Welcome to Kim D. Bailey and S. Liam Spradlin!

This evening I'd like to post some engaging, heartfelt poems by a poetic power couple, Kim D. Bailey and S. Liam Spradlin.

Walnut Street Bridge

Why build a bridge?

Beams and planks fastened

together with iron rods.

A motionless frame stretched

like an accordion far

across a once empty space.

A Bridge -that has the same ending

for me as it does the old man

with a cane, as unshapely as his knees.

Why build a bridge?

a suspension of sorts stapled in the sky,

a long esophagus

swallowing its admirers who

dare to leave the safety called Land.

Where mankind is supposed to walk.

What if we were to be content

just being by the waters,

not over them?  I feel the entire bridge

give under the weight of each 

step I take. While I drawback my breath

as nearby reflections lean across the water.

My eyes capture the serenity of the moment

Like the mockingbird catches the wind.

I envision my reflection

seized by the waters below. Then I

am reminded how easily I am moved

by the smallest ripple.

Some boards where I now

stand have begun to rot.

I wonder how many hurried ankles

have twisted when a high heel gets stuck.

How many children have explored

these planks with tender and precarious

fingers, only to stand up crying

when a splinter is all they find.

I think about the few souls that have

unsettled the even surface below.

Were they overwhelmed with sadness?

Like the rhythm of a coiled anchor,

heaved overboard, slapping a corroded and

slippery chain all the way down.

I came here tonight to walk.

To walk across a bridge.

A bridge purposefully placed to take me

from one destination to another.

But I worry what I find will

be no different from what I left.

I sit down on a bench that

is not made for the curve

of my spine. I begin to

write without thinking. What

is holding me now? Is it the air? Or is it

my belief that something

solid hangs under me?

I cannot miss the cracks in this bridge,

they are everywhere I step.

If I could leap over these cracks then

I could leap over the bridge.

But I can't leap, I can barely jump.

The waters below carry drowned secrets

Misplaced by water and time.

Here great river. Here is a quarter.

Take me downstream till I sink.

Bury me in the mud, or inside

an old shoe that a young fisherman

will swear is a catfish. Let him

keep the quarter for his efforts.

I need to be moving now. My

fear of heights keeps me an

arm’s distance from the rail.

I am a little more than halfway across

and I want to turn around.

Why not build bridges on land?

Oh—but we do. Over streets

and highways, railroad tracks

and anything else

that may slow us down.

Whoever invented bridges

solved the world's problems.

So why can't we build bridges

over hunger, fear, hate, intolerance,

injustice, inequality, disease, pain,

prejudice, terrorism, and all things evil?

Why can't we go back to 1970

and float on that that round piece of vinyl?

Thank you, Paul Simon & Art Garfunkel

For building a Bridge Over Troubled Waters

You saved my sisters (every night)

Thank You, Naomi and Wynonna Judd

they built a bridge in the country.

“between your heart and mine.”

And yes Wynonna, I do believe it's time.

I am nearly to the end now

where a homeless lady rests, expecting my change.

Nearby, a mother and her daughter

stop to look for a phone or camera.
The young girl wipes her fingertips

on the frills of her dress.

she is eating plain potato chips.

Maybe we do need bridges after all.

S. Liam Spradlin

Steps in the Night

She Walks

won't talk

Balks

At my Talk

High heels click

Cracks in the sidewalk missed

She walks

on my name

Written in Chalk

Hopscotch

Down a dirty sidewalk

Her shadow falls

on the Graffiti walls

Lights along the bank dance

Where’s my chance

Ain't no belt

on my button fly pants

I scream

At the back of her head

Her ears are dead

Her stare

Glares

In the moonlit air

She don't care

What’s fair

Problems

tailor made to share

Ain't no shame

When I'm to blame

Last seconds

of my Last Game

Her collar turned up so high

Keeps the world out...

Ain't no shout from the crowd

in a 12-round bout

Till a right hook connects

Above the neck

Lights out

The mat is cold

I'm climbing the ropes

Playing the crowd

while all my hatters

keep wondering how

I look down at my feet

I'm back on concrete

She's disappeared

I hide in fear

I ain't scared of the dark-

But I am the spark

A willow cries

From the pain inside

Sidewalk

is two-person wide

I tried

To mask the pain

In my brain

Like a bullet train

with no breaks

Rolling on my veins

Inside my heart

Tunnels Dark

She stops and starts

On Time

Never late

Don't hesitate

Like a bull outta the gate

She crushes the ground

with the moves she makes

My heart ducks

Eight Seconds

Is long enough

She goes

Distance grows

and I don't know

if the change

on the ground

from my pocket holes

Will be enough

To buy my soul

S. Liam Spradlin

Woman at the Well

I don’t want to be the woman at the well,

walking so far to fetch water

for a man who won’t make me his wife.

I don’t want to be that woman

who was taken time and time again

only to be coldly cast aside.

I don’t want to be the woman who sees a man

and does not recognize him

as the Savior, the Messiah, Jesus Christ.

I want to be the woman who takes his hand

and knows in Him

there is everlasting life.

I don’t want to carry this weight on my shoulders

all the pain of those who came

and walked right out my door.

I just want to drink the living water

the kind that fills me up

and keeps me coming back for more.

I don’t want to be the woman at the well

desperately drawing day by day

from an empty place.

I don’t want to throw pennies

in a fountain, well or spring,

hoping my love will finally show his face.

