"footbridge" poems - Hello Poetry

Hovering Delicately Gently Floating above the earth Calming Cleansing A man In black suit With briefcase Walks Proudly through A bicycle A footbridge All in this moment Of beauty

0

Feb 7, 2015

Feb 7, 2015 at 11:26 AM UTC

commuter-poet

Mist

Hovering Delicately Gently Floating above the earth Calming Cleansing A man In black suit With briefcase Walks Proudly through A bicycle A footbridge All in this moment Of beauty

15

Planks, splintering in solidity Together twined in tedium Curving cords of mated metal Lost in ludicrous loops Twines of tetanus protrude Danger danger Rising flying roaring floating Above the stillborn trains Arching acrid aerial arms Lazy concrete spiral, neighbor snail Inverse slide with railings Rumble rumble try and grumble Jitter in jumpy juxtaposition Guts of grotesque giants Flayed flawed under flaming flight Blink away oblivion Orange and omnificent, opaque concern Useful hangnail, table scraps Rise above Shocked stillness soon stumbling Ornamental oasis for the oracles Unseen unheard untasted unsmelled Unfeeling unused to understanding Carry me across Fly me over Lift me beyond Suspend. Glimpse the unparalleled phenomenon Ribs of steel, rain has parted Seeping to the soul Buzzing through the boards Immobile, cradle in the wind Twist Take off your sunglasses Be sure to look around as you pass through

0

Oct 20, 2012

Oct 20, 2012 at 10:30 PM UTC

emily-grace-1

Footbridge over the Railroad Tracks

Planks, splintering in solidity Together twined in tedium Curving cords of mated metal Lost in ludicrous loops Twines of tetanus protrude Danger danger Rising flying roaring floating Above the stillborn trains Arching acrid aerial arms Lazy concrete spiral, neighbor snail Inverse slide with railings Rumble rumble try and grumble Jitter in jumpy juxtaposition Guts of grotesque giants Flayed flawed under flaming flight Blink away oblivion Orange and omnificent, opaque concern Useful hangnail, table scraps Rise above Shocked stillness soon stumbling Ornamental oasis for the oracles Unseen unheard untasted unsmelled Unfeeling unused to understanding Carry me across Fly me over Lift me beyond Suspend. Glimpse the unparalleled phenomenon Ribs of steel, rain has parted Seeping to the soul Buzzing through the boards Immobile, cradle in the wind Twist Take off your sunglasses Be sure to look around as you pass through

35

1. Potholes spots of sunshine wobble 2. Sudden downpour noisy trucks at midnight crowded footbridge 3. Sipping coffee at a wayside stall cockroaches too 4. The morning sun fondling with tender fingers the red roses 5. Chasing each other in the bylane two birds 6. A girl between the railway tracks swings her pony tail 7. Softness of wind magic in her nearness sleight of hand 8. End of festival: I stop by her haiku on twitter.com 9. A teenager glides past me on roller blades her long hair flows behind 10. A toddler trying to stand up by the pram— young mother watches --R.K. SINGH

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Sep 19, 2012

Sep 19, 2012 at 12:52 AM UTC

ram-krishna-singh-1

TEN HAIKU

1. Potholes spots of sunshine wobble 2. Sudden downpour noisy trucks at midnight crowded footbridge 3. Sipping coffee at a wayside stall cockroaches too 4. The morning sun fondling with tender fingers the red roses 5. Chasing each other in the bylane two birds 6. A girl between the railway tracks swings her pony tail 7. Softness of wind magic in her nearness sleight of hand 8. End of festival: I stop by her haiku on twitter.com 9. A teenager glides past me on roller blades her long hair flows behind 10. A toddler trying to stand up by the pram— young mother watches --R.K. SINGH

