Best Viaduct Poems
Beneath my bridge the troubled waters surged
with white caps brazen under dark gray skies
and baptized in the waters I was purged
as “scales of blindness” dropped from off my eyes.
Below me rushed the waters turbulent,
turgid and rolling as the foamy brine.
Tossed in times of losses' great bereavement
only faith was a bridge of its own kind.
Beneath my bridge the troubled waters raged
with mighty winds and current also strong.
Why fret and fight against the challenged stage.
I crossed the bridge with faith and l lived long.
Over troubled water is a path I know,
viaduct of faith one travels to and fro.
5/12/20
Categories:
viaduct, emotions, extended metaphor, life,
Form:
Sonnet
A bridge from colloquial to courtly
fare
A span where idealism and fantasy
pair
A railway to the existential realm;
celestial lair
A conduit through which rational
discourse can flare
Deep medium to: forage, inculcate,
and inform
Broad brush to paint rare beauty;
sculpt surrealistic form
Incisive scalpel to surgically alter
the societal norm
Delicate utensil to educate on
civility and decorum
A literary organ; a prosaic construct
A mechanism our syntax to
deconstruct
An analytical tool; an observational
viaduct
Introspective milieu to reduct;
extrovertive sphere to reconstruct
A semantical edifice that aspiring
wit, lofty orations implore
An experimental structure
gramatical anomalies to explore
A thematic repository in which
concrete ideas, abstract notions to
pour
A vernacular cathedral butressed by
an idiomatic core
Categories:
viaduct, on writing and words
Form:
Rhyme
In the midst of a wet night,
Discovered myself upon a viaduct.
Straggled or vagrant, uncertain.
Not petrified by the dark, rumbling sky,
Amazed to find the place familiar.
I perceived the faintest advancing steps,
On turning back, delighted with her presence.
The cold, shivering breeze,
Waved her black long hair.
I insisted not to blink.
She ambled,
At my fore now, only whispered.
I apologize greatly, for concealment, for eons.
I was denied your presence: a shadow's grace.
Only welcoming death set my soul free.
Fate unveiled its script,
Offering me a last goodbye.
Imparting my truth before the noose claims me.
My world knows no dawn since....
Now gone, shine bright, bring me dawn once more.
Conveying my farewell,
I plunged into the water.
Bewildered-reincarnated.
Faced....
My damp eyes.
Categories:
viaduct, beauty, dark, death, extended
Form:
Romanticism
Freight train clattered by
over a tree lined viaduct ~
golden oriole sings .
Categories:
viaduct, travel,
Form:
Haiku
I’ve wrestled with devil in blue grass.
That college that picks pockets
and helps itself to damsels’ purses
fixed nooses just off seventy-five south,
over Clay-way Bailey.
The viaduct that divides two states
divides thieves from Potter Stewart’s Court House.
I refused to march the underground rail road;
a black man rules the white house.
The dean,
like Mathilda’s Trunchbull,
is as mean as salt on back of barn toad;
she lifted con from condescending.
I relished reflection of her
standing stiff like light pole,
frozen by the return from her calling the school “the company”
They were to give me what I pay for,
but madam flying high on stilettos
was too uppity to climb down and meet me.
Requests made were called controversies,
but to me it was freedom,
and I (pusher of this pen) was on battlefield
with Jamaican fire.
A competent crook cover ass with alibis,
and you should never be seen as obstacles …
If you are ***** and alone walk with caution,
but not so with me;
I should live Luther’s dream,
‘cause I own college road.
It was my journey.
I stood stout,
like Michael,
to cast the devil out.
With Obama fueling *******,
I wonder why Sam is blind
to the now white-collar crime?
I sure hope there are copycats up college road.
Categories:
viaduct, educationme,
Form:
Narrative
Beneath the River Somnium,
Abandoned Wishes hymn: quiet in the viaduct:
Reverse the Lodestone;
Reverse the First Sin;
Reverse the Autumn Hearse;
Reverse the Universe.
We are the murk men, intangible ends—inebriated together
With Beelzebub our friend. Absolvent now in burning skin, the Piper plays our rudder;
Garudas’ quietus ballroom-mance veils lioness earthbound shudders
Vindicating tincture.
Come speak as One or risk the Sun
Melting e’en your physical fixture.
Rainforests, peripheral phantoms
Meshing lanterns; coalescing unwound mummy-cloth sanctums.
