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There’s I place I go to
When you cross my mind
It’s almost as if your still there
By my side
Whispering in my ear
Caressing my palm

We called it the bridge to nowhere

I remember meeting you there
Sitting near the end
Staring out towards the water
You approaching me

I remember looking up
At your perfect tanned face
Your messy dark hair
Your mesmerizing gold eyes
Casually wearing your football jersey.

I remember your simple hello
Your nervous chuckle
Your silly smile.

I remember smiling back
And inviting you to sit.

Our first meeting on the bridge to nowhere

I remember sneaking out after dark
To meet you there
Just to lay on the bare wooden boards
Staring at the moon

I remember the smell of flowers that spring
branches blooming nearby
The smell of smoke and spices
Forever embedded in your clothes.

I remember your singing
Sweet nothings
in Spanish
Softly in my ear

Entwined together on the bridge to nowhere

I remember your high school graduation
Your mother so proud
Your sister excited
Your father crying

I remember your first game in college
Your running onto the field
Pride and joy in your eyes
Though you didn’t play
Because of that sprained wrist

I remember your sweaty embrace
And your ramblings
of the game
Reviewing every play
Your eyes shimmering with excitement

Racing to the bridge to nowhere

I remember that call
Which changed my life
My heart stopped
I couldn’t think

I remember rushing
to the hospital
Crying with your little sister
Collapsed on the floor

I remember your bloodied face
Wrapped in linen
Tubes bursting from your chest

I wanted to race to the bridge to nowhere

I remember spending my nights
Curled by your side
Willing you to stay

I remember that endless tone
That said you were gone

I cried at the bridge to nowhere

I remember curling up in your hoodie
Smelling you
Pretending it was you
Your arms surrounding me

I remember lying by the stone
That recalled your name
Talking to you
Burning letters by the small candle

I remember cleaning out your room
With your mother and sister
Finding that little box by your bed
Your final gift to me

I opened it at the bridge to nowhere

I still go there sometimes
With a letter filled
With promises to you
And a flame by which to send it.
Jeff Gaines Jun 2018
Hello everyone,

  I'm so very sorry … I feel horrible doing this, but I have no choice. You see, I have published my first book on Amazon/Kindle! This piece (and many others) had to be taken down because they do not allow published material to be available online for free. (Go figure) I wanted to leave the shell of the posts because I felt compelled to leave all your helpful and loving comments. (Silly sentimental, I know), but I also didn't want to just have the pieces disappear without an explanation. I feel bad enough as it is!

  I owe ALL of you so, SO much for all of your reads, love, and support. It was YOU that gave me the gumption to FINALLY get off my **** and publish! Thank you all for the warm comments, camaraderie, and encouragement! I will still be here, reading, uploading and just being the Rascal that I am. How could I EVER leave you guys?

  The book is called “The Way I See It – FictionPhilosophySoul Food” and it will be FREE for the first few days on Kindle Select, so watch for it, if you are interested. I hope that you go and grab it. If you do, I would also hope that you find it worthy, you would leave me a good review. That will help me get in the public eye! Soon afterwards (2-3 days or so), it will be available in paperback. I will be building my Author page tonight (12/21/2018) and my website finished first thing Monday!

Find the book(s) here:

Or find the book(s), and all about me, here:

  Soon after, I also hope to have my first novel (a supernatural thriller), called “Wanderer” available as well!

  Wish me luck!

                                Big, Biggest Love,

                                               Jeff Gaines
Nathan Wells May 2016
i feel the sun
and i'm slowly burning
but it feels good
so it's not concerning
no school
no learning
time is turning
joint burning
i wish i could live in the summer
where it's still warm when it gets dimmer
i wish i could live in the summer
where everythings tinged with a glimmer
i absolutely love summer, the sun puts me in such a good mood
Peter B Aug 2018
The bridge
between poor and rich

Many people died
and many is fighting
for life.
Cool monsoon breeze sway the trees
Cascading rills , meadows
The Valley and Scenic hills
Colour green rich in hue
Breathtaking the view

The rain pours and rushes down
On the windscreen and sunroof
A sweet melodic sound it makes
Like an Artist, paints in gentle slopes

Dark clouds in daytime , stark
Makes the Sun shiver in cold
The bridge ahead ,century old
Winding road  and steep slopes

Passing through the illuminated tunnels
Old melodies played on the radio
The journey ahead ,we steer
The ebullient nature brings cheer
Lonavala is a scenic hill  station on the
Mumbai- Pune Expressway .
17th August experience on the way to Mumbai .
It was beautiful, had to put in words :)
Tommy Randell Nov 2016
I live in a silence
Connected to everything by words.
And this little finger says
Come to me, come to me,
And your little finger says
Your hands are bridges when you talk.

