I Was Going To Write A Poem Poem by Cailey Martin

I Was Going To Write A Poem



Yesterday, on the train home
I was sitting in the window seat,
Letting my eyes rest
On the lush green of
Newly fallen rain
Uptaken by plants
When I beheld a curious sight,
A sight I had never noticed
Before.
It was a bridge,
A small, delicate-looking bridge
But a bridge just the same,
Wood hammered together
In unpracticed strokes
By an anonymous someone
Miles away from civilization.
It stood out to me
From all that greenery
And I wondered why
Anyone would choose to build a bridge
In the middle of nowhere.
It spanned a bubbly little creek
Running along the
Train tracks
And was the only bridge I saw
For the duration of my journey.
It made me happy,
That bridge,
Because an anonymous someone
Chose to build a bridge
In the middle of nowhere
Simply for the benefit of
The rabbits or
For anyone looking for a way to
Get across,
Should the situation ever arise.
I went home yesterday
And I was going to write a poem
About it, but it slipped my mind
For two hours,
And the rest of the night
I was simply too lazy
To write the thing.
Today
On the train,
I sat in the window seat again,
My eyes glued to the
Bubbly little creek
Running along
The train tracks,
Hunting for that same little bridge
That made me so happy
Yesterday.
I found a bridge
Today,
But I am unsure
If it is
The same bridge
Because the bridge I saw
Today
Had been overturned
By a flood or a rabbit
Or maybe someone kicked it
And left it
By the side of the creek.
And there was garbage
Strewn around,
Beer cans and
McDonald’s happy meal bags
And there was not a rabbit
To be seen.
I am unsure
If it is
The same bridge,
But it was the only bridge I saw
For the duration of my journey.
Yesterday,
I was going to write a poem
About it, but it slipped my mind
For two hours,
And the rest of the night
I was simply too lazy
To write the thing.
Today,
On the way home
From the train station
My mother told me
To write the thing
Like I was going to,
Tell myself I hadn’t seen
That an anonymous someone
Had kicked it
And left it
By the side of the creek.
I was going to write a poem
About that sweet little
Bridge
But today
I cannot write that poem
Because my concept
Of that sweet little
Bridge
Is irrevocably altered.
I was going to write a poem
About hope
And random kindness,
A poem
About a
Bridge
Made of wood hammered together
In unpracticed strokes
By an anonymous someone
Miles away from civilization,
But today I find
I cannot write that poem.
So this is my poem
Instead.

Sunday, August 30, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: change,childhood,happiness,narrative,poem,poetic expression,reflecting,reflection,reflections,strange
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Fabrizio Frosini 30 August 2015

a good write, Cailey, but... - may I speak frankly? - why all those repetitions? and then, as a poet, you should use more metaphors and focus on your inner world.. as meditations on those glimpses of ''reality'' caught by your eyes.. Then let readers try their own representation of that inner world you display.. I mean, you should not simply tell a story.. Be a full poet (your soul - mind - is a poetic one, indeed) and not just a good writer.. ;) ciao Fabrizio

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