Wednesday, June 24, 2009

The Bridge

I've watched her from the river banks
I knew her when she danced with dreams
White doves were there to dress her hair
And so was Madelaine

At night the people's faces danced
Like pearls colliding on the breast
Of fat Mary whose thunder laugh
Was just a thread from crying

Her sailors stained her cobblestones
With wine and piss and death desire
And sometimes blood for Madelaine
Whose laughter was the night

Her girls would lift their dresses high
and breathe the stars and kiss the sky
She'd smother them with whispers then
Embrace them with her sighs

Before the bottle dulled my eyes
And made me so I couldn't stand
I'd overact and play the clown
When Madelaine would cry

And now I watch from riverbanks
I watch it weave it's memories
White doves turned gray and flew away
And so did Madelaine


  1. Oh Mr B. I do love your poetry so. And I usually don't like the poems. How goes the other writing?

    Stay safe.


  2. Hey darlin', always a pleasure to hear from you.

    It goes bloody slowly at the moment, mainly due to the fact that I am in between houses and have lacked a suitably quiet and inspiring place to sit down and write. ANNOYING. That situation is about to change though. Which will be nice.

    E tu? All well?


  3. Yep, all good at this end. Writing is happening. Hope you get your space soon dear sir, and back into it.