Week 48 -entries and results

Sunday, 15 November 2015

Photograph by Susan Jane Sims
week 48 - Sue Sims

Votes came flooding in for these imaginative poems. The winner is Poem 6, Love and the bridge by Michael Docker.

Congratulations to Michael and many thanks for your poems which went down well with Poetry Space readers.


Poem 1


Met in May and fell in love

Yves and Nora out together

Buy a padlock for the bridge

Daily growing ever closer

Yves and Nora parting never

Fix their padlock to the bridge

Vow to love and cherish always

Yves and Nora joined forever

By the padlock on the bridge


Martin John


Poem 2

Find The Key


I watch young lovers

padlock their love

to the wire fence,

toss the keys

into the water below.


Do they not know

that love trapped

is love doomed?

That love needs

freedom to flourish?


Observe, young lovers,

how swans, a cob and a pen,

glide together forever;

each free to fly away,

each choosing to stay.


Di Coffey


Poem 3

Love is a lock
You unlocked every door of my heart…
When I slowly opened my eyes, I saw your smile…
And, found myself locked within your warmth…


Dulen Gogoi


Poem 4

Yves & Nora


We locked our fingers tight,
Gazing at the view
With years ahead.
Summer carressed our faces,
A tiny blue boat hugged the canal,
And in the distance,
The golden chimes
of the old church bell.
We locked our fingers tight,
Locked our padlock even tighter,
A permanent reminder
Of our fleeting place in time.


Beth Clutton


Poem 5


  • on a padlock inscribed ‘Yves and Nora, 30.05.09’, attached to a bridge


Was it Yves who chose the padlock

of Yves Klein blue to echo his name?

Did he decide the order of the inscription, him first?


And who is this barnacle-like Nora

who keeps her French lover under lock and key?

Do they each fool us with a romantic alias?


Is that a convent or a monastery complex,

down there by the river? What brought

Nora and Yves up the snaking road to this place,


on thirtieth of May, six years ago, to hoop

steel with steel? Which one of them

pressed the shackle into the block and linked their fates?


So many questions. But only these

truly matter to the curious like us: where

are they now? And do they love?


Derek Sellen


Poem 6

Love and the bridge


She said, “Our love is tensile, high,

Engineered, an alloy

Welded into a span

To carry us across

The made, the dug, the built”


Yves & Nora in May that year stood here

And locked their love onto this rail, where

Others might come, in other years.


Purple is the colour of the cross,

But the love locked here was free of guilt.


He replied, “Our love is like a bridge”,

And threw the key away.  The ledge

It landed on was farther than

Their furthest thoughts of loss.


Then beneath them things began to tilt.

Made things were unmade,

Built things began to fall, dug things to silt.


This year one of them returned,

Looking for the key.  They’d learned

Much in the several years

Since of making, digging, loss.


The ledge was gone. The bridge, now

Lined with coloured locks – purple,

Red, blue, white – colours for all things,

All seasons, all years –


Had been rebuilt.


Michael Docker


Poem 7

The Folly
I knew it was a mistake

Tempting fate

To buy a lock

Join in the craze

You insisted

I was easily swayed


Now it’s over and  you’re gone

Fate has won

The lock remains

Mocking me

A reminder

Of foolish, wasted days


Carol Mills


Poem 8

Heart Locker

Like two dew drops, tranquil,

Slowly flows, settles on the red flower.

When warmth of the sun kissed blue sky,

Merge them into one locked heart.

Her waits, his ride, and love in their black eyes,

Three years to that start, all in smiles and hope.

The city today applauds and says,

‘’after all, it’s a wait in peace for the days of glory’’.

A queer love tale, yet victorious in end,

For love is meaning, not a halt.


Denim Deka


Poem 9


We were high


We were high when we did it,

we didn’t think of tomorrow.

Laughing the way youngsters do,


we swayed our way up and swayed

our way back, leaning into each other

for support.


But after, when it was done,

the next day, the next month,

the next year, and then the next


and the next and then some,

suddenly, we realised without

saying a word to each other


that this was where we

wanted to be,

that the highs would never stop.


Angie Butler