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JR Rhine Mar 2016
Ascent

The narrow passage arched over the gaping river
like a gymnast vaulting backwards,
gracing the ground with open palms.

I began to climb--
beleaguered on both sides
by insecure concrete obstructions;
I diverted my attention to the ascending road ahead.

I continued to climb,
like a slowly chugging roller coaster,
meekly scaling up the track
with subdued anticipation.

I sunk into the road;
the sky merged with my pseudo-perpetual path, forming the offing--
where it seemed the road ran eternally into the heavens.
I saw blue reach into black in the late afternoon's
fading visage.

Summit

Gliding over the mountainous ****,
I stared over the horizon
where the sun was neatly tucked
under the trees--
silhouetted against the dusky sky,
looking like fingers reaching up into the void,
accumulating like earthly pillows to a heavenly face glowing brightly.

I watched a murky blue dip into a wet grass'd green,
then a traffic cone orange,
followed by the passionate (infra)red of two lovers' entwined,
climaxing in a jaundiced yellow--
tucked neatly like a layer of film
atop the silhouetted landscape.

Descent**

I wished I had
descended the adret
of my ascension's perceived perpetual offing,
rather than this gritty one--
to dip into the horizon,
where I would metamorphose
into a dazzling array of colors;

feeling myself slowly fade away
into the impending night sky.

Tucked away for another day,
sleeping under the stars,
in the fingertipped forests
now obliquely reaching into their absent luminescence
but relishing the cool night air--
silently waiting for light
to soon again
breach their gloomy shells.

[Enlightenment lingered within the visions of my ascension--
I danced with its transient spirit at the summit--
to be decimated as the car lurched downward into mortality.

I saw what could be as I moaned into the
fading afternoon's dipping colors.

Who knew the descent was the hardest part of humanity?]
Solomon's Island, Southern Maryland.
nobody Feb 2016
If you can be poor with someone, you are rich.
If your well is dry, you are the bridge.
If you can go with them with nothing, you are something.
If together you chase your true calling, you can stop running.

-Gloraeanna
My husband and I don't have much money anymore, but somehow it has made us closer. I guess our struggle is the same so we know eachothers pain. No matter what we don't have we will always have eachother. That's all that matters...anymore.
Alex Courrier Feb 2016
Drip, drip, drops the wax on the candlestick
As it sits upon the moss covered bridge
There to show the way to the other side
We seek its comfort, its warm embrace
The orange light shines in the dark of night
We stand there listening for the problems in the wind
But we stand back to back, always together
Never knowing the other is there
We just feel the comfort of the burning candle
As it pushes us through our lives
SassyJ Jan 2016
The universal path is a windy link
in reflections it bounces in dryness
the wood wounded with unknown
phases tainted with fists that hints

The bareness of the desert lays untold
roasted and unbroken in resistive dunes
torn and un-tuned in the rusty mirage
bareness reformed by the scorning sun

See those hungry eyes digging in hilled sands
the lost hope lusting for a love swayed to last
memories of the crux, the faded in between
the withering leaves burnt to grimy coal

The tidal waves erupts as pure bliss builds
such loneliness buried in ocean depths
kneeling at the mercies of the greenery
pending rejuvenation to harmonious trance

On the edge of the bridge toes tiptoeing
the cord unfurling in, over and within
waters paints in hues of silverly blue
a sacrifice to reign in the depths of the shore
Rick Warr Jan 2016
here I am
there you are
hope there to here
is not too far
Soulful connection can now be electronic! Exciting but ultimately no substitute for physical,
Rebecca Gismondi Nov 2015
I.
you never saw me in winter:
shearling fur and kettlebell boots
my outer crust cracking from one step outdoors.

I wear socks to bed
and smoke Belmonts to cover
my breath with toxins
instead of you.

II.
I never wear pants when I’m with you
mostly because I’m hoping to re-enact me walking
over the Millennium Bridge
in May.

if the wind pushed any further
up my skirts, it would force my lungs right out my throat.

my hotel room called for us
but you were on a plane to Norway
and I was in my head.

III.
the last time we had ***
you told me you’d finish me off first next time
but I’m always like your backup song for karaoke,
in case someone takes your first choice.

you never:

acknowledged that my rice was shaped like a heart
and yours like a star at dinner,

ask me what my tattoos mean,

but always ask me if I’m pregnant.

you’re a roll of film that needs be developed but
I keep smearing the edges with my fingers
and scanning the red light over myself.
Abhinay Renny Nov 2015
In between the bridge



Like a flash
crossed the childhood

Was brat
whom everyone adore

had a gang to hang on
nothing to nag on

In between the bridge
of childhood and adulthood

A new view
of the world

Got only few
to share and care

In between the bridge of
adaptation and habitation


I'm a loner
chosen to choose it
sometimes, I love it

I shut the world
to be in my world
dancing to the rhythm
enhancing the life

In between the bridge
of solitude and serenity

Crying to complete the incomplete
regret, is what I don't get it
Nothing at fullest
Not happy, not sad

In between the bridge
of fulfillment and contentment


I'm on a roller coaster ride
Rolling with problems
Riding the life

Crossing the bridges
to the distant destination
And in a blink, my perspective switched.
all we had,
all I thought we had
turned into a feeling of discomfort
and no longer love.

Your words were then stale
like the emotions you felt towards me.
I was simply a bridge
to get you to her,
your one true love.

Little did you know
I am the most unstable bridge
you could have ever walked across.

Little did you know
once I saw her perspective
I saw the real you
like she always has.

This bridge has been crumbling out from under your feet
so you better learn to carry yourself.
Tony Luxton Oct 2015
It's half past four and the Red Rose
is Doppler dashing across
bullying slow fourth class hikers bikers
who dare to share the bridge walkway.

Puffing pumping its steam sweat smoke
straining through the shielding lattice
smogging choking foot folk
who snort its sulphur scented smuts.
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