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Shapeshifter
ringing bells speak to me
stories undo me
who could refrain from the temptation
to imitate birds and dogs
to home ourselves
in the bone
and see how many there were
on the other side
Dikt om temaet: bell
Dikt om temaet «bell» på Poets.by.
Compline
called by bell
I ring within
how infinitely naked is an ear
to the night
The great equalizer
in the city of the dead
the poor cannot have any bell
ring for them
we fear that public sand
fear being forced to lie there
like a little warren
Day of mourning
bells ringing all day long on one ration of sorrow
No toll
full of morning
the bell by our door
who am I to droop
if others should trouble
the world more than me
Martial Artist
I go in secret.
The score I hear is my heart,
is for bell and wind.
Drunk, I defend myself
with a late foot.
Quietist
having been the barking dog
that could not sleep
I believe as well as a bell
in the discourse of snow
Twickenham
I went to Twickenham to sit
I went to Twickenham to think
alone in a closet
I played on my flageolet
till the bell-man came by with his bell
and left my wife and the maid a-washing still.
Fairy Bells
Prosartes lanuginosa
Their ringing isn’t obvious;
you need the ear
of an anchorite to find them.
Listen for water tricking under rocks,
a black-throated green warbler’s
five wheezy notes.
Look beneath creased leaves
& zigzag branches
for a bell of quiet yellow-green
that flares into a six-pointed star,
anthers facing outward
around a stout style—
all of which must drop away
to swell the bell’s heir,
a scarlet clapper.
Poem
during the past few months become monastic
content. this
unseemly phase
is im sure a function
of space
of having only the weather
to contend with
& i embrace it & hang the bells
i make of its wind
over your side of the bed
Hokku 68
Oh, How cool —
The sound of the bell
That leaves the bell itself.
Loud Youth
There is a great, sweet golden bell in me —
It has a chime of flame, a flame so bright
I seem to walk forever in its light,
As gods do in their immortality.
Such a tremendous joy would come to be.
That chains would turn to wreaths of blowing white,
And crutches drop for wings to flare in flight,
If I could ring the bell that is in me.
Oh if I could ! The stars would shake — and suns
And moons collapse, and the hollow ways of death
Fill with enough of echo to revive
Such restlessness among the saintly ones,
That the oldest of them all would catch his breath
Remembering what it was to be alive!