Sunday, April 15, 2012

Blue Bridge


Blue Bridge



How is it when
I only see the bridge
made from letters
of your name
the struts that string
the macrame of your steel weave
in a starpoint net
tying shore to vagrant shore
my heart tumbles
my lungs fill in panic
as if I were hung
on the edge of a plunge
sudden, deeper
into blue oblivion
where high on another scale
I hear the hum of traffic the sound of
horns fading to ghosts singing
their roadsongs to each other
inaudible as dolphins save to
themselves and my thrumming ear,
the vibrating membrane all
that moves in a softening organism
going dark,
drinking time's river wind 
sweet on my face,
every traffic
in  metal and noise 
vanishing in a
sudden slap of light and
scent of salt.






January 2012
revised April 2012 

Posted for   real toads
Sunday Challenge: Photography of Susie Clevenger

Many thanks to real toads and Susie for this photo, whose logos helped to bring this poem from graffiti lost in the file to some sort of solid form here. 






Image: Baytown Bridge, by Susie Clevenger
Used with permission.
Thanks, Susie!

17 comments:

  1. nice...i like how you end on the senses as you have tickled them much through out this...all the road songs of traffic...and our own emotions swirling in the riverwind of it...

    i see you survived the wind...smiles.

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    Replies
    1. Yes, the wind veered north this time and blew all over Kansas instead. Woodward got hit hard out in the panhandle, too--it was a rough one. Thanks for reading, bri.

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  2. I felt like I was ON the bridge, so vivid is this. I especially felt the "slap of light and scent of salt".

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  3. Oh I love this! How true that a name seen in print becomes synonymous with all the passion or loss we feel for that person (well, it works that way for me!). I feel these lines on a level much deeper than intellect, and shall be taking a few of them with me:

    inaudible as dolphins save to
    themselves and my thrumming ear
    the vibrating membrane...

    And the bridge made by the letters of a dear name.

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  4. "Ghosts singing their road songs to each other". Well how cool a line is that?

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  5. sudden slap of light, love this line

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  6. Great stuff! Superb response to the prompt. I can't believe I looked at this photo and thought only of another bridge, not of the alphabet. Thanks for reminding me to look.
    K

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  7. This part really grabbed me the likening to macrame!

    "the struts that string
    the macrame of your steel weave"

    Love your thoughts on dolphins to talk about the sounds of the bridge/traffic...

    "inaudible as dolphins save to
    themselves and my thrumming ear,
    the vibrating membrane all
    that moves in a softening organism"

    Such a great read, Hedge, thank you!

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  8. A very interesting poem, Hedge. I remember having a fixation about the Williamsburg bridge--a bit different, I never thought I'd make it across! I love the idea of the inner hum transmuting to dolphin song, hard to hear except for those on the wavelength--a difficult one. K.

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  9. Wow! This is a fantastic piece...I have crossed this bridge many times and there are so many stories vibrating in it. I love how you captured that feel in your poem. "every traffic in metal and noise
    vanishing in a sudden slap of light and scent of salt."

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  10. This was a delight from start to finish. Thank you.

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  11. I meant to say in my comment at your last post that I hope all will stay battened down for you in the frightening winds.

    The imagery in this poem is wonderful, and a brilliant way to express that knock-your-sox-off feeling certain ones affect in us. Blue oblivion indeed, and every other noise is muffled and unimportant in that annihilating salty wind.

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  12. What a wild, terrifying, soaring soul-vibe here, bridge as saxophone calling in the blue night, the high arch and arc of desire with its ass-over-teakettle conclusion. Wowsers: "horns fading to ghosts singing / their roadsongs to each other" and

    every traffic
    in metal and noise
    vanishing in a
    sudden slap of light and
    scent of salt.


    Makes one wonder if it's love that gives the leapers courage ... passion's nail, anyway ... Fine, fine stuff Hedge. - B

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  13. His initials bring on a longing so profound.. (she's got it BAD!:) Glad to see you survived this CRAZY weather... We used to live in San Antonio... flooding would occur that was crazy!

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  14. By God I hope I light that kind of passion and remembrance in someone when I leave....good or bad at least you will know that you lived a little. What a great start and that ending....like a pants down spanking....your not sure how you feel about it....but it definitely stings a little.

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  15. i enjoy this fleeting space-between you occupy here, and the worlds your vision soaks up from this perch.

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  16. I love the way this pulls you along. It has a marvelous feel of breathlessness.

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'Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance' ~Carl Sandburg