Two bridges

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!

Reviews

[Lydia Shutter]

Yes, the times were very different. I think we valued our families more and spent more time communicating face to face with friends. Of course, we are the antiques now....as antique as the dime in the telephone slot. Still, as you point out, we paved the way for the new bridge and we have to take some responsibility for the way things are now. Terp, your choice of vocabulary, the rhythm, and the rhyme are outstanding. Kudos to you....and your poetic talent. Lydi**

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i don't think technology makes us better...i don't think these times are better than the old...

i feel that the old ways, the simple ways...helped us appreciate less, much more...we appreciated, worked and worked with nature.

but now we are outdated...and the newbies all think we are relics...but i believe not...i think we have that substance...
i remember when we all were really together in spirit and force, and we spanned a much larger scope...the old bridge touched both sides...the new bridge leads only to more bridges.

such an insightful write...sorry i kind of took it where it took me.