But all the bridges I build
Go nowhere, arrive nowhere. They
Hang in the air
Like songs without lyrics,
They flutter like stone wings
Made by an artist who had never seen a bird.

I would like to believe some meanings
Will get away some day
Will get off this island
Will make it out of me at last.
I would like to know
Something I said found a life for once.

I look at you now
Watching me in mid doubt
Willing me to jump, maybe
Fly the gap, the short fall to you.
What can I say
It’s  scary trying to say something real.
CK Baker Jul 2018
through the streets and column cracks
culture weaves and summer smacks
sacred figures, holy shrine
monastery in grand design

cathedrals, convents, heaven’s stars
god of neptune, god of mars
doge’s palace, alley ways
gondolier on full display

winged lions on pastel breeze
cicada singing from the trees
pillar walk of saint mark's square
basilica in all its flare

crosses shade the carousel
a bridge of sigh that leads to ****
golden stairs on placid ridge
arches of rialto bridge

torcello! murano! grigio!
the countess rides the river poe!
sins of seven, fiery hides
poplars bank the levee side

black plague, attila the ***
eden formed before the sun
paradise above the marsh
high alter, gothic arch

middle age, religious wars
celestial fountains, marble floors
sculpted peacock, catholic faith
all is true the great god saith
Josh Nov 2017

Absorbing dust and Golden heat,
living more openly than I do,
he shimmies to Billie Holiday

The year is not 1957, though
he lives in a San Francisco fog
longing to play the piano

The time in not 11:57pm, though
he orders a ***** martini & swims
in the fishbowl bay

Escaping to Telegraph Hill
to drink moonlight jazz & vermouth
he pretends to live

Way back when

I haven't wrote a poem in 2 years!
M Solav Sep 2018
Please - hear my voice, your good old
Friend - is talking in to
You - let it ring inside of
You - let words echoe in
and Through.

Please - hear this prayer of a
Child - you once were, don’t let the
Tide - of this moment sweep
Aside - and the water'll flow out
and Through.

It’s not time to start over;
The bridge's almost done.
Can't you see from where you are;
That good ol' sun rising on the shore.

Please - the other side isn’t
Far - nothing else's ever
Achieved - carry yourself a little
Further - let your legs walk across
and Through.
Written in July, 2016 - for a friend going through hardship.
I built the bridge
From right to left
But it was crossed
Both ways to death
I should have known
That traffic flows
Whichever ways
Our feet can go
Yet most the flow
Is under
Benjamin Nov 2018
Two boys on
the bridge,

each, the other,

they gaze across
the bay—

they could be there
one day.
We will swim if we must.
Nassif Younes Apr 2016
Fall hard
Or breathe harder.
It's so easy
When you put it like that.
My bones,
Which were barely ever able to keep me standing
Will break like eggs -
Every one of them.

"Don't do it"
Interrupts a passing stranger
Who would just love to tell his friends
About how he saved someone's life today.
"It will hurt more than you think."
"Maybe" I reply,
"But I'm taking the pain down with me.

That's right, I'm talking to you" I say
To the cold, crushing tightness in my chest
That my teenage self was sure would be gone by now -
"How does it feel now?
Who's the one in control now?!"

And I really am,
For the first time,
In control.
I'm in control over all those kids at school
Who insisted they were only teasing.
They'll have to remember me now
Even after I've splattered their faces
All over the pavement;
Along with all those looks of dismissal
People would give me
Before returning to their conversations
About how much they admire difference.

"Don't do it."
Says another voice -
A cop this time -
"Let's talk." he says
In his negotiator's voice
"You don't want to do this.
Trust me,
He's a clever man, this one.
He knows no one on Earth
Would ever want their last conversation
To have been with a cop.