41

We waded knee deep in the puddles of vacant lots when the flood filled our gutters to the brim. When the rain died down and the water pulled itself from the streets we watched the rainbow of oil swirl around our ankles, walked the wooden footbridge that broke apart under the weight of our feet, the water-logged wood rot splitting while rusted nails slid out of place. We followed the streams back to the plaza, back to fake IDs and the ash-stained tobacco shop. We found ourselves under flickering lights, leaning against the rusted siding of the family market, faces hidden in a mask of smoke. We got lost in the electric hum of the laundromat's cyclic drone. They paved over it all -- covered freckled skin with cloth and hot tar, crushed vacant houses like hollow skulls, ignited neon lights and street lamps, strip malls and drugs stores that burn holes into old hiding places. They still try to sift through shattered glass, silence the hiss of the popped bike tire, wipe away the blood flower that blooms from my scabbed knee.

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Mar 24, 2011

Mar 24, 2011 at 10:29 AM UTC

GemHell

North Chili Plaza, Rochester, NY

We waded knee deep in the puddles of vacant lots when the flood filled our gutters to the brim. When the rain died down and the water pulled itself from the streets we watched the rainbow of oil swirl around our ankles, walked the wooden footbridge that broke apart under the weight of our feet, the water-logged wood rot splitting while rusted nails slid out of place. We followed the streams back to the plaza, back to fake IDs and the ash-stained tobacco shop. We found ourselves under flickering lights, leaning against the rusted siding of the family market, faces hidden in a mask of smoke. We got lost in the electric hum of the laundromat's cyclic drone. They paved over it all -- covered freckled skin with cloth and hot tar, crushed vacant houses like hollow skulls, ignited neon lights and street lamps, strip malls and drugs stores that burn holes into old hiding places. They still try to sift through shattered glass, silence the hiss of the popped bike tire, wipe away the blood flower that blooms from my scabbed knee.

28

I get an email from you January 10th also known as the day on which we were supposed to drive to PetSmart together to buy a fish. We were going to name the fish Wendy, we were going to buy Wendy a bowl with a small castle, a moat, even a footbridge; her lifestyle was going to fit so eloquently with the color of her scales. You sent an email to me January 10th. The email was empty space, like the air that sometimes curls itself between teeth and moons; your email against the screen; the screen glowing like some faraway whispered death prayer. I don’t remember what you wrote but I remember feeling like a forgotten alphabet; not once in your email did you use the word “adore.”

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Feb 3, 2014

Feb 3, 2014 at 6:04 PM UTC

loisa-f

Aquarium

I get an email from you January 10th also known as the day on which we were supposed to drive to PetSmart together to buy a fish. We were going to name the fish Wendy, we were going to buy Wendy a bowl with a small castle, a moat, even a footbridge; her lifestyle was going to fit so eloquently with the color of her scales. You sent an email to me January 10th. The email was empty space, like the air that sometimes curls itself between teeth and moons; your email against the screen; the screen glowing like some faraway whispered death prayer. I don’t remember what you wrote but I remember feeling like a forgotten alphabet; not once in your email did you use the word “adore.”

1

There's something special about a named train, the Mallard, the Royal Scot, more romantic than a mere number. Ours was the Red Rose, pride of LMS. The London-Liverpool express flahing North, four-thirty on the dot, a sight not to be missed, exciting street players of jacks and hopscotch. She thundered through the blue brick tunnel, erupted into the grass-lined cutting, swallowed our footbridge in smog and sulphur. The we loyal fans ran home to eat our spam.

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Feb 7, 2016

Feb 7, 2016 at 1:50 PM UTC

tony-luxton

Street Players

There's something special about a named train, the Mallard, the Royal Scot, more romantic than a mere number. Ours was the Red Rose, pride of LMS. The London-Liverpool express flahing North, four-thirty on the dot, a sight not to be missed, exciting street players of jacks and hopscotch. She thundered through the blue brick tunnel, erupted into the grass-lined cutting, swallowed our footbridge in smog and sulphur. The we loyal fans ran home to eat our spam.

