Bridges

Bridges

"I'll cross that bridge

When I get to it,"

I said to myself.

And at the time

It made

Complete sense,

But here was That bridge

And the path

I walked was 

Leading straight 

To it.

There were

 Steps to climb

But the path

Wound on

There are 

Always  choices.

Urban Street

Urban Street

Urban Street

Here I stand

My feet 

Imprisoned

But my roots

Go down deep

To unimaginable

Freedom.

And memories

Are stirred

Of grassy

 Forest floors

Starred with

Wind flowers

And sheaves of

Bluebells,

Patchwork

Sunshine and

Velvet shade,

Sweet honeysuckle

Linking us together

With fragrant arms.

My arms reach up

Into the feotid air

That smells of

Diesel and the

Stench of

Stale humanity;

But moss

creeps over

My feet

And comforts me.

Pathways and Roads

Pathways.

These are some poems I wrote on the theme of pathways and roads. I found the subject quite inspiring in so many ways.

The Fen Country

Flat, flat land,

The occasional tree

penetrating

Those wide wide skies.

Regimented rushes

Lined a reedy bed..

The path straight

And muddy.

It had no obvious

 Purpose, except

To walk the dog.

It seemed to be

Heading

No-where.

Life is like that

At times.