Best Bridges Poems
The greatest miracle in days of yore
unsurpassed, two millennia past or more
a carpenter by trade, Joseph by name
was betrothed to Mary, a virtuous dame
Joseph, proud of his virgin, unbesmirched
beamed when their banns were recited in church
Mary had a visitor who descended in light
when the angel spoke she cowered in fright
"Fear not, chosen one, there's a child in your belly,
You'll name Him Jesus, unless you fancy Kelly."
"How can you be sure? I've not been with a guy."
"Must I spell it out? His father is God most high."
When Mary told Joseph he was caught off-guard
to accept Mary's tale was decidedly hard
his intended, purportedly as pure as they come
was with child from another; a soon-to-be mum
An angel of God appeared in splendor:
"Joseph, to no mortal did Mary surrender."
now, Joseph was righteous, obedient to God
ahead of the wedding date they then tied the knot
his family, deprived of a wedding reception
snickered: "What's with Joseph? This is clearly deception."
The newlyweds were obviously broke
Joseph told Mary: "My wife, don your cloak
We can't afford to pay taxes to them
we'll go to my birthplace; it's called Bethlehem
off they set with Mary on a donkey
for days on end over the hills of Galilee
All the tax evaders had crowded Bethlehem
not an inn in the place could accommodate them
Joseph begged as well he was able
one innkeeper showed them a stable
in amongst animals, vermin and filth
Mary, the Virgin, to our Savior gave birth
she wrapped Him in cloth to protect Him from danger
laid Him gently to rest in a hay-lined manger
Humankind then and now reaps the advantages
that Jesus has come to mend falling bridges
Ah, the rustic charm of our old uncovered bridges
built in a century not quite on the verge of major industrialization -
back in a time when connections were vital
for fledgling communities just starting to survive and later, to thrive.
They spanned an entire era with a semblance
of simplicity and romance, providing shelter
in a world still moving slowly yet steadily toward progress.
It was not long before they’d be left behind.
Today we travel across vast expanses of bridges – uncovered ones
from which the world we view flies past us
through the windows of speeding automobiles
and virtually from screens of phones and computers.
No longer are we isolated from the world.
Today’s bridges span global communities
in a society where everyone on the planet is privy
to almost everything happening everywhere!
Today’s bridges, forged of steel, are longer and stronger.
We take them for granted, feeling secure in our convenient technologies
as we communicate and travel at faster rates
than ever dreamed possible two centuries ago.
Alas, once the last remnants of such things as
old-fashioned covered wooden bridges are obliterated,
they will be as ancient Egyptian artifacts viewed on Google
with less and less interest shown by each new generation, and
the yet unborn poets of tomorrow will one day write with nostalgia
of today’s uncovered bridges of steel.
Aug. 27, 2017 for the "Covered Bridges" Contest of Craig Cornish
out of fragile mists
framework emerges slowly
bridge from me to you
III
But, of course, I had no dizzying towers
To burn...only bridges; and they were torched
Years ago in the urgency of my direst hours;
Along with so many mighty battlements sacked,
Countless golden fields scorched...
Afterall -- it was the age of Bronze!
I should have well known that in the flight
Of birds, in each cold dawns pale grey light,
I would eventually come to see the unalterable
Fates of Wilusha's last Imperial Scions:-
Tottering precariously - on the brink -
A world in crisis! Then the elopement...
Did you not once stop to carefully think
It through? Giddied no doubt by bestowment
Of that accursed title; just as if it were the
Same giddying rush
You have experienced from the heady
Potency of a full bodied, Oaked Chardonnay.
The coy performance at being required to strip --
An inner excitement at your self's shamed
Nakedness! The obvious insincerity on display
When receiving an invite to dine at the gaudy
Little bistro; your hot skin noticeably flushed
With the delirium of wine; frequently
Pressed to partake of yet another glass;
There was, he casually said, much to be
Desired in a pleasurable rape. Her audible gasp...
As if, from that roadside window, she was
Suddenly staring out over the idyllic plains
Of mythical Arcadia;
His eloquent assurances artfully calculated
To lend themselves to a distressful behaviour.
Bridges burning
Hanging onto the fragile ridge
of your life, under a bridge.
Seeing this, cuts deep like a knife,
filling our hearts with such strife.
Our souls constantly in fear,
our eyes well up in tear.
Watching you fade away
makes us all want to pray
for inner strength,
a vision, at length,
to show you a future,
where you may mature
and leave behind
your world so unkind.
This world of drug abuse
a world that has no use
but to chase down a fix.
For some, to turn tricks.
All in all self-destruction.
No longer able to function
is all that will remain,
for you cannot refrain.
For me, it seems,
dead are your dreams
as you gather junk, to hoard,
sitting among it, being bored
waiting for someone to steel it
and then to have another fit
Over what you have lost.
This life, not worth the cost.
Light and hope on the horizon.
I see your spirit free of the prison.
B . J . “ A ” 2
July 21st 2016
Over streams
or above deep ravines,
they cling to the earth that supports them.
Having borne years of burdens, their bones are cracking;
the splintery skin of their once-strong arms now rots.
Threatened by footsteps - though few - they groan. . . .
for time is deserting
old bridges.
(Not in a contest,at least for now.)
I slept beneath bridges, I ate from the trash
I begged outside diners at night and in day
No home to go to, no belongings, no cash
And picked up the leavings that folk threw away
I baked in the heat, I froze in the cold
I weathered long winters and welcomed the spring
Wanting some comfort before I got old
Wanting some care so much more than some thing
Then one day while I lay outside a pub
The swells of the smells coming out strong
In want of a drink or a morsel of grub
Through swinging doors a man came along
My muzzle nuzzled the man and his bag
He ruffled my fur, my tail gave its first wag
I've heard them tell me
that life is a gift ,given
I've even heard them say
life is a journey
Chartered upon many mountains,
delighting to be traversed
What say you, damsel lady!
