I think of my ancestors building you,
Tying and placing tree-trunks, like girders, in queue;
They constructed you, then, with stones,
Twisted, turned, criss-crossed, hung, dangled in zones;
Road bridge, railway bridge, gate bridge, bay bridge,
You resembled longest and tallest mountain ridge;
Clapper, beam, truss, arch… you became suspension,
Cantilever, cable-stay, movable, floating, and high-tension;
How fond designs you are in, today, like miracles,
Magic of marvelous magicians waiting for oracles...
Travelling from place to place, and meeting people,
You build up relationships from valleys to hill steeple;
Though, through you, communication is continually created,
Has communion betwixt hearts clemently elated?
Connecting, interacting, do you construct relations?
Beyond hills and cliffs and national foundation…
Socialization, cultural extension, and environs easy,
You’re sometimes breezy and other sleazy and queasy...
Cognition, senses, sensation, and sensitivity,
Once broken impulsively, aren’t you in vainly pity...???
15 March 202
Categories:
cantilever, relationship,
Form: Free verse
Thorns about the snow
Cantilever tombstones
Gathered in a row
Broken bits of someone else’s deed
Weeds are overgrown
Thorns about the snow
Endless come the struggles as you bleed
Ravens are amassing
High above the trees
Searching for remaining shards of bone
Circling intruders
Cutting through the breeze
Waiting as your sins you now atone
Thicket mangled wings
Fractured fighting fear
Carving sad initials on your skin
Thunder clouds approach
Storms to gather near
Drenching darkened sorrows now begin
Iron barred protrusions
Block the jagged way
Keeping you from exiting this place
Fall upon your knees
This your ending day
Every thought of you to soon erase
Fade into the gravel
Claw this frozen earth
Quickly 'fore a morning sun does crest
Bid a found farewell
Far beyond your birth
Time has come to take your final rest
Categories:
cantilever, dark, death,
Form: Rhyme
A bold and burly bridge, beams of cantilever.
Pillars of concrete ridge, confluence of the river.
The callipers however quiver..
"Hey distant shores," shrieked the bridge with shiver.
"Shake your hands, you're so close, reach out to your neighbour.
The river wailed," Oh! my shores!, they are not near and dear.
I have seen them only shout, I don't think they can hear."
Across million drops of blood and tear, you're a bridge of terror and fear.
Compassion...? Can you bear?"
Religions race in different pace, the hatred, can you endure?
Riches allure the poor for sure, the economy, can you secure?
The crafty fringe of lunatics and nasty impinge of tricks...
The loose hinge of politics, the connect is a raft of Quick-Fix...."
Abuse with binge all over, "Hey !! Who will build the bridge?
The builders? they plunder and siege..
They breach their very own speech...
the other end never will reach...
Give us the bridge of faith and a river of peace to bathe.
With Love and Hope in every breath....
Help us cross the mainstream, the chasm of life and death.
Categories:
cantilever, abuse, endurance, faith, hope,
Form: Rhyme
If I forgot your name
I’m truly sorry
For my cantilever brain
That has not forgotten
Your body next to me
Categories:
cantilever, absence, anniversary, anxiety, appreciation,
Form: Free verse
Than this morning
Cantilever wishing wells
Long about the winding path
Clover is the foot print maker
Sunlight brings a hearty laugh
Skies will whisper if you listen
Music plays upon the field
Breezes blow the horns of springtime
Blooms about the mountain yield
Dragonflies will touch your senses
Wings align the ancient trees
Branches filled of moss that’s clinging
Birds and now the buzzing bees
Come let’s walk in rows of promise
Take me by the waiting hand
This may be a dream we’re having
Wandering this wonderland
Still if we would stand awakened
Leaving sheets and shoes behind
There’s no telling what will greet us
When we let our thoughts unwind
For you see there is an answer
As we stroll so aimlessly
There is nothing more enchanting
Than this morning, you and me
Good morning Soupers
Categories:
cantilever, good morning,
Form: Rhyme
I never studied the downed limbs before Sandy.
I was savoring the muscle burn from herringboning my way up a hill or fretting over a ping in my back, the price of macho competitions in the steel mill of my youth,
Where one didn’t just carry his own weight,
He showed up the next guy.
Is that what the preening hemlock was up to before relentless winds left it writhing at the feet of puny peers?
Before Sandy I took no inventory of the fallen.
But now, as I recover my breath and shiver, the sweat soaking my collar, I honor the once wiry, powerful maples, decaying in the cantilever of weaker kin.
The snowmobile trail, obstructed, forbidden after Sandy is open, welcoming,
but now bounded with once majestic limbs, brutally cut and lifeless.
Here at Herrington Manor, alone under a charcoal sky,
I think back to my day trip to Antietam, where I, never one to study battles and count their casualties, shuddered by the ditch where thousands were piled, the earth still soaked with their blood a week after battle.
Categories:
cantilever, mountains,
Form: Free verse
Hidden, perched on high,
The Peregrine Falcon echolocates the
bird-in-flight warning song.
Only when intercept is optimal, takes flight.
Soaring over 100mph, wings and claws
cantilever for precise capture.
There is no app I follow, only the rhythms
of nature my Father passed down to me-
"listen to the wind"
"harvest the gifts of the seasons"
Wild Tansyleaf Aster carpets this river bottom
forest. Stepping around deep imprints left by
a heavy Buck, the symphony of migrating
Warblers sweeps through my wooded wind.
Brambles I avoid, Deer Ticks I hope to discover!
and mud sink-holes I traverse; as I approach
the unmistakeable glint of the Giant Golden Morel!
04/18/15
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
cantilever, nature,
Form: Free verse
There is a vortex in every locomotive
that is at once inert and in moto perpetuo
Beneath that vortex lies a feeling, a veritable
epicenter of grief from which springs the only
real compliment to sentient life and to which
our species has attached the name of suffering.
Categories:
cantilever, angst, introspection, life
Form: Prose Poetry