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It's Friday night,
a still blue dark eyed sky
a band plays

It's years removed from the time I wrote about
the bells and how they swing
in the tower to my left
I still hear them
how they cling cling BANG
and I am with you
and I am alone
                          tomorrow is coming
and in two years I'll be here with the bells

cling cling BOOM

and there will be a woman or a man
sipping on coffee
or speaking
                    softly,    and the bells
cl­­ing cling BANG
i suppose i can wield my words.
i can use them to make someone fall in love
with themselves.
as i compare their laughter to a ****** of fairy bells
and the way their breath fogs up the air on a chilly winter morning.
i can use my words to make someone fall in love
with the world.
as i show them how beautiful trees are,
how blue can be seen in so many ways, by so many people.
but for some reason,
i can't use my words to make someone fall in love
with me.
i can't seem to mold them the way i want to,
to express my emotions in a way they want to hear.
i cannot explain to them how i get buffaloes and rhinoceroses
rumbling in my stomach,
every time they smile at me.  
i cannot explain why i wish i could fall through the cosmos
with them.
hand in hand,
figures tumbling,
up and down and sideways and wayside.
i wish i could show not tell how
in love i am with them.
i can wield my words
but i cannot use them to caress
the face of someone
i love.
Thank you so much to anyone who took the time to read another **** poem about love.
Nik Bland Sep 26
I heard the bells
From where I laid
And they kept eyes wide as they loudly said
That there were things the heart forbade
I prayed they spoke not of you

I heard the bells
They rang for me
The hand I held falling with the leaves
As noctuous tones rang to the sea
And told me unwanted truths

I heard the bells
Shook them away
Howled at the night, mourned in the day
Spurting hatred to drown out what they say
What mind pushed away, but heart knew

I heard the bells
Each damning tone
That spoke and said you are not home
In the of one whose heart you own
And I was haunted by the tears that followed
Gale L Mccoy Mar 12
im so far down
i have nothing to say
no words to be found
i hear bells
and i see the ticking clock
but i am so far down
i reach for nothing
for there is nothing there
instead i listen to the chimes
and watch the clock tick down
Martin Narrod Feb 12
Without sinking through the spheres. Hymns betting, still hands crisp under the wings. The wind slumbering, stays in the dark spaces. Eleven invisible pages, over. Any other name- Lux Arabesque, Uuqui Haratas, Preset: 117, and the foil.

The mirrored valley’s strangest flora, sifts the decorated thriving trails. Then it can all become an infinite weave in this world where lazy whistling sand dunes beyond, claim the rights to a juried Spring. Then somehow it may recant this glorious history we’ve only barely known. The potent eyes starved by madness, waxes seas and radio fields, slimming the loops that rip into  hinges and dispel a tryst.

Toward Earth’s serene prelude, this pageantry of standard masks make ascending towers just and stately. Then come the planets we’ve always loved: Mars, Neptune, and Jupiter too. Barefoot and staggering through the modern coolness of a colossal spring, aching mental itching grows. Until the fruits have fallen into the cloven shadows. Until buried stones alit with day consecrate these omens and conceive such lucid strings to break these quiet thieves into song.

Then the diary belies this affair. The steins upset the tales where pungent fleshy working minds coalesce. Observe the horses play in their endings, upon the wild mountain rivers where felling human eyes wander amidst these cleaved and sun-drenched desert mounds.

Pt. II

In origins uplifting diets foretell the escaped  seams of darkness whose lofty tongues of nature’s prose lift the veiled hours’ wraith. Never pressing bells nor raked by shivers, it occurs swiftly should the marbled rushing master call. Above the sound of narrow whispers, comes the wishing hands to shout.
Joseph Loggi Jan 1
My mother likes to hang bells
On the front door,
And I always wondered
What they were for.

They would jingle
Whenever someone
made entry,
and glitter
With the light
from the lamppost
On the street.

But they became dull
Hanging all day,
And the giggling clatter
Mulled and dulled
to a brassy bray.

Mom has a small wedding bell
Of a silver boy
Holding flowers
With a smiling grin.
He’s asking her to ring him
And bring back memories.

But father’s guitar glistens
Whilst the sun lays low.
With one pluck
The vibration hums
Smooth and mellow.

But can you hear it
Sitting on the steps?
This house is so large
But there still lays unrest.

And through The corridor
Clacks the patter
Of greyed canine feet.
But some of us
Lay silent
And reap the past
From the sounds
That do dare speak.

the living room clock
Drones with That of a distant chime,
Because the living arrangements
Have changed overtime.
Salmabanu Hatim Nov 2017
Jack and Jill,
Went up the hill,
To fetch a pail of water,
Nobody knows what they did up there,
They came back with a baby daughter.
They named the daughter Mary.
Mary had chubby cheeks,
Dimple chin,no teeth within,
Rosy lips,
Curly hair, very fair,
Eyes were blue,lovely too.
One day Mary went to play on the slide,
Georgie Porgi pudding and a pie,
Kissed Mary and made her cry,
When Jack and Jill came out to see Mary play,
Georgie Porgi ran away.
Mary had a friend called Johny,
He was handsome and Bonny,
Mary Mary,
Yes papa,
Loving Johnny,
No papa,
Open your heart,
Ha! Ha! Ha!.
But, Johnny said,
"Lavenders blue,Mary, Mary,
Lavenders green,
When I am King Mary, Mary,
You shall be  queen."
Papa Jack and mama Jill asked,
Mary ,Mary quite contrary,
We have a querry,
How does your heart grow,
With wedding bells and many heart throbs,
Not now, Mary  sobs.
One day, Johnny proposed,
Mary, Mary,
I'm crazy,
All for the love of you.
It won't be a stylish wedding,
I can't afford a Lamborghini,
But, if a stylish scooter for two,
Will do.
Soon, Mary had a little boy, a little boy,
It's skin was white as snow
It followed her to work one day,
He made her friends laugh and say, laugh and say,
"Mary, what a bonny lass you have.
I love to play with my grandchildren and made up this nursery rhyme poem for them.
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