Bridge Over Poems - Poems about Bridge Over

Through fog, on the London Bridge, I saw an image so forlorn - upon a pike, a traitor's head. The span it would adorn. While I understand the appeal of a well-weathered head, wouldn't Christmas lights have been a better choice instead?...

Continue reading...

Over by the bridge watch them link Swans congregating before flight Curtains of dusk drape at the brink Over by the bridge The ebon sky soon out of sight as the red sun begins to sink the chill of autumn fills the night Gliding force, unabashed blinks huddled they aim for evening light as they swim...

Continue reading...

Bridge Street Bridge Scores Sounds Lift, Voices .... Rise! Bridge Street Bridge ...

Continue reading...

after “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”, by Robert Frost This bridge meant something in some war, some yarn of man and God and law: but I think more of her and me: what were those others fighting for? There’s so much here to feel and see, and yet it’s rubbernecker-free! I love to watch the fishes jump: they sense the serendipity! Lads...

Continue reading...

Any pet owner knows… Our furry friends are as much a part of the family as anyone. ...

Continue reading...

I’ve never been kissed on the dance floor. With him, I feel light-hearted, but apart, I’m utterly devastated. I’m a dreamer, he’s laid-back, and without a genuine connection, our love feels like scenes from a disconnected game— where hate destroys, yet love seeks to heal. But with each...

Continue reading...

Mary Fletcher was prime minister in olde England, like fondest memory, Of days when the twilight stood still, with silver moon, floating on sea. Mary Fletcher was capable and caring, to the country's great benefit; Like spring rains of green benevolence, trailing the fragrant evidence. Andrew was Mary's loving husband. Their lives were so happy together! Like allurng, violet future,...

Continue reading...

Sydney my love, Sydney my city Splendour and majesty, nothing such pretty. Sydney my love, Sydney my city. First rays of the sun, spread here fun. Opera, Harbour Bridge, Blue Mountain. Pretty pretty places, plenty plenty beauty. Sydney my love, Sydney my city Clean clean beaches, green green trees, Pleasant weather, cool cool breeze. Kissing the shores, sea waives sporty. Sydney...

Continue reading...

For Brian Strand's Your Choice U Poetry Contest 5 June 2025 swing ...

Continue reading...

wooden b e stood still ...

Continue reading...

Don't know why I couldn't fly When I had the wings and all, Don't know why I didn't try Was I much too afraid to fall Teetering on the bridge that day Arms outstretched, toes to the edge, Then again, who would jump anyway From such a treacherous ledge Looking down from an incredible height My last breath caught in...

Continue reading...

All is burning, cinders and ash flakes float in black rain, falling on a ground of clinkers and flinders. The hand of ruin traces sigils of chaos and strife on broken city walls, within which rats awaken They are the true rulers of destruction, living cloaked with shadows, in any crevice or crack, hunting bones and burnt flesh. Their rivals, jet-black birds, massing on heights above in their murders and...

Continue reading...

I dream in tensors, sleep in curves, A fabric bent by mass that swerves— Space and time, a unified song, Where gravity has whispered long. A point—no width, no height, no breadth, A singularity spells time’s death. But in the depths, a passage hides, Through quantum seams, where dark divides. A wormhole yawns, its throat aglow, Two mouths that neither age nor know The clocks...

Continue reading...

the bridge seems the connection of this to that and the bridge not to be denied hides the appearances of this and that...

Continue reading...

Begin not with the battle cry, But with a question—soft, not sly: “What pain do you still carry near?” Then wait in grace, then choose to hear. The soil still holds our common thread, Though fields lie fallow, dreams lie dead. Yet seeds of peace may grow again, If tilled by hearts, not swords of men. No wall can keep the storm at...

Continue reading...