12

All the roads, footpaths, and roughened trails of my beginnings Lead me to the map of your heart, that long buried treasure. I will trace words and phrases along the contours of your lips, And glide cautiously across the footbridge of your wanting. You will be stilled by the weight of my breath upon your brow, And you will know love at a pace that awakens you to your own preciousness.

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Feb 13, 2013

Feb 13, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC

BruisedOrange

Removing Roadblocks

All the roads, footpaths, and roughened trails of my beginnings Lead me to the map of your heart, that long buried treasure. I will trace words and phrases along the contours of your lips, And glide cautiously across the footbridge of your wanting. You will be stilled by the weight of my breath upon your brow, And you will know love at a pace that awakens you to your own preciousness.

6

The stains upon the bar tell of many sad tales of love, loss and tragic lives; and drink to drown out the wails. Another washed out soul seeks the solace of the glass, to wash away the memory of another broken pass. Another wheeler-dealer, another gambling god, another weary player bet his life upon the sod. The rings around his eyes mark the toll of tell tale signs, the vacant stare, unshaven chin, you read between the lines. Just one more shot to dull the sting of a life that’s breaking down, another drink to hide the lines of another washed out frown. He staggers out onto harsh lit streets, head gently spinning on unsteady feet. He knows that it's near, he can hear the call, just over the road and down past the mall. Shuffling along with an unsteady gait, cell phone ringing, who cares, it can wait. Eyes now blind behind stinging tears but it's not enough to allay his fears. And there it is in a hazy dream, a small footbridge over a lazy stream. He grips the rails with trembling hands, there’s no point telling her, she won't understand. Then just for a moment he catches a glimpse in the soft flowing waters and it makes him wince, for the wretch that he sees is not the man that he knows; there’s a stranger staring back from dark waters below. With a shuddering sigh and with tears streaming down, he's leaning over; feet leaving the ground. For a moment he's flying, so alive and so free, he’s no longer afraid, just a strange kind of glee. He doesn't feel the water as it closes overhead, he doesn't feel the chill for his soul has already fled. Written by Darren Scanlon, 25th November 2013. Revised 12th July 2015. © 2013 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.

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Jul 11, 2015

Jul 11, 2015 at 11:02 PM UTC

darren-scanlon

ONE LAST SHOT

The stains upon the bar tell of many sad tales of love, loss and tragic lives; and drink to drown out the wails. Another washed out soul seeks the solace of the glass, to wash away the memory of another broken pass. Another wheeler-dealer, another gambling god, another weary player bet his life upon the sod. The rings around his eyes mark the toll of tell tale signs, the vacant stare, unshaven chin, you read between the lines. Just one more shot to dull the sting of a life that’s breaking down, another drink to hide the lines of another washed out frown. He staggers out onto harsh lit streets, head gently spinning on unsteady feet. He knows that it's near, he can hear the call, just over the road and down past the mall. Shuffling along with an unsteady gait, cell phone ringing, who cares, it can wait. Eyes now blind behind stinging tears but it's not enough to allay his fears. And there it is in a hazy dream, a small footbridge over a lazy stream. He grips the rails with trembling hands, there’s no point telling her, she won't understand. Then just for a moment he catches a glimpse in the soft flowing waters and it makes him wince, for the wretch that he sees is not the man that he knows; there’s a stranger staring back from dark waters below. With a shuddering sigh and with tears streaming down, he's leaning over; feet leaving the ground. For a moment he's flying, so alive and so free, he’s no longer afraid, just a strange kind of glee. He doesn't feel the water as it closes overhead, he doesn't feel the chill for his soul has already fled. Written by Darren Scanlon, 25th November 2013. Revised 12th July 2015. © 2013 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.