Opium deserts,
Drear-dreaming desolates—we inhale brimstone, we imprison Nymph oxygen
Together Daedelus;
Einstein;
Victor Frankenstein.
Delirium waterfalls brew spirits despite ballets
Heating gloam flintlock
In Nem-kissed cabernets
Cascading pyre dunes endlessly:
Nine inward tales lost in Ambrosia unbelonging,
Scorching any falsely fairer,
Side-thrusting ineffective suffocation
With undead rapiers. Who dares desire to replace You
Shall receive Bubonic nebulas, past arbalest
Exhibiting thrones’ cobalt fire under Babylon’s command,
silent yet laughing always waiting for zero
hands cannot wait they tremble
we dissemble they commend grown avatars
youthful Avatars: hawks circling together,
Smiling, sardonically tired of this world
Trapped within thunder,
As gorgeous black does spool this secret:
Those of us who have strayed from The Path
Disintegrate into cinnamon
For common use. Therein, use the fallen well,
Persephone's stair of the past—
only in dreams Hades’ Wint has passed
hinterland skies embracing crescents’ fast
below our lone, draped behemoth ‘cross cities’ paradox
in the midst of a nightly, playful wink.
We daemons tacit vacant love insane.
Alucard, Alistaire, Allwein: Remove your Glove—dispatch that Vein.
Your pact with us has just begun,
Though fear us not, O Clem, who’s won?:
Escape's been reared by us—reality fears Your perennial face;
Your marrow trills—now Murkland strafes:
Quem di diligunt, adolescens moritur;
To siphon Your Color——A New Corridor.
Categories:
viaduct, dark, fantasy, surreal,
Form:
Prose Poetry
The hearts that do not beat
Quiet in the viaduct;
A steeled echo husked
Alchemic clones vastly entreat.
I slipped you a talking pill
As the loam, pulsing dust of cars
Filled up on dark shofars.
I slip on an unwritten will.
Eerie green bolts fill the firmament;
Arbor confusion hangs an effigy
Inviting the serial hinterlands decree
To dream green seals the parchment.
The serrated squid with a man's face
Opens its serpent eyes, preemptive;
Swamp spirits deliberate a redemptive
blue hesper corroding Man's one race.
I am Electricity—I laugh at thunder
Bellowing at my helm, unaware
That electricity is not all I share
With my unseen body: Heark Asunder.
Gryphons, gargoyles and cornsilk eyes
Trifecta on the organ: my song
Of deafness slides into deep wrong,
As a wish to eradicate all a wish denies.
Our hearts unlocked that haste to bleed
inky filth in the sleeping bag,
plush lips imparting terror gag
at pitch-lit bones' fireless greed.
Categories:
viaduct, horror, surreal,
Form:
Quatrain
Just Beyond
Boles of Cotton-Fields
Rosethorn ... Where A Few Folks
Stick Together - For Good, For Real
Rosethorn: Famous For Its First Family's
Annual Ball & Bar-B-Que Grills ...
But Where Most, Barely Make A Living
... Paying Over-Dues and Bills
Rosethorn ... Over The Viaduct-Tracks
As Trains' Warning-Whistles Shrill
& Distant Echoes of The Drummers of
Rosethorn High School Marching Drills
And Hear The Poignant, Clear Call
of Owls & Crickets & Whipporwills
Just Outside of Rosethorn's Many
Worn-Down, Yet Open Window-Sills ...
O' Throw A Kiss On The Wind
Wherever You Find - You Are ...
and I Will Catch It Quickly ...
Beneath The Biggest & Brightest Star
Rosethorn ... Where Your Hidden Waterfall
& Memories - Froth & Spill
Where There's Hunting Frozen-Footprints
Thru The Woods In Winter's Chill
Rosethorn ... Your Abandoned Drive-Inn Screen
Cast Fallen Shadows On Movie-Reels
- Is Now A Vacant & De-Valued Lot ...
Where Teens Had Parked For Thrills
Rosethorn ... Just Below Those Sloping
Far-Away, Hometown Hills
Just Past The Steel Yard's Welding
and Sawdust Lumbermill ...
Amid Rosethorn's Namesake Flowers
And Transported Blue Jonquils
and Ropes ... That Hanged A Man ...
That They Said Raped Women & Serial-Killed
Rosethorn ... Where The News Station
Is The Local Cafe & Bar
and Overated, Glowing Personals
and Reviews In Its 'Telegraph-Star'
Rosethorn ... Once Rised On Blossom-Way
A Place Where Dreams Could Rebuild
But Now, Its Just A Stem-Cell-Site
The Young - Cool Their Jets ... Until ...