I know life to be bushy thorns
That every road I have travelled
has been dusty,
rocky with the sight of potholes
at every turn.
The dust greeting me,
long-lost companions
What say they, damsel lady!
I know life for what it is
A destination of endless walks
I know life never cared about me!
The sun peaked and it went
back to sleep
Never did the sun relieve me
on this journey
What say You, damsel lady!
The choice was never mine
Simply I was put on this path
and pointed forward
They told me what was north
and I was to learn south
and its opposing friends
They told me life was a journey,
but all I have known is pain.
Was pain the journey?
Were my worn-out shoes
the lesson I had to learn?
What say I, damsel lady!
I say, I have traversed
the bridges that are my life
What is journey?
Moving forward or
travelling backwards?
Must I even keep pacing
when day and night have no meaning to me.
What is walking if it invites the pain of pleasure
I say, damsel lady. I know life!
Life is no friend of mine.
This journey I have travelled,
I am still walking.
Where is the gift in that?
My patience is worn through
and my sandals are dust.
Even these tears desert me
for the better companionship of dust.
Loneliness is my only companion,
YES,
maybe that is LIFE!
They ask if I mend fences now,
or burn the bridges down;
as though a heart can always choose
which ruins to surround.
There was a time I'd shoulder beams
too heavy for one soul,
believing if I carried them,
love somehow would be whole.
I'd cross the bridge through wind and rain,
though every board would groan.
The planks grew smooth beneath my feet;
they learned my steps alone.
The railing knew my weathered hands,
the river knew my name.
Yet every trip I made across
returned me just the same.
I thought that love meant building back
what others let decay;
that if I gave a little more,
they'd somehow meet halfway.
Some fences lean from winter winds,
their cedar silvered thin.
Two willing hearts, with patient hands,
can set them straight again.
Those are the places worth the work,
where grace still finds a way;
where truth is spoken without fear,
and both hearts choose to stay.
But some old bridges never burned.
No match was ever thrown.
They slowly bowed with every step
that echoed there alone.
One day I stopped and turned to see
who walked the bridge with me.
I searched the weathered boards behind;
no footsteps came to be.
But silence held the other shore;
the river wandered free.
The bridge had learned my footsteps well...
none answered back but me.
So now I keep my willing hands
for hearts that labor too.
I'll mend the fences worth the work,
where love is built by two.
When moving up in the world
Ensure that you build bridges
Don’t burn them
Your actions might serve their sole purpose today
But someday you might need
Someone’s assistance that’s below you
Don’t let them forget your good of yesterday
Just for your success today
None of us can make it on our own
©144810042015
Bricks and mortar vs. feelings, and emotion,
Binding ties, suspensions cabling, connecting
Generational divides, blood stones legacy, uniting
Distant shores these are the bridges of emotional
Tides, a streams current flowing beneath our kindred
Souls.
Red cobble stone streets running downwards,
To a fine points country road, from the cradle,
Unto the grave marker, these venues of relevancy,
Merge the binding chains of reinforcement’s foundation.
Cohesion melting bolts secure, the rough edges of
Traditions uniqueness of variations design, is a shifting
Earthquake zone, yet in beauty the grand
Vision holds fast together with loves divine, and
Tender care.
Hands extended across the ages linking us,
Photo albums pictures of black and white faces,
Smiling, memories legends passed from the spoken
Words remembrances, we are the total sum
Of all these special linkages.
Inheritances stepping stones of brilliance shimmering
Beneath the light of the eternal sun, elemental children
Of oxygen, inhaling, exhaling the vaporous air of generations
Long scene past.
Bricks and mortar vs. feelings, and emotion,
Binding ties, suspensions cabling, connecting
Generational divides, blood stones legacy, uniting
Distant shores these are the bridges of emotional
Tides, a streams current flowing beneath our kindred
Souls.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
The camels' backs have broken,
All across the thirsty lands;
Their their drivers rail, then bribe, then plead
With the beasts of burden
Too long taken for granted,
But they will not be moved now,
Though water lies far away;
They have it in their humps, in the animal patience
On their backs.
Not so the drivers,
Who fooled their days away at the oases.
So now they gasp
Since the desert ships have grounded themselves,
As the ships of state slip beneath the sands.
The camels rest without comment,
Yet still, they sometimes spit.
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.
BRIDGES OF SARAJEVO
So stirs the heart of man, the great delight,
to raise a banner high, the march of fate;
to lead the way, where only dark of night,
might find a way to quench the thirst for hate;
and lessor men will follow any call,
of self appointed leaders of the day,
the good, the bad, the dead, but butchers all,
some crowned in light, the others in decay!
To follow is the way, if wrong or right,
determined by the ones who stand at last,
we hold this judgement as if heaven might
just comprehend the end that binds us fast.
Our bridges to be crossed, are Hate and Death
Protected by our foul and Balkan breath.
© Ron Arbuthnot aka Ron Wilson
The tongue is a fire, it can inspire,
or burn, everything.
The words we say, have so much power,
to build up, or devour, everything.
How much better to think first,
not expecting the worst,
from everyone.
So much happier you will be,
having friends and family,
living as one.
Don't live life without thought,
fixing mistakes from thoughtless talk.
Everything we do and say,
has consequences.
Don't spend your life,
burning bridges,
mending fences.
John Derek Hamilton February 21, 2013 Revised October7,2015