67

*It was the kind of day to visit a fortune teller.* Your faint smile remains a mystery, because you preserve yourself more than anything. You prophesy at will and turn wheels. That is what you do best. Candle wax dare not scald you. Strings are woven long. The day I cut my hair was a cool summer, two weeks before my birthday. I left town never to come back. Your daughters laughed so hard at the money you threw their way they probably had spit coming out of their eyes. That was what they wanted. It was simple, clean. *The child is young, he won't know the difference*, convinced yourself thus, but young 'uns do. They know more than you ever let on, and they remember, not the glaring presents or permission to speak moments, it's the little things, the lilt in your voice the brush aside look, the pursed lips, the endless drone of the television and ipad volume turned up max. Allow me to demonstrate. The sky before and after a thunderstorm is the same shade, but the land changes, and the air that breathes in it. The slight rustle in the trees could mean anything. Indian spirits once danced around the flames summoning blessings and visions that may never come. Yet, in my dreams were two apples -- green and red, both eaten by worms. They grew voracious in my hands. I bathe in heated waters and scrub lavender and chamomile. The stew left in the pressure cooker was soft and fell apart, little droplets of oil cling to me, I am scented thus. On a footbridge, I see the once pristine ground muddied and stars replaced by fireworks. Couples hold hands and smile for any reason. Taxis come and go, foraging the next big opportunity. My flipflops are fine but my feet are freezing. I can order coffee with what I have left but don't.

0

Mar 16, 2016

Mar 16, 2016 at 12:43 PM UTC

m-g-hsieh

When tea leaves are not enough

*It was the kind of day to visit a fortune teller.* Your faint smile remains a mystery, because you preserve yourself more than anything. You prophesy at will and turn wheels. That is what you do best. Candle wax dare not scald you. Strings are woven long. The day I cut my hair was a cool summer, two weeks before my birthday. I left town never to come back. Your daughters laughed so hard at the money you threw their way they probably had spit coming out of their eyes. That was what they wanted. It was simple, clean. *The child is young, he won't know the difference*, convinced yourself thus, but young 'uns do. They know more than you ever let on, and they remember, not the glaring presents or permission to speak moments, it's the little things, the lilt in your voice the brush aside look, the pursed lips, the endless drone of the television and ipad volume turned up max. Allow me to demonstrate. The sky before and after a thunderstorm is the same shade, but the land changes, and the air that breathes in it. The slight rustle in the trees could mean anything. Indian spirits once danced around the flames summoning blessings and visions that may never come. Yet, in my dreams were two apples -- green and red, both eaten by worms. They grew voracious in my hands. I bathe in heated waters and scrub lavender and chamomile. The stew left in the pressure cooker was soft and fell apart, little droplets of oil cling to me, I am scented thus. On a footbridge, I see the once pristine ground muddied and stars replaced by fireworks. Couples hold hands and smile for any reason. Taxis come and go, foraging the next big opportunity. My flipflops are fine but my feet are freezing. I can order coffee with what I have left but don't.

55

* A bridge above the river fern, we wander hand in trusted hand As each has found this sense to yearn, illumined by a destined plan A chipmunk scurries through the brush to gather up the evening fare Time moves slow, no need to rush and us without a single care Before a cascade flowing free, a whispered mist beckons our eyes To dream of our eternity as witnessed by these summer skies A narrow way, a winding path, majestic trees stand far and near In thoughts we find the aftermath shows every ounce of love so clear Through rough terrain of rocky ways and valleys where the sun does shine Of all that nature now displays and countless words to call you mine We pause this wobbly footbridge rail, side by side to share the scene Knowing that we shall not fail to live in this our perfect dream*

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Jul 27, 2016

Jul 27, 2016 at 7:02 PM UTC

Stephank

Wobbly footbridge

* A bridge above the river fern, we wander hand in trusted hand As each has found this sense to yearn, illumined by a destined plan A chipmunk scurries through the brush to gather up the evening fare Time moves slow, no need to rush and us without a single care Before a cascade flowing free, a whispered mist beckons our eyes To dream of our eternity as witnessed by these summer skies A narrow way, a winding path, majestic trees stand far and near In thoughts we find the aftermath shows every ounce of love so clear Through rough terrain of rocky ways and valleys where the sun does shine Of all that nature now displays and countless words to call you mine We pause this wobbly footbridge rail, side by side to share the scene Knowing that we shall not fail to live in this our perfect dream*