I have to concede.
"Alright then officer,
Take me home."
I'll beat him to it next time.
Tomorrow, the choice will still be to
Fall hard
Or breathe harder.
I just really need
To write all this down first.
Mystic Ink Plus Oct 2018
If your Philosophy
Just on reasons
Yet denies harmony

If it
Isn’t sensible
To adopt
Winning without fighting

If it
Does not bridges
You to me

My apology
I’m not interested in
Genre: Inspirational
Theme: In consciousness
tempest Jan 7
12:31 no one cares no one picks up the phone
        12:31 no one cares no one picks up the phone

1:33 no one cares no one picks up the phone
      1:34 no one cares no one picks up the phone
            1:35 no one cares no one picks up the phone
                   1:35 no one cares no one picks up the phone
                          1:36 no one cares no one picks up the phone
                                1:36 no one cares no one picks up the phone
It is hard to come back to something you once loved before. Poetry took up much of grey matter. That and much of all else I once loved was swallowed by that which plagues me and several others. Depression. I wrote this during a time when I was at the edge, literally and figuratively. Golden Gate Bridge, to be precise. I made phone calls to eight people, but no one picked up the phone, for various reasons (it was the middle of a school and work day), all of which are understandable. However, at that moment, I had never felt more alone and helpless. I turned that moment into a poem to encase that time in ink, never to be forgotten. There isn't much more I can say than "**** hits the fan and things get rough." I hope this year will be filled with fewer days of me crying and more days of me trying.
patty m Nov 2017
Sharp evening birds shadow the sun
setting across the water;
in dreams the ocean
comes to full river.
Many times we've climbed this bridge
weeds changing the color of the water,
stirring glints of conversation
the uplift in the veins
beating a flight to autumn.

I hear your string of broken bird call
raucous and wild
as years turn it to echo;
Startling paleness
a reverie of winter's chill
how boneless is bird flight.
the solace of wings.
Now there is only one
                                      where once there were two.  

          clipped wings
          the imprint of fossils
          the rain's guilty tones
          smearing the dirt

Planks wobble,
                            set as they are
                                                    haphazard­, uneven.

Now there's a blur of impressions,
                                  the nonsensical strings in a litany of sound
. . . reflecting on  you,
I walk this bridge alone, touching air no one else can see,
                 one step at a time,
                                           learning to be ME.
The difference between actions and habits,
     is often measured by the person you're asking.  
One bump, one line, one half ounce...
All shared by people you don't even give a **** about.

These chemicals make me sick --
              Limitless...Why quit?
              When it's only ten bucks for a hit like this?
Even Jesus Christ would have gotten addicted,
              if drugs in his day were half this good.

"Yeah, I'm smashed -- but I promise I can drive fine."
      Walk and push the limits of a real fine line...
If I don't **** myself, or someone else... I'm happy.
       Stare death in his eyes, wink, and start laughing.

Gasping as I swerve lanes --
Stay safe, get paid. Mundane daily.
Living a-live.. Eat. Sleep. Dream. Get laid.  
Chase feelings.

           Please, just feel me now.
                                    You know me, right?

           Please, just feel me now.
                                    You love me, right?

I want to melt with you -- let our souls collide...
Dissolve the boundaries between students and teachers.
        To bridge the gap in the great divide
        No secrets between us -- bleed into the speakers.

Feel the air in your chest, and ask God for a reason...
To stay or leave Him.
He makes excuses...

                                                     ­      ... Believe Him.
Onoma Jul 2018
listening to the clacking rounds

of traffic skipping beats...bridging

storms overhead.

watching her water below, break

a tide.

we're flowing together, she's never

the same--as i am not.

we both know when to leave each

other be, and when not.

a wind falls and spreads her many

faces today--and i keep mine as

straight as death.

we keep at our reasons, till we spit

them out.

she's unsheathing a shimmering

sword across the Manhatten/Bronx skyline...

and she's telling me it's a **** good fight.

i lower my head, and make intermittent

eye contact with a respect that bears the

brunt of being Mothered~

i spend more and more time at her feet...

because she courses no return.
Sobbingsoul Jan 29
Silence Is
The Bridge to the Soul
The Depths of Which Yield
The Jewell of the Self

Yet One is
Scared of  the Silence
The Feeling of
Loneliness it Brings

Not Realizing
That Silence is all
That is left
At the

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