A poem for the Imaginary Garden With Real Toads Sunday challenge using Mike Worrall's painting "Bridge of Folly" for inspiration. Please visit the Toads site for a great walk through some of his work, it is inspiring.
Despair is a Bridge
Despair is a Bridge
If it was really a bridge, it would work both ways, to and
fro
But this crossing was built from petulant souls and greedy
whore mongers
In first light, the far side was bright with heavens light
and slick with pastry frosting
As afternoon leaked dusks promises, the slim women came out
to dance
With breasts like tea cups and cold concrete where lust
intersected the tops of thighs
You would whirl and drink of animal craving, your release a
devils oasis
When darkness steals the show, black hearts will play with
your eyes, look at me
“Excuse me kind
lady, could you direct me to the bridge back to my sanity?”
“My good man,
whatever for?” She lifted her dress exposing a brass doorknocker between her legs.
“Knock twice dear
lad, its hard to hear when reality comes calling.”
One night, one life, crossing to the dim side
I would stay with the thought of only visiting for eternity
but, visiting nonetheless
Sliding out now would be like calling the men in white coats
And playing games of chance with men like that is futile
when there are no rules
Home is always the other side, I hope you, my love, started
from the right.
Why even cross the bridge from reality to fantasy if you're going to be faced with concrete where the sweet spot should be? It's a cruel thing indeed, if even one's wildest dream shuts one out, or expects one to knock to gain entry, but perhaps this is a sucker punch of a warning not to cross the bridge in the first place.
ReplyDeleteHome is always the other side, the right side.
I always love it when you come out to play, Corey. You give me much food for thought.
You are wicked with surreal juxtapositions here, Corey. I could slice and dice quotes out of this all day and never dull my ginsu knife. This is my fave though"..With breasts like tea cups and cold concrete where lust intersected the tops of thighs.." Please forgive me for being sick as a dog for your challenge, but I really was thinking about you a lot, trying to shape something that made some sort of sense---but you are, in the end, a definition and an essay in yourself that I couldn't top, as this poem shows.
ReplyDeleteFirst, terrific title Corey ~ I like the use of the bridge, play of light and darkness (black hearts) & conversation of sanity and reality ~
ReplyDeleteThe ending is beautiful: Home is always the other side, I hope you, my love, started from the right.
Thanks for playing along (see no poetry form required, smiles) ~ I apologize for not writing for your prompt, maybe next time (please schedule ahead) ~
Have a good week Corey ~
Grace
Freaky surreal, the woman as symbol to the man, and the man? just lost, needing help, not accessing it, enjoying the misery, or not. I would like to read the rest of the story, maybe some urban legend, maybe some Sigmund Freud. Yikes!
ReplyDeleteWell I'm stuck on the wrong side of that bridge. This has a bit of the feel of a dark folk or fairy tail..
ReplyDelete(er, and sorry I chickened out on your challenge)
ReplyDeleteOh my word! Corey...this is fantastical...I love the abstract madness throughout. Well done!
ReplyDeleteIt is like your wrote the bridge version of Hotel California....Love it!!
ReplyDeleteNo words! This bridge is high to reach....
ReplyDeleteHome is always the other side.....there is a sigh here and my favorite part....
ReplyDeleteWe spend our lives going over that bridge, never giving up the attempt of reaching an Other who only smiles when we tempest in her teacups. Despair may be the price of crossing, or it be the only way we know we're still at it. Plenty to think about here -- perhaps a lifetime's work. Very nice. -- Brendan
ReplyDeleteknock, knock. hello? hello!
ReplyDeleteWow Corey! Knock three times and the...whoah!
ReplyDeleteI too love the playfulness of your bridge and the fabled slant of your verse!
Nicely done~
I am sorry I missed your challenge-I may surprise you sometime ;D
your imaginative creativity never fails to AMAZE me… If I had written to your challenge (I had NO time this weekend - family kept me umber busy) it would have had to describe a mind that rarely sees things as others do! I have yet to go and read all the people who wrote of you, but I will find the time this week!
ReplyDeletewith men like that there are no rules, and women like that there is no home. ~
ReplyDeleteSuch a cool poem -- agree with Hedge that my favorite line involves the slim women "With breasts like tea cups and cold concrete where lust intersected the tops of thighs.." But the entire poem is filled with beautiful lines--I think that maybe a night with the door knocker might be worth a little insanity--at least it is a choice that most seem to make. Thanks much. k. (http://Manicddaily.wordpress.com)
ReplyDelete