Rosethorn ... Is The Last Resort
But First Route To Remember How It Feels
To Travel Thru A Space In Time ...
As A Prickly-Pose, Stands Still ...
O' Look Up To The Night Sky
Wherever You Find - You Are
and I Will Be Watching & Wishing
On That Same Big & Bright Star ...
As You Keep Rosethorn In Your Heart's Horizon
... and Rear-View Mirror of Your Car ...
and Dried Between The Pages of Your Mind
... Wherever You Find - You Are ...
Quilled & Copyrighted ©: 5/6/2014
by: MoonBee Canady
Categories:
viaduct, america, family, home, memory,
Form:
Ballad
The Missing Season
27/07/2020
Whiffs of summery air grow startlingly unfresh
Dying like a withering dream yet almost deathless
Ruffled by an impasse of a senescent, uncrossable viaduct
that goes beyond my knowingness, beyond my conception
Of an unknown poison instilled merely into my air
Blossomless springs, rainless winters and sunless summers
Yet the missing season is still an untold story of a tired self
Trying to winterize itself for the soon-to-be winters ahead…
All of the un/randomness -of wintry possibilities- maddens
She, all the same, awaits for thousands of summers instead
Away from the insufferable stuffiness that strangulates her
She willingly remains afar yet unwillingly she goes further
Not in the dark does she detachedly dwell, nor in a beacon
In a semi-dark room of her own, she scatters her thoughts
to get drowned into their boundless, unfathomable oceans
toward the innerness of thoughts she steps back and forth.
Dreamless nights very drearily resemble her dreamy nights
Those of the dying birds. On her own she fancies the Quail
That reminds her of the once brawny nest by the mountain
One season with an orphic symbol is still forever unfindable
And the pretermitted leaves remain rigid though shriveled
Unwilling to be vulnerably wept, they embrace summertime
A summer of their own from the figment of their imagination
Softly it drizzles upon their souls, and again they are revived.
Categories:
viaduct, change, confusion, destiny, seasons,
Form:
Free verse
Viaduct of the entire human race
Kept Always unmentioned for fear of shame
I determine Gender and phenotype
Even though so important, silenced name
Centuries of insults,torments, name blame
Ladies be proud of me and not Ashamed!
Categories:
viaduct, character, discrimination, extended metaphor,
Form:
Name
MR. SIBARBARA
Mr. Sibarbara was 30s fat really fat! A big, fat,
good natured Italian senior
He got fat stayed fat on 3-day-old pastry most
people bought at a way-downtown market
under the viaduct
He stayed fat on cheap hamburger sauce over noodles
or navy beans and 3-day-old bread
Mrs. Sibarbara always had a huge pot of navy beans
brewing on the stove
Oh, yes! flatulence flat was their apartment one of
those, afterthought, cubicles on the main floor
around the corner from the alley in this HUGE
apartment house – “The Tuxedo”
He had this old pea-green Ford he parked in our dirt
back yard under an apple tree - the tree actually
had an apple or two on it some years
Mr. Sibarbara liked me
I was a little-big-fat kid
That’s probably why he liked me because I was
little-big-fat
On Wednesdays we’d get into the old pea-green
Ford and journey way-downtown under the
viaduct next to the railroad tracks
‘Rainbow’ trucks were there unloading old bread
and old pastry
Oh, how old Sibarbara would smile and laugh, hold
his gut
“Let’s load up!” He’d puff
Then home
On the way we both filled up
I imagine his dinner was 3-day-old bread
and beans with 3-day-old pastry for desert
I’ll never forget his happy-to-be-alive, lip-smacking
smile and laugh
We moved when I was 12 years old
I wonder what ever happened to Mr. Sibarbara?
For sure he didn’t starve
But, oh, what veins he must have had!
