Just a memory, a smell of cedar and dampness

Dissipated by the wind,

Gently warmed by Floridian gold.

Silence otherwise,

save for the crags and creeks

Of the wooden bridge.

Oh how I do miss you.

Hillsborough river below,

Charcoal and kerosene,

Sizzling chicken and barbeque,

Another summer burns warmer.

Just a memory, melancholy draped in willow,

Stirred to fury by the wind,

Scorched by the Floridian sun,

The ringing in my ears,

Save for our awkward silence,

Of a bridge we both burned.

Oh how I do miss you.

--- แทนทไ

Beautiful. You make me miss Florida...almost.

I like this. It mostly conjures up images of a wooden bridge, but also your own feeling of aging through clever metaphors. It's like a lamention of the creeping, undeniable symptoms of getting older, the 'wind', 'crags', 'creeks', 'ringing in my ears', 'dampness' etc. obviously referring to flatulence, wrinkles, arthritis, tinnitus and incontinence, respectively.

I like the end about the bridges being burned. Good job!

ultrablu said:

I like this. It mostly conjures up images of a wooden bridge, but also your own feeling of aging through clever metaphors. It's like a lamention of the creeping, undeniable symptoms of getting older, the 'wind', 'crags', 'creeks', 'ringing in my ears', 'dampness' etc. obviously referring to flatulence, wrinkles, arthritis, tinnitus and incontinence, respectively.

Yeah, some great metaphors here. I wonder if Imago deliberately used "creek" to refer to water with the sound of a bridge "creak" implied... Poetry should always imply more than the words used to write it...

wildgoldenhoney said:

I like the end about the bridges being burned. Good job!