25

We're literally verging on death and no one even bothered to properly orient us on what it would be like. There's the West Valley Fault, ready to strike a fatal blow that will make buildings crumble and set an entire city afire. There is always the Tokhang, a ruthless method that could practically annihilate and gun down anyone through gossips and word of mouth. There's the brewing tension between the North Korea and the US, the possibility of nuclear war and bioterrorism breathing at the back of our necks. Earlier today, a friend of mine witnessed an accident. A death, I hazard. Broken bones and crumpled body. A loud explosion, a worker coming face to face with electrocution. He fell from the roof of the footbridge, she said, near Session road. Mortality is easing up on us, she said. So before any of these befall on us -- any of these dooms -- as it inevitably will, I would like to ask you to go out with me. We'll go anywhere, anywhere at all. Everywhere, nowhere, wherever we want. We'll talk and dance and scream and exist all at once. We'll build bonfires and watch the stars and roll under the moon beams and in silence and anticipation, we will wait for the arrival of the morning light. We will savour the last sliver of our days and we will hope. We will carry the splinters of our bones and we will find our way out of all these harms, into sea mists and sunsets in indigos and golds. We will never cease hoping. We will go on living and with each breath we draw against everything that happened to us, each beauty we make out of our sorrow and uncertainties, we will mock this grey, grey world.

0

Apr 18, 2017

Apr 18, 2017 at 1:25 AM UTC

lacus-crystalthorn

Into sea mists and sunsets

We're literally verging on death and no one even bothered to properly orient us on what it would be like. There's the West Valley Fault, ready to strike a fatal blow that will make buildings crumble and set an entire city afire. There is always the Tokhang, a ruthless method that could practically annihilate and gun down anyone through gossips and word of mouth. There's the brewing tension between the North Korea and the US, the possibility of nuclear war and bioterrorism breathing at the back of our necks. Earlier today, a friend of mine witnessed an accident. A death, I hazard. Broken bones and crumpled body. A loud explosion, a worker coming face to face with electrocution. He fell from the roof of the footbridge, she said, near Session road. Mortality is easing up on us, she said. So before any of these befall on us -- any of these dooms -- as it inevitably will, I would like to ask you to go out with me. We'll go anywhere, anywhere at all. Everywhere, nowhere, wherever we want. We'll talk and dance and scream and exist all at once. We'll build bonfires and watch the stars and roll under the moon beams and in silence and anticipation, we will wait for the arrival of the morning light. We will savour the last sliver of our days and we will hope. We will carry the splinters of our bones and we will find our way out of all these harms, into sea mists and sunsets in indigos and golds. We will never cease hoping. We will go on living and with each breath we draw against everything that happened to us, each beauty we make out of our sorrow and uncertainties, we will mock this grey, grey world.

5

I'll meet you at the footbridge of my heart Beloved Sai Krishna Sleep has abandoned me Amrit is flowing my heart too full white moon comes in sweet waves Lotus blossoms open shyly Silver swans glide past peacocks robed in mermaid blue Chitta Chora We'll light puja lamps and set them afloat like a million twinkling stars on the Ganges

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Jun 10, 2018

Jun 10, 2018 at 9:28 AM UTC

sonya-ki-tomlinson

Red Bridge to Heaven

I'll meet you at the footbridge of my heart Beloved Sai Krishna Sleep has abandoned me Amrit is flowing my heart too full white moon comes in sweet waves Lotus blossoms open shyly Silver swans glide past peacocks robed in mermaid blue Chitta Chora We'll light puja lamps and set them afloat like a million twinkling stars on the Ganges