Categories:
viaduct, lifeold, tree, old, smile,
Form:
Narrative
EXCEPTIONALLY EXEMPT
Her words were worthless
Her promises preempted
Her vows were not vehement
Until from her life I was exempted
I buried my soul within her hardened heart
I dug a grave for a most grave situation
She took my picture of the future and tore it apart
While I was fixated on falsified fascination
Emptiness has now replaced what she once filled
There is a hole in this man no one can see
The woman’s worthless words were by woe willed
And if judgment be hers pleasant it will not be
She was my bridge to beauty
But that viaduct was set afire
I saw pleasing her as my duty
Subservient to a born again liar
© 2012…copyright PHREEPOETREE.~free cee!~
Categories:
viaduct, angst, words, grave,
Form:
Quatrain
In the back of my head, in the garden shed,
I see him as clearly as fresh white paint:
A little boy sat on the creosote floor,
Dragged grazed knees hugged up to his chin,
So familiar, so resonant and never faint.
He shivers and weeps on the wooden ground,
Alone, almost silent, with hardly a sound,
In retreat from a world he cannot understand
That Is ruled and defined by a callused hand.
It's his seventh birthday and a slowing flood
Of mucus and blood flows from swollen lips,
A tooth bares a nerve and a jagged chip,
But the pain means no more than dandelion clocks
Or cuckoo spit; the act alone the gestalt of it.
Some days he would walk for miles,
To see beyond the next hill, around the bend,
Kicking slowly along, his shadow twice his size,
Dwarfing him, tracking him, a passive friend.
Perhaps to find some haven, someone to
Take him in, rescue his heart, and want him;
But strangers, though kindly, approached
With the dusk and it always ended the same way:
"Where do you live?" they would say
And thoroughly drilled, he would quietly reply,
In emotion drained monotone,
His address and number of the telephone,
And they always took him back home.
Some days he would walk for miles,
To sit on the edge of the viaduct,
Perched perilously with nothing to lose,
Dangling feet in small scuffed shoes,
Dropping pebbles and stones to the
Rocks and undergrowth far, far below,
Imagining if he may fall in their stead,
What then would be left to know?
The fall down the stairs snapped his ankle
Like a spindly twig, fractured some ribs,
Dislocated his jaw.
The children's ward, antiseptic and bright,
Young nurses in uniform, starched and white
Were so kind to him, he almost cried, bringing concern
And orange squash and a paper straw.
Sometimes it’s like this when things go wrong,
A scapegoat is needed to blame things on.
People thought him shy, with head bowed low,
Lost in comics and books, lost in himself,
Denying the threat of another blow.
He was not shy, just hiding and biding,
Keeping his head down and trying not to show.
Life is a scoundrel, and time a cohort thief,
Stealing a childhood with no reprieve,
Leaving only the slow burning sense of relief,
That an unpleasant childhood seemed mercifully brief.
Categories:
viaduct, father, life, loss, mother,
Form:
Blank verse
...I was working construction jobs,
there was a big job for the trains,
to replace an old viaduct
that shook in the wind and the rain.
The government gave money and
put strings on it, that’s what they do,
wanted to ensure diversity
in the engineers and the crew.
They especially wanted women,
to boost their numbers up in STEM,
problem was when we went looking
we had much trouble finding them.
The best ones were hired already,
and not many women remained,
but they scraped together a team,
only one had worked on a train.
for two years there was much planning.
I heard rumblings from above,
consultants said things were amiss,
the design was not strong enough.
Even rumors design reviews
were ignored to not seem sexist,
but most figured it sour grapes,
there’s no way the state would do this.
We built the bridge that they designed,
laid tracks so the trains could fly by,
there was a ceremony when
it opened with a great train ride.
And for four months things seemed allright,
trains went by without a mistake,
until a strut snapped in high wind,
causing a central truss to break
just as a commuter train came,
it fell to the valley below,
investigators went out there,
the reason they wanted to know.
They found bolts that were much too short,
and metal that was much too thin,
foundations not set deep enough
to resist much in gusting wing.
And then began the whole scandal,
when leaks from the state did reveal
reviews rushed through, oversight lax,
they knew there were flaws in the steel.
But politics are politics
when it comes to choosing who works,
sure, ninety-seven people died,
but at least their deaths were diverse.
Categories:
viaduct, discrimination, how i feel,
Form:
Rhyme
I built a large arch of roses
So I could walk to you.
Scarlet visions in mass doses
Numbed my thorn - torn shoes.
The floral scent dripped firmament,
And lovers dreams of you;
But once I went to where we met,
You ran me through and through.
I lost my balance, down I fell,
From my rose viaduct.
But on the ground I found a match,
And considered it luck.
Burning bridges never felt so good.
Losing everything did me right.
Earning stitches felt like it should,
A stinging aftershock of insight.
Categories:
viaduct, allusion, beauty, love, romance,
Form:
Lyric