I just want to drink the living water

the kind that never runs dry

the kind that never leaves me thirsting for more,

or leaves me with these tears in my eyes.

I don’t want to be the woman at the well

I want to be the woman worth fighting for.

Kim D. Bailey

March 12, 2013

Remembering What I Never Had

Days used to run

together,

stacked and covered with dust

like old books used

for decoration

instead of being read.

No stories were told,

no plots thickened.

Just shells for covers of

blank pages,

to hide the emptiness

bound within.

I never noticed them

until you came along

with words written on your heart.

That same heart

you placed upon

your torn and jagged sleeve

of a shirt you bought

at the thrift store.

While we walked, winding

zigging and zagging across streets

and bridges, connected

caressing and caressed,

by an unknown wind

blowing against wood

and steel,

wrapping us in its

warmth.

I remember what I never had, but

I am not sorry.

I’ve found the lost piece of myself

here with you,

the part of me I longed for

and missed

something once lost

though I never knew

existed until

I looked into your eyes.

Kim D. Bailey

April 1, 2017

A Phoenix Rises from the Ash

I am the fire

torching all in my path

unforgiving undiscerning.

                Move or burn—

for my flames are fierce.

licking at old wounds

scorching those who

leave a scar.

Red, molten, lava,

hot.

Your guilt or

innocence,

                no matter—

for at some time

you broke a

heart,

and that is all

that means anything

now.

Kim D. Bailey

February 25, 2017

Meant to be Broken   

S. Liam Spradlin

Promises...those we make to ourselves.

Or maybe like the promises we make

To God. The ones we make

When we find ourselves

Overwhelmed by a situation

Of our own creative ignorance.

Promises. Like those drowned out in

Static words between cell phones.

Promises. That bring out the laughter

In senseless childhood friends.

Promises. Like dandelion seeds

Riding saddle to the April wind.

Promises. The ones we remember

Are the ones someone else spoke.

Promises. Cannot exist.

Like a proud drop of rain

Begging to be hidden away

In the desert’s crumbling veil.

Promises. Sound good.

Like our favorite song making a U-turn

Down on Cyclone Corner.

Promises. Shared among lovers

Like a thick mud shake and two straws.

Promises heard.

City Blocks

S. Liam Spradlin

This afternoon I walked downtown.

I followed the same path I first

Memorized by streetlights and

Building tops. Not stoplights

And street names. Today-

I walked looking down, or

Maybe looking in. As I walk

Thoughts pedal across my mind

Like the soft click of a plastic

Straw caught in the silver spokes.

Today I noticed the cracks in the

Sidewalk down on Main.

I imagine my heart looks

Very much the same…

Everything cracks

The faces I meet are only voices

Mingled among the cities

Constant rumble. All I

Can really hear is the cautious rhythm

Of my soles pressing against the

Concrete. Although I am not

Lost, I feel alone. A fast blast

From a car horn is not recognition,

Rather a rude interruption of my thoughts…

I go back to thinking of all the places you could

Never be. A confused waitress questions

My response… “Table for One.”

She leads me upstairs to

A window from which

The sun has already passed.

I sit down alone.

And you are there.

Rigidity

S. Liam Spradlin

 Soundlessly the massive steel beam swung outward

 High above the push of the city street.

 A single cable grasping the arm of a

 lonely crane positioned against the careless sky.

 My existence mingled with the normality of

 Strangers- whose footprints vanished into those  

 That followed. Between my hurried reflections, I found sanity

  In the convenience of a street vendor’s hot pretzels

  While swallowing the burn of impatient exhaust. A street

  corner musician sets an empty tip jar down

  on a torn speaker. I had been saving pennies

  since a child…I would keep them in empty peanut butter jars.

  I still remember mom cutting the bread in triangles.

  An empty cable swung carelessly High above the city street.

  I had been carrying the weight of the world Like a

  knapsack full of copper and steel. I wanted to be free

  from the confusion, But I stood... 

  Waiting on the Green Man.
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S. Liam Spradlin writes poetry and nonfiction. He has been published in the 2017 annual edition of The Sequoyah Review, a literary journal published by the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga, where he is currently majoring in Sociology. He has also been previously published online and in print with the Scarlet Leaf Review. He lives in Fort Oglethorpe, GA with his partner, published author Kim D. Bailey. You may contact S. Liam via Facebook at Facebook/shan.spradlin. 

Kim D. Bailey, a 2017 Pushcart Prize Nominee, writes Women’s Fiction, short stories, poetry, non-fiction, and a weekly column for Five 2 One Magazine. She is poetry editor for Firefly Literary Magazine. She is editing a third novel and does freelance editorial work. She's published in several online literary journals and print magazines, podcasts, and has taught writing courses online. She currently lives in Fort Oglethorpe, GA with her partner and published poet, S. Liam Spradlin. You may connect with her at www.kimbaileydeal.net or Twitter @kimbaileydeal, Instagram @kimdbaileyauthor or her Facebook page https://m.facebook.com/AuthorKimDBailey/

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Tonight I thought I'd post the music of a self-taught pianist, Ryo Fukui.  Born in 1947, he is another musician who is eligible for the current contest.

This is his "Sonora":  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q15mlDY0D5s

"Autumn Leaves" is from his first album, Scenery:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xpYibfCLYWU

You may prefer "Early Summer":  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wW_dYLcate4

I'll finish with his "Bouncing with Bud":  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nPM2372VpFQ

Enjoy!