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Chicken 3d
Take it to the bridge
Where hearts may melt
Locked on together
Bound in metal smelt

Engraved for an eternity
Withstanding all weather
Bound two, three, or four as one
Always to be together

Take it to the bridge
When things don’t work out
When hearts become hurt
Malice screams and shouts

Hug, and kiss, and make it better
For better or for worse
We will always be together
Til our final verse

Take it to the bridge
When one of us is gone
Tears drop water to water
We’ll reunite, won’t be long

Water crashing unfurling
Travelling the Earth
A moving love never ceases
In either our death or in our birth.
Inspired by a little bridge full of love note padlocks. They are places where love is shared, sealed, and places where people go to remember, to cherish, to think about things.

They are lovely.

‘Take It To The Bridge’ is also...

.. reference to the middle of a song, but the phrase originally?:

"It is not musical in origin, to "Take it to the Bridge" was to take an issue or complaint to the Ships Captain.”
We all live by the impulse of our minds.
The visions we set pace.
The ambitions we nurture.
The whistle of our missions
And here lies above us,
A bridge we must connect

Oh!  Tradition........
An entity that dares; of what spell in our minds.
Crossing the bridge always seems impossible.
Yet,  our traditions,  mostly laughable.

Sound minds lost to anxiety
Love turns a new leaf of angst
Lives witness it call to death
And yet,  a bridge we must connect.

Must we live by the traditions that ruin lives.
Certainly, what I know of
Traditions are meant to serve the people
And not people as sacrifice
For the oath of our traditions.
What a bridge we must connect!
Live by good traditions and shun life taking traditions.
PM 6d
For the first time in 22 years
I get to move on my own terms.
I get to finally make a place my own.
Somewhere where I don't feel trapped,
trapped by those walls you build long ago.
In a room where I hid day and night
making it harder for us to connect.
So now I'm finally moving all on my own.
To be able to find a way to find myself.
To find who I am away from all of you
and with this space and time I am creating,
I hope to bring us all back together again.
Building the bridge that should have been built
A bridge that was forgotten and left unstarted.
And now we get to build what we once forgot.
estie wari Oct 8
i often wonder;
how lives the poor man.
i noticed him there
by the bridge.

his skin was burnt
by the coarse light of the day;
i gaped as he stood there
in a ragged attire.
i know im not to judge,
but he didnt look too decent.

now, he walked away with his dish.
a coin or two,
he'd receive
if the bountiful felt pity.

i often wonder,
how strives that poor man by the bridge.
Golda, do you remember the broken bridge of oak?
Lying o’er the river of the east; the broken bridge of oak
Golda, do you remember that Autumn sunset of red?
That sunset, I rested on that cold bed of ambers and red.
The sun was the brightest red of all light
The river kept flowing its gracious paths

From here, I saw your strands of red, fluttering with this zephyr; there
From here, I saw your nimble feet tapping grace, onto my heart; there
From here, I saw your vivid smile widening mine as this azure sky; there

As my cornet, that night, breathes the song of a thousand nights.
Your feet, that night, taps to my heart, a joy of a thousand sights.
As I dipped my feet onto this great river of the east,
I heard your feet lapping this great river of the east
As our feet were lapping this great river of the east.
I felt your fingers on my heart and… mine on yours.

This blue day, forty-five autumns and rains have come and gone by
From here, I see your strands of red, hidden in an ebony box; there
From here, I see your nimble feet, hidden in an ebony box; there
From here, I see your vivid smile, hidden in an ebony box; there
Golda, As you lay peacefully in that ebony box, alone, in that bed,
I shall lay like you lay, calm, on this hot stove of ambers and red
Till I meet you on the other side of our – broken bridge of oak.
This is another one of my works. I hope you enjoy this.
Ken Pepiton Sep 9
As we flow imagining we motivate
our selves to go on,
crack the whip,
try oomph-ala
like… take and read the little book, or swallow
what you're told…

for any mind a thinking thing is companion,
welcome the strange
little light leading on,
for minded beings do not live by bread, alone.

Inside, we see alone.
Outside, I see all one. Am I enlightened,

I ask my closest confidant.
Ah, I utter

as a sigh, slack jawed awe, a we is made
right now --
me and thee, dear, dear reading being thinking

do you mind?
Did I capitalize on your confusion to stick
a point into a bubble you believed?

How would you know?
Omphalos is the hub of any bubble of being,
center of gravity, if I may
make that assertion
as certain as
may be in these days of knowledge expansion.
May is you word, now. You know.}
A stitch. Point of purpose, needles need thread, thread needs fiber, fibers must be spun. the point of a needle is for piercing, the eye is for sewing edge to edge, with thread. Nothing is simple.
annh Sep 5
You ask of which I am most afeart, the rumbling tumblings of the troll beneath the bridge or the tinkering favours of an eccentric fairy godmother. Alas, it is the marzipan crumbs of inspiration leading me down the brambled garden path which most unsettle me; the ink that does not write; the unpainted page with not a gingerbread sight.
‘If you ever find yourself in the wrong story, leave.’
- Mo Willems, Goldilocks and the Three Dinosaurs.
The fronts of my sneakers hanging over the railing
I close my eyes and balance on my heels
My hair and jacket thrown back by the wind
As if pleading for me to step back down
The water crashes beneath me menacingly
I laugh Maniacally, my eyes snap open
I look into the depths of the churning river
An audience of birds wait in the electric tension of the moment
One of them dives from a branch tumbling towards the frothing bank
Following its lead, I dive
falling, flying, dying.

By Anon Butterfly
How it feels sometimes.
solEmn oaSis Aug 26
Katorse de Agosto
Ngayong kambal-taon
kaganapan di na wasto
para bang koraL sa taLon

Pinigilan kong huwag humawak ng pLuma
ngunit sadyang malapit sa akin ang tugma
na tila ba regalo Lulan sa loob nitong papel de hapon
Ako'y napasulat at tuluyang humugot sa mahiwagang kahon

A-kinse na pala, akin ngang namalayan
Alas-dos impunto nang relo aking tiningnan
Bagamat nga dahil sa ang hapag-sulatan ko ay kapos na
Hindi naman ito ang kataposan para sabihing ang tula ko ay tapos na...

Makandadohan man tayo sa pintoan ng kapalaran
At itrangka sa atin pati na ang bintana ng tadhana
MagiLiw pa rin akong bumabati sa bawat isa na makababasa
sa tulong nitong teknolohiya sa panahon ng pandemiya...

Kamusta na po ba kayo?
sa bagong normal na pamumuhay
Ikaw, ako, siLa... Lahat tayo !
Gawin pa rin nawang pormal itong ating buhay

Hindi man nga natin ngayon nakikita yaong kalaban...
Kinikita pa rin naman maituturing nating kaibigan !
" Siya ang Liwanag, ang tamang daan sa katotohanan at ang  B U H A Y  "
hanggang dito na lamang, hanggang sa muLi, nagmamahal... TULA~Y

© 08/15/20
solEmn oaSis
in times of pandemic
merely don't panic
for there is harmony
in every U N I T Y !
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