Threads. Or are they?

This is my response to the Secret Keeper’s Monday poetry challenge to write a poem or piece of prose which includes these five words or synonyms:
Fame, view, mask, bridge, yarn.

Sorry but I can’t find the name of the artist of the painting.


The threads draw tighter,
Masking the sight of the water,
A shimmering, steely safety net.
Or is it illusion?
Bridge sways beneath my feet,
Centuries of glory shifting in river sand,
Dimmed by the cloud mist over the sun.
Or is it my eyes?
Resplendent it is no longer,
Mud creeps, seeps into the fabric of all things.
Not even stone resists.
How could I?
Nailing courage,
Fighting against the sticky web of indecision,
Listening to the roar of the river calling.
Or is it warning?
The sun sinks weary and bloodless into the west,
Drawing the black spidery lines in its wake.
Bridge bucks, sighs, and settles,
Or is it my feet?
I wake, walk, leave the place, where the world is in flux,
And find the bank again, the right bank.
Or should it be the left?


Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

17 thoughts on “Threads. Or are they?”

  1. What a fantastic and inspirational poem. It should be read by all. The image captures the essence of the poem perfectly. As though back in time the painter was waiting for just this poem to represent it in words. The (5) words were interwoven with a mystical touch, so not to take over the poem. I am in awe of your writing talent. This poem needs reading as often as possible. It has many hidden corners. It fills one up. Thank you for your profound touch on this challenge. I nod my head to you. – jk

      1. You’re welcome Jane. Hmm, avoidance happening here then? I think you do very well with your work.

      2. Sleep on it, that usually works, or just write it down without consciously thinking.

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