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  1. Banzai

    Banzai One-time Mod, but on the road to recovery Contributor

    Mar 31, 2007
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    Reading, UK

    Weekly Poetry Contest (110) - A Bridge

    Discussion in 'Monthly Poetry Contest Archives' started by Banzai, Mar 29, 2010.

    Poetry Contest
    One Hundred and Ten

    Let's get poetrifying!

    The Rules

    • All entries must be on the set theme.
    • Only one entry per member.
    • No editing of entries once posted without my express permission (i.e. PM me and ask).
    • Poems must be titled
    • Entries must not have previously posted on the forums, and are not permitted to be posted for critique until AFTER the contest is completed.
    • Any violation of these rules will result in disqualification of entries, and possibly infraction.

    The entry stage will last seven days, meaning it will close on Monday 5th April 2010.

    The voting stage will begin immediately, and will be open for three days, ending on Thursday 8th April 2010.

    And this week's theme is (courtesy of wishyoucould): A Bridge

    Be imaginative, have fun, and get writing


    PS: If you have any questions, please feel free to PM me. I don't bite (much).
  2. Evelyanin

    Evelyanin New Member

    Jun 17, 2009
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    My Bridge

    On rainy days with sunny skies
    I head towards the bridge.
    Almost right behind my house,
    It stretches out from the mountain ridge.

    Up and over our little town,
    Nestled in the valley below.
    It reaches to the other side
    Where the wild cranberries grow.

    I climb up using the ribbons,
    For it is fairly steep and wide.
    And if I feel particularly brave,
    I slide down on the other side.

    I’m the only one who ever uses it.
    It’s nice and quiet up here.
    The view over town is fantastic,
    And the air is fresh and clear.

    So today I stood on top the bridge
    Of colours red, green, and blue.
    Of the brightest yellow every known,
    And orange and magenta too.

    Soon I knew that someone had seen me,
    Standing here at the very top.
    The high school science teacher,
    Looked up and came to a stop.

    He stared at me directly
    Then twisted his head to the side.
    “The bridge you are standing on
    Is not really there.” He cried.

    “It’s just an illusion from the sun,
    And the rain drops in the air.
    What may look like a solid bow,
    It’s just light! I swear!”

    The colourful bridge disappeared
    From under my very feet.
    I realized the truth he spoke,
    As I plummeted towards the street.

    My back just hurts a little bit
    As the medics give their assistance,
    Yet I wonder if opinion controls
    The matter of something’s existence.
  3. Lauren

    Lauren New Member

    Apr 1, 2008
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    At the very least, it'll keep them busy.

    I awoke at 3:07 this morning,
    my walls vibrating
    with the late-breaking news
    from my elderly neighbor’s TV.

    The nightdark was thin
    and I knew without listening
    by the smell and the dancing light,
    so at the desk before my one bedroom window

    I conceded to sleepily perch,
    perchance to record
    some novel impression
    of the scene in the bay below.

    My billboard-obstructed window
    offered up a stingy glimpse
    of the orange water illuminating
    our peninsula town’s one bridge.

    In my sleepdrunk stupor a score of clichés
    licked lazily up at my pen,
    tired little musings about blazes and bridges,
    and the two in combination.

    But I soggily smothered them,
    the dragging drum of the pulse
    in my ear competing to be heard
    over the FOX News next door

    and titillated neighbors,
    clumped together outside
    watching the engines arrive,
    anxiously anticipating

    the possibility of a day off work -
    or at least
    a good story
    for the breakroom.

    As my walls finally stilled,
    I abandoned pen for pillow,
    leaving the town to enjoy
    their distraction,

    leaving them to attend to
    the front-page features,
    the breaking updates and suspect speculation,
    to the later-this-morning cubicle conversation.

    Leaving them to attend to the generation
    of that staticky chatter
    still buzzing in my head.
  4. Marshall41

    Marshall41 New Member

    Feb 4, 2009
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    The Never-Bridge

    This bridge was built with firm but gentle hands,
    And day by day did our ever-bridge withstand,
    Till winter’s curse ruin’d all her blessed land,
    And took from me Ella’s once barren hand.
  5. lavendershy

    lavendershy New Member

    Oct 27, 2009
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    Sparks, NV

    it's in their eyes, you know, the ship
    by rainbow-fancies manned
    the key, the path, the lightning-door
    the bridge to Everland

    and one by one they wander in
    as promised long before
    and only they can know the way
    the bridge to Evershore

    their feet are bare, their eyes are bright,
    they don't think to be proud
    that they can find in a shadow's blink
    the bridge to Evercloud

    we knew it, once, and though we laugh
    we'd give our all to find
    the only way, the child's way
    the bridge to Evermind.
    1 person likes this.
  6. nwian

    nwian New Member

    Dec 18, 2009
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    Can I Come Across

    There is a bridge
    between you and me
    and I could come
    to you.

    But this chasm
    creates the need for the bridge
    and it is
    a long way down, should I fall.

    Gazing down at
    the depths,
    I lose my breath
    and my courage.

    I hear you beckon.
    You prompt me to take
    first step,
    you tell me to look only into your eyes
    which shine so
    far across the distance.

    But what I really want is your hand to grab me, pull me across in one brief second.
    I don’t want to slowly, teetering walk this bridge.
    I don’t want
    this journey.
    I am too afraid.

    And I know the valley below is my mind.
    A barren, endless, valley.
    Thorn bushes, jutted cliffs and desert.

    and this space of land I sit on now,
    far less glorious and beautiful than yours.
    Your space of land too, is vast, but is endless paradise.

    And I know too,
    that your hands are already
    they are the bridge.
    That they
    are that big.

    But it’s still
    the stepping,
    it’s still
    the action.
    And I am woozy.

    So I close my eyes.
    I sit and wait until the situation changes.
    Maybe when I open them,
    I will be across.

    Your arms are love,
    are sacrifice,
    are strong and ready to withstand all weight.

    Had I only courage,
    You’d be the strength.

    The air is still, it waits for my decision.
    It holds its breath
    as I gasp for mine.

    And then I run.
    Keeping my eyes forward
    my body in a race against time.

    I don’t dare
    look down.

    I stay the course,
    and run much longer than the bridge is.

    When at last I slow,
    and my heart beat slows,
    I realize I ran much further than I needed.

    So now I turn.
    surveying what I’m surpassed.

    The bridge now does not look so long,
    the valley not so deep.

    And your side is stunning.
    I don’t know what took me so long to come.
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