13

Standing at the footbridge I kept watch each night, My lantern raised high, with its brilliant light; I helped him pass safely, one side to the other, Only to see him fall into the arms of another Now my lantern is cold, no flame burning bright, No more do I search for those lost in the night; Next to the hearth, on pillows strewn o'er the floor, I sip wine with whomever finds their way to my door

0

Apr 5, 2017

Apr 5, 2017 at 2:50 PM UTC

lorrainecolon

Fortuity

Standing at the footbridge I kept watch each night, My lantern raised high, with its brilliant light; I helped him pass safely, one side to the other, Only to see him fall into the arms of another Now my lantern is cold, no flame burning bright, No more do I search for those lost in the night; Next to the hearth, on pillows strewn o'er the floor, I sip wine with whomever finds their way to my door

8

Wispy wintry snowflakes softly settle down on the hills-the houses-the valleys-of a little new england town I wish I was still there on the Footbridge like we were so many years ago Me and a lovely girl named Dorothy who lives-not too far from the place where the roses grow If I could but hold her in my arms just one more time My hopes-my dreams would all come true if she just once again was mine Tonight when she goes to bed as she pulls the curtain down My heart will be waiting outside her window there in that little New England town

0

Jan 23, 2017

Jan 23, 2017 at 10:21 PM UTC

darrell-hobert-duncan

A Little New England Town

Wispy wintry snowflakes softly settle down on the hills-the houses-the valleys-of a little new england town I wish I was still there on the Footbridge like we were so many years ago Me and a lovely girl named Dorothy who lives-not too far from the place where the roses grow If I could but hold her in my arms just one more time My hopes-my dreams would all come true if she just once again was mine Tonight when she goes to bed as she pulls the curtain down My heart will be waiting outside her window there in that little New England town

17

this footbridge leads to nowhere so it seems across the gulley just winter grass and cactus low mountain ridges and low clouds all in almost black and white between subdued and somber open shadows leading in straight lines some joys are not bright baubles a frozen moment a quiet image just breathe and sit and take it in

0

Dec 13, 2019

Dec 13, 2019 at 8:20 PM UTC

rick-clewett

Here

this footbridge leads to nowhere so it seems across the gulley just winter grass and cactus low mountain ridges and low clouds all in almost black and white between subdued and somber open shadows leading in straight lines some joys are not bright baubles a frozen moment a quiet image just breathe and sit and take it in

14

A famished black shadow Under the footbridge

0

Jun 22, 2019

Jun 22, 2019 at 8:17 AM UTC

jho0610

Hopeless Homeless

A famished black shadow Under the footbridge

2

its okay its okay and maybe the words i speak seem so appalling i can only look at you without blinking it feels weird now since im used to flanking you preventing excursions now i rush towards the center and take my cap off for security inspections you go the other way i punch the card ride the train clenched fists a faint hint of shaking its okay its okay i was seriously thinking of falling off of that footbridge reflections of buildings glaring but i continue to walk all the while scratching my arms; baseline for replicants im way off the mark there's a bit of sobbing near-tear ordeals god, its like im being crushed on an everyday basis i wish it could stop but its okay its okay im meant to be this way unhinged and mute

0

May 26, 2018

May 26, 2018 at 2:00 AM UTC

fifth

a tap on the head and a hug for goodbye

its okay its okay and maybe the words i speak seem so appalling i can only look at you without blinking it feels weird now since im used to flanking you preventing excursions now i rush towards the center and take my cap off for security inspections you go the other way i punch the card ride the train clenched fists a faint hint of shaking its okay its okay i was seriously thinking of falling off of that footbridge reflections of buildings glaring but i continue to walk all the while scratching my arms; baseline for replicants im way off the mark there's a bit of sobbing near-tear ordeals god, its like im being crushed on an everyday basis i wish it could stop but its okay its okay im meant to be this way unhinged and mute

36