Love, water, bridges, time. It’s a great poetic tradition to put these elements together.
In the following poem, the French symbolist poet Guillaume Apollinaire gazes with his lover as the River Seine flows a steady course beneath them. Symbolizing love, passion, and longing, the poem also represents time, yet it has no power while the lovers are bound within each other’s shelter:
Similarly, Nobel Prize winner Juan Ramon Jimenez finds water as a metaphor for love in his poem; the water passes beneath the bridge, passing but never changing:
To the bridge of love,
old stone between tall cliffs
— eternal meeting place, red evening —,
I come with my heart.
— My beloved is only water,
that always passes away, and does not deceive,
that always passes away, and does not change,
that always passes away, and does not end.
—by Juan Ramon Jimenez
Try It: Bridge of Love Poetry
How do the surroundings of a bridge, or a bridge itself symbolize love and relationships? Explore the metaphor using the architecture of a bridge— perhaps the beauty, shape, or strength. You can also follow the examples above and use the bridge as a bond, a connection, or even a stage in which to write a poem about love as a different kind of metaphor.
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Featured Poem
Thanks to everyone who participated in last week’s poetry prompt. Here is a poem from Monica we enjoyed:
Parallel Lines
Two lines, like the long walls of a tunnel, parallel
under what defines them: a fixed distance that
never lets them intersect, never allows a
nexus. Keeping a constant distance is not
exactly a pushing-away. But hold out a stiff arm’s
length, and the two will never touch.
—by Monica Sharman
Photo by Maria Eklind. Creative Commons via Flickr.
Browse more bridges & tunnels
Browse more writing prompts
Browse poetry teaching resources
How to Write a Poem uses images like the buzz, the switch, the wave—from the Billy Collins poem “Introduction to Poetry”—to guide writers into new ways of writing poems. Excellent teaching tool. Anthology and prompts included.
“How to Write a Poem is a classroom must-have.”
—Callie Feyen, English Teacher, Maryland
- Poetry Prompt: Misunderstood Lion - March 19, 2018
- Animate: Lions & Lambs Poetry Prompt - March 12, 2018
- Poetry Prompt: Behind the Velvet Rope - February 26, 2018
Maureen says
for Mama
(August 19, 1927 – January 11, 2018)
We spread her ashes
In the ocean, each handful
Our forgiveness marked
What hollows love fills
To bridge the differences
Of mother and child
Donna Falcone says
Maureen… oh that filling to bridge – so poignant. Thank you for sharing your tender words.
L.L. Barkat says
Maureen, so very tender. Thank you for sharing this complicated grief with us. Honored that you’ve brought this moment here—one of years, and one of a single remembrance.
Sandra Heska King says
“What hollows love fills to bridge the differences …”
Just sitting here with you.
Heather Eure says
A beauty, Maureen.
Kortney says
So lovely, Maureen. Peace keep you.
Donna Falcone says
Monica… I really like your poem and the images it conjures up – especially that stiff arm’s length. It’s a perfect way to describe those parallel (lines and not lines). Thank you for sharing it with us last week!
Monica Sharman says
Thank you, Donna!
Donna Falcone says
I, just these two feet
to cross a hundred thousand
bridges, more or less
Sandra Heska King says
You cover a lot of distance in this haiku. 😉
Heather Eure says
Strength in the feet, the bridges, the journey– and a bit of human weariness. I like this, Donna.
Monica Sharman says
Love Bridges
Upward arcs smile over the bridge,
supporting the path tower to tower.
Trusses in the strength of three
points: triangles span the chasm.
You can cross, one to another.
The road will hold up.
Donna Falcone says
I love the last line…. I could feel the tension without even realizing, until that last line….
beautiful. 🙂
Sandra Heska King says
Upward arcs smile… favorite phrase.
And every time I approach a bridge, I say a little prayer that it will hold up. It’s the same with a lot of things, I guess. It’s all in the construction.
Heather Eure says
Gosh, the last line caught me in the throat, Monica. Yes, indeed.
Sandra Heska King says
We drift through the tunnel,
steel arched ribs studded
with breathless black bivalves.
The river flows.
We paddle on.
Donna Falcone says
I love the shifts in this poem – the drifting seemed like snow to me, the current of the river; both forces carry us forward…. 🙂 Love it.
Heather Eure says
“We paddle on.” Ah… Such as life.
Nicely done. Thanks for this poem, Sandra.
Katie says
Maureen, Donna, Sandra, Monica – I enjoyed your poems. Thanks for sharing.
spanning the creek bed
below, more mud than water –
at least, at low tide
oyster
shells line the bed
of the creek up ahead
creaky old boards keep us from cuts
what luck
***
oh, watch out brother
you’ll cut your feet on the shells
yep, just did, sister
sorry,
please forgive me
for losing my grip on
the boat at just the wrong time and
place, bro
Donna Falcone says
Thank you, Katie –
This has me thinking that sometimes we need a low tide, and other times, the washing of deeper water… but we can’t control so many things… including the tides. Thank you for sharing. 🙂
Katie says
Thank you, Donna.
Sandra Heska King says
What Donna said…
Heather Eure says
Katie, I like how the bridges, posts, beams, and barnacles sparked a memory (it seems?) and inspired your poem. Our community thrives on energizing and encouraging creativity in one other. 🙂
Oh, and collecting oysters: A daring feat for bare feet.
Lucinda Hill says
Memories At the Park
I sit in the middle
Of a neighborhood park.
I’m here in the morning.
I’m here when it’s dark.
There’s a lot going on
Under me and over.
There are people and ducks
And someone called Rover.
The trees provide shade
So I’m never too hot.
I hear the birds sing
And I like that a lot.
There are steps going down
That lead to the water.
I reach both the sides
But not any farther.
Some people will visit
Just for a time.
While others will tary
And gaze at the sky.
There are lovebirds, old folks,
And families of four.
Walkers and joggers,
Fishermen, and more.
I especially like
The children who come.
Some will just stop
And make their own fun.
But my favorite time,
The one that I treasure,
Is the day that the pastor
Gathered together
People from church
Who opened their heart,
Asked Jesus in,
And then at the park
The water splashed over them.
An outward expression
Of the washing inside;
Their sanctification.
Their God is so beautiful,
So loving and kind.
I’m glad that He sees me,
This bridge made of pine.
Author Lucinda Berry Hill ©
Sandra Heska King says
Parks (especially if there’s water) are one of my favorite places at all times of day. So much going on… so much to see and hear and smell and contemplate.
Brandon Ezzard says
Thoughts are like planks which make a bridge,
evil ones weakening, good strengthening,
If a plank becomes rotten & needs to be switched,
then simply meditate, meditation is maintenance.
A thought mused upon, even an idea fitly considered
is like a apple of gold in a picture of silver,
a nail hit by a hammer in the hand of a builder,
even a bridge built with Heavenly timber.
Two strands are better than one, strong against tension,
for if one be overcome, two shall put up a resistance,
more than a house on sand is a bridge built by wisdom,
and a threefold cord is not easily broken.
Inspirations: Proverbs 25:11, Ecclesiastes 4:9-10, 12-13, Ecclesiastes 12:11
Sandra Heska King says
“Thoughts are like planks” and “meditation is maintenance.”
I like those thoughts.
Brandon Ezzard says
Thank you Sanda Heska King. God bless you!