Two bridges

Two bridges

A Poem by Terpsichore

An exercise in honour to a different time

'Twas where the hay got put in stacks 
and thatch and rope secured the crop,
potato heaps snugged up from harm,
kept safe from winter's frosted charm,
as bees relive their summer toils
from buds and flowers delicious spoils
sealed fast in massive waxen joy;
though still the heart eternal bleeds
and executes man's savage deeds,
ignores the rippling mountain spring
hears not the forest chorus sing,
except, perhaps a Robin warbling free,
distant, atop some unseen tree.

Thus, in the way of simple men,
unknown and poor , tied to the land,
one night within the borough fair
by inspired whim, without a care,
he left his bed and took a path
impelled by all-directing fate;
and heard the dungeon clock strike two
smiled when the moon told it was true,
as sparkling frost , beneath the silver beams
crept gently o'er the glittering stream;
And, lo ! on both sides listening hard,
the sigh of whistling wings he heard,
and saw two dusky forms dart through the air,
swift as the goshawk strikes the wheeling hare.
One is the old bridge, one the new,

Old Bridge.

I'm sure my friend, you think yourself quite smart
stretched as you are from bank to bank;
but will you ever be a bridge as old as me?
I doubt such fate you'll ever see,
but if that time should ever come
'tis thee shall be the lonely one
for I would wager life for death
and curse you to my dying breath.

New Bridge.

Old fool , the time has taken all your sense
you are no more than circumstance;
a narrow foot-path of a street,
where people tremble when they meet
your ruined bulk of stone and lime,
unlike a bridge of modern time,
and all, if asked their point of view
would take no chance on crossing you.

Old Bridge.

Ah, conceited cuckoo! puffed with
new constructed pride, since time 
began I've withstood flood and tide,
and though with age I seem worn down
I am much more than wearied stone.
As yet , you know none of the matter,
though winter will inform you better,
when heavy, dark, continued rains,
with deepening deluge floods the plain
and blustered winds and drenching thaws
in many a torrent snow-melt roars,
and crashing ice, borne on the rolling spate
lays all destruction at your gate
and you will find out to your cost
that architecture's noble art is lost!

New Bridge.

Now, hold your tongue, you've said enough
no more of what you say is true,
though under favour of your verbal spite,
I bow to what once was your might,
but in this modern world, 'tis odd
To liken it to your old squad.
No more the council waddles down the street
in pomp and ignorant conceit;
grown rich on hops and precious seeds
the liberal view of bonds and deeds.
For greater knowledge by the common man,
illuminates your wretched plan;
and agonised, curses the time and place
that spawned your base, degenerate race!

© 2016 Terpsichore

My Review

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Your writing is in your own unique style and I like it very much. Valentine

Posted 7 Years Ago

I really enjoyed this - your act of imagination to come up with this conversation between the old and new bridges is brilliant. You have also pulled off the antique rustic language very well which adds to its authenticity - maybe not exactly the period but it immediately made me think of Shakespeare. I have just celebrated(?) my 65th b'day with a live performance of Much ado about nothing at the Globe so my ear is attuned. Not too sure which bridge I'm on though?
Very well done.

Posted 7 Years Ago

This has the feel and pacing of the folk ballad, or perhaps some of the late 19th Century writing from this side of the big water. Awfully fine stuff.

Posted 7 Years Ago

Morning T. Good stuff this, harks back to when poetry was writ proper; and that line, 'swift as the Goshawk strikes the wheeling hare,' is superb.

Well written and nicely messaged.


PS. Who's the s**t stirrer? I notice he keeps popping up here and there.

Posted 7 Years Ago

An interesting dialogue between old and new... young and old... now and then!!!
Very nice

Posted 7 Years Ago

Craftsmanship of the highest order. I think of Tennyson or of Hardy when I read It takes me back not only in the style of writing but in my own life when I read such quality. Beautifully composed.

Posted 7 Years Ago

what a great idea of the bridges! certainly original. and so beautifully penned as only you can craft.
love the argument and the rhyme (of course). Wonderful, Terps!

Posted 7 Years Ago

This was so uplifting and inspirational in its philosophy and truth. Without those bridges we can't appreciate the old and the new, the simple ways and the hard ways and so forth. Excellent...:)..................

Posted 7 Years Ago

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13 Reviews
Shelved in 1 Library
Added on February 2, 2016
Last Updated on February 2, 2016



London, United Kingdom

Nothing much to tell really. I work in the city, boring, but lucrative enough to enable me to spend most weekends away from the place. I enjoy writing, reading equally as much. Like retro style cloth.. more..


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