendor shines in silence
Its poetry is love, its words seduce
This bridges arms wrap tightly 'round who needs it
And on this bridge we feast in harmony
Let's fill a glass, cheers to fraternization
To poetry as art that builds this bridge
'Tween worlds and people, far away and near
To friendship, love, and friends so very dear.
***
Blank Verse Iambic Pentameter
8th place in contest: Blank Verse Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Janice Canerdi
when your heart is weak
not beating well.
Your tired and weariness overcomes
I will hold your hand,
whispering softly in your ears
I am here for you.
Time has come
your eyes saying goodbye
your heart no longer beats
I will hold your hand
saying farewell not goodbye
I was here for you.
I hold you close
in a last embrace
my heart is broken.
Time to let you go...I
kiss your lips and turn away.
Knowing,
I was here for you.
Penned 3 Oct 2017
Visions of a saint near
that bridge has a name.
The suicide frontier
the method's all the same.
a jump into crashing rocks
head first into oblivion.
Leave behind shoes and socks,
and aspire to be heavenly.
Waves wash away red splashes
before the blood can stain,
a church will have its masses
while many choose the rain.
A return to first opened eyes
Purgatory denounces peace to grave
to the suffering in which we wish to die,
back here all the grief & the shame.
A girl gleams in her ink dreams
sittin against barn wall sqeakin like a soul freakin,
voices from an unpopulated country
dancin and rockin on her soul's farmland stage,
lyrics and long hair wavin one day in "big city lights" ,
famous without frontin, rebellious without shoutin,
grafetti on those nails like she's writin forbidden Art,
gotta Bible in her back pocket and a tongue like a rocket,
climbin trees catchin river breeze
square stompin around daisies and dust,
magazines, studios, clamoured for contracts,
the sunrise came with pay checks,
jealousy raged from people rivited in righteousness,
tickets got ripped, a kid got gipped
but that peacock quill never left her hip -
J.A.B.
Tired timbers creak and groan;
lonely bones now brittle,
once proud and strong when
bearing the harvest weight.
The wagons and muscular engines
were no burden for my
young and supple limbs.
Spanning the Connecticut,
green to granite -
I miss the melody
of wheels and hooves;
the morning breaths
floating and settling among
my rafters - dripping
in the noon heat.
Carriages where whispers
echo between my latticed
trusses and clandestine truths
and lies were lost in the shadows
where tears of both joy
and pain are forever hidden.
Below, the river perpetually runs
like life and time,
always moving, never waiting,
and testing our will
to carry on...
The fence on which my feelings pause
Forever will be lost for cause
For should it stop my love to flow
Would pain me more than I could know
For fences keep out or keep in
To build one would be such a sin
And should one born to me exist
It’s time to let it be dismissed
A bridge, far better to be built
With no embarrassment or guilt
Where differences can meet to learn
That bridges are not meant to burn
Perhaps then I can follow through
On feelings that I have for you
Though you think differently than me
It’s not just difference that I see
"It is almost impossible to watch a sunset and not dream." – Bern Williams.
The spacious vales shimmered in crimson hues
The tired, reddish-orange sun tinged the sky,
As it yearned for rest and descend
Into the darkening horizon below.
There, the soothing river flowed, calm and serene.
No boats sailed the tranquil, gentle waters.
Some birds drifted on its current; others flew above.
Not far away, a dilapidated bridge crossed
From one side to the other, where a person
Stood still, eyes fixed on the cerise horizon.
Along the dark river bank, green trees
Seemed to sway slightly in the light night breeze.
A picture of calm portrayed the scene.
And so, I painted and dreamed.
Placed 1
hazy morn has broken
as silhouette of solitary boat
silently sails on Thames river
where a steam train just passed
on pallid emerald bridge
leaving a titanium smoke
that glazes the atmosphere
with a gentle kiss of mist
reflections of the sun rising
a blend of peach and tangerine
mirrored on the still water
spell a fleeting moment
of dappled sunlight
whilst the Charing cross bridge
is a relic of ephemeral link
connecting two people in love
9 May 2021
Reference: Charing Cross Bridge is a series of oil paintings by French artist Claude Monet. The paintings depict a misty, impressionist Charing Cross Bridge in London, England. Monet worked on the series from 1899 to 1905, creating a total of 37 paintings depicting the bridge. ( Photo and Info credits to Wikipedia)
All Yours(May 9)Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
1st place
To that one soul reading this…
whose problems seem abyss.
There is a bridge to better days,
where sunshine still exists.
To discover the way,
and a warm place to stay,
isn’t hard to recognize.
If you’re searching for clues,
that will help you get through,
they might be in disguise…
The mountains that you climb today
as storm clouds gather ‘round,
will soon fade into yesterday,
when all that’s lost is found.
The morning sun is not defined
by last night’s sunset, so
as for the trials of days gone by
they can simply be let go…
So dream sweet dreams
from dusk to dawn,
and your deeds will
stand applauded.
You’ll be smiling twenty
years from now…
as you walk a path
well plotted…
Cole Banner
Copyright ©2019
The moon so bold seems cold
with a halo of midnight glow
I sit mesmerized as the night grows old.
I bleed still, even after all these years
and I wait again through the night
aching in the depths of my soul
that no other seems to know
the Loneliness that has become my companion.
In the darkness we wait and confide in the other
our deepest fears as memories fade
in and out each season of change
the nostalgia tempers the wars of pain
this tempestuous foe of ours
wails at the gates of midnight
howling the warble of humanities last grace.
How the comfort of minds and hearts
turn from light to deep dark in the face
of eternities long time clock...
I ache with wanting, with need and passion
it is a lie that time heals and wounds scar
each night is fresh like the first
when I faced realities shock.
Who can wait with me?
Who can hold this hound at bay?
Who can cherish what little love left in me
and make the broken whole?
I ache to be loved again as the love that burns
and waits inside of me.
Who can comfort this emptiness and fill the void
that so many leavings have left?
Cherish and love to honor and protect
but who can slay these demons that hold my heart in wrath?
Who will walk the sulfur clouds of hell to save my mind
and deliver my world to the gates of heaven
with life, not death bridging the distance of pain?
I sit and wait at the floor of the moon each night
waiting for that bridge to carry me yonder,
this moon who hangs heavy and ripe with the yearning of my soul
with clouds aglow as if I could sweep them across a canvas
with the brush held in your hand
I rage at her as I wait, but still I wait and weep
as Loneliness and I keep each others company
wishing the clouds of that great moon could truly create
a way to find the lost, a pathway to home, lit by the legacy our love.
Internal rhyme
Imagery
Assonance
Alliteraton
Repetition
Synesthesia
The plains people such as Lakota, Crow and Ojibwa
Spread throughout the Native American world
Who believe that the sickness is borne out of
The individual’s being out of harmony in life.
Witchery, sorcery, wizardry ways they heal it
Out of the three they prefer the witchery way
Corn pollen is said to be pure and immaculate
Sprinkling with corn pollen helps to cure disharmony
In fact corn pollen so powerful and trusted
That people carry it simply for good luck.
Navajo shamans confirms it as the most powerful
It’s a healing bridge between humans and spirits
+++++++
Date:5-11-13
Dr. Ram Mehta
Sixth Place Win
Contest: Native American people by Shanity Rain