"belling" poems
I kiss the fresh breeze as
The rainforest canopy embraces me.
I still my spirit
And tune my heart
To the natural symphony:
Wind whistling
Brook bubbling
River rushing
Branches creaking
Leaves rustling
Twigs snapping
Owls hooting
Birds singing
Monkeys chattering
Bats screeching
Frogs croaking
Fish blubbing
Deer belling
Snakes hissing
Boars grunting
Crocs roaring
Bees buzzing
Crickets chirping
Beetles humming
And then there is me
Dancing
To the beat and melody
Of the simple
Yet glorious masterpiece.
(How could something so wild
Tame me?)
Listen very closely as
Man and nature
Enjoy each other's
company and
Love one another
In unity.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 4:53 AM UTC
And I solemnly swear
on the chill of secrecy
that I know you not, this room never,
the swollen dress I wear,
nor the anonymous spoons that free me,
nor this calendar nor the pulse we pare and cover.
For all these present,
before that wandering ghost,
that yellow moth of my summer bed,
I say: this small event
is not. So I prepare, am dosed
in ether and will not cry what stays unsaid.
I was brown with August,
the clapping waves at my thighs
and a storm riding into the cove. We swam
while the others beached and burst
for their boarded huts, their hale cries
shouting back to us and the hollow slam
of the dory against the float.
Black arms of thunder strapped
upon us, squalled out, we breathed in rain
and stroked past the boat.
We thrashed for shore as if we were trapped
in green and that suddenly inadequate stain
of lightning belling around
our skin. Bodies in air
we raced for the empty lobsterman-shack.
It was yellow inside, the sound
of the underwing of the sun. I swear,
I most solemnly swear, on all the bric-a-brac
of summer loves, I know
you not.
1.9k
Sleep
Hush little baby
Hush little baby
Mama bout to tell you whats going on lately, yo
Waking up at noon,
sleeping fully clothed
lectures in the afternoon,
i think I should fully go
Teachers always barking
Barking like a dog in this,
place,
we call home (home?)
Hanging on the phone
Hanging on the monkey bars
Teachers told me don't
monkey around
Gotta grow up get paid and be
sound
But its just me against the world now
(me against the world now)
LIKE PAC
it's just me against the world now
LIKE PAC
it's just me against the world now
Waking up at noon
Alarm always belling late
Unless I set it
wrong
can't remember last night's mind state
Darkness in the morning
Up a mourning yawning
another day another
dolla to pay,
another bent,
copper to pay
to the **** poor,
mama tell me what my life might,
got in store!
Girl a like, Hey Hey!
Girl a like, Hey Hey!
Beats in the bedroom,
mac by the stereo and
Pats on the stereo
Pats on the decks
Hey Hey Harriet I tell her that she next
And i tell her that she next
Me against the world
Me against the world
Me against the world
LIKE PAC
LIKE PAC
L-L-L-LIKE PAC
I wish i was a bear
I wish i didn't care,
I wish one day I might grow up,
and be fair
dada told me
son
SON!
SON!
LIKE PAC,
HAIIIL MAARY!
Haaaaaailm Marrt
Harriet
Mum, I'm sparking up!
up! up! Stop Smoking ****
Stop Smoking ****
Met Her once
Might have met her twice
TV show told me its love at first,
sight
sight
Face told me that she looked quite...
nice
She looked quite nice
Harriet, Scott!!!!
Scott!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ahhhh!
I'm Scared Now!
Well we can ask,
Meek Mill and Game
Who The **** Scared NOW!
?
Scott!
And again, Scott!
I'm Lying!
!!
Harriet save me now,
Jesus, Rachel,
forget it, Leanne!
Gone,
Waiting For Godot,
Waiting For, Jamie and Jay at the Gates of Dawn
Waiting
Grow Old
Grow Old
Stop smoking ****
Waking up at noon
Smoking lots of ****
bunning bunning bunning
Who is Kym, Who is Rachel?
who cares
I 1 life
I can be as self indulgent as i like
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 12:09 PM UTC
I pull the curtains over tight so the
sticky light will not let in the morning.
I miss waking up in Europe with the
strange European light coming in pouring
in the narrow windows of Dutch Tower
houses or busy Berlin apartment
streets with kebabs cooking and kids crying
the stillness of frosty Dublin suburbs
in the winters and the bite of the air
on bare cheeks and knuckles and the eerie
sound of invisible birds and clock towers belling on Sundays resonating in the crystal air.
And I start thinking about all the things I never did which is sometimes worse than thinking about all the things I have done
Feb 19, 2021
Feb 19, 2021 at 6:18 AM UTC
I live on a small (25 sq. mile) island, accessible only by ferry.
<>
“For we are dear to the immortal gods,
Living here, in the sea that rolls forever,
Distant from other lands and other men”
—Homer, the Odyssey (translated by Robert Fitzgerald)
<>
*sea air inoculates the slowing breath-taking ferried voyager,
our landed cares felled, fall into a wake, trailing, sunk & submerged,
a ferry’s ramp contact-clangs, belling a “Here, Here!” alters our mien,
the softening airy enveloping, fragrantly, a greeting of immortal gods*
*no matter that we can vision-easy the neighboring isles, with
their trafficked-light busyness, the to and fro of mainland life,
bustle necessity of hustle, our riveted river moat cancels out
imposing surround sounds, our untucked flavor, floating free*
*wafting perfume of quiet inlet, creek and harbour, touch us safely,
alternating currents of gentle breeze, stiffer sailing winds, gusts,
bending us, these reminders, we humans too, creatures of elementals,
water, sun, forest, sand, animals, singular upon co-hosted menagerie*
*the brackish water, where fresh + marine waters mix, live + die,
reflecting our pooling diversity, so few of us born here, yet so many,
adopt and adapt the isle’s peculiarities, endearing all without any
distinction, we blessed together by Immortal Gods to shelter together,
by, from, the seas that roll us into one peaceful island, nearly, dearly,
and now departed*
<>
Shell Beach,
Shelter Island
August 2021
Aug 7, 2021
Aug 7, 2021 at 1:28 PM UTC
~for M.C.C. ~
who sang me to sleep,
when my soul begged me for
sweet release,
just was lucky, I guess
*"Mornings here with a coffee cup
Stories in my head, looking up
If the rain holds off we'll be in luck
But we're lucky anyway"*
<>
Been there, done that,
ritualized & compartmentalized
the essences of the routinized,
to measure the days of my life,
as small keepsakes,
charms and tokens on a bracelet,
jingle bo jangle,
when another be repeated,
the telling belling of
a ✅ of satisfying satisfaction,
<>
and I!ve been bone
marrowed & narrowed hell~married,
imprisoned until decisioned,
that no life was no life at all,
(take note! y'all y'all),
and I miss my dog's greetings,
and snoring while I'm wide awake,
always loved to drive too fast on
back country narrow lanes,
in my suburban shrunk
small suv,
with radio blaring, no need for
trucking on the Truckee,
been there, done that..
<>
in the small ways,
in the
small places,
take my slow going days my way,
and not no need
to rent borrowed uninfluenc-ed content
cause I custom built it in,
easy like, five easy pieces,
learned to make daisy peaces,
of the bright nights melding
with life affirming hot sunlight
and there is no bad time,
with a cold blue~ribbon
in my left,
my right grasping two O'clock
on my heart and steering wheel,
driving freedom fine,
Chapin~ Carpenter
on the stereo dial,
no set time,
just anytime,
rain or shine
for me and my poems
to *** together,
like old time,
any fine rhyming time,
together we flashback
to the sweet Release
from jail in 2008
<>
***and break out a new one and clap it onto the clasp
my bracelet of charmed
keepsakes,
like memories of
my old dog, thinking
one more time,
just got lucky***
6/27/25
Jun 27, 2025
Jun 27, 2025 at 3:32 PM UTC
I woke up one morning with my insides in a knot
I froze to death from icy sweat, my body getting hot
And an angel stood beside me and he whispered in my ear
"For every day you misbehave I'll take another year"
So I stumbled to get out, empty bottles on the floor
And was aiming for my city as I crashed out through the door
I hurried out only to find I was a single soul
Everything was silent but a hellish belling knoll
The angel stood before me and cackled in my face
"In all your wildest fantasies, this here is the place!"
But here were no burning rivers or pillars made of fire,
The pain that came and scarred the most was from my own desires
What I wanted most in life was nowhere to be found
And the landscape that surrounded me was empty all around
I knew I'd never die again and would dwell here endlessly,
No one to keep me company and no drugs to keep my sanity
I woke up the next morning with my insides in a knot
I froze to death from icy sweat, my body getting hot.
And an angel stood beside me and she whispered in my ear
"The only way to stay away is to give up all your fear"
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 4:40 PM UTC
wrote this; I added a little spit 'n polish
when words tumble jumble out
of our body's orifices,
scored in electrons, on paper,
surprise and befuddlement, our thoughts,
both the source and the answer,
a belling that resonates in more than
the Pyrex container of our writing minds,
so easy this spilling,
bought so hard in the learning,
paid so hard in the earning,
but the journey's price,
the resultant device,
worth the journey's cost
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 5:53 PM UTC
As the morning sun cleared
the mist above the fields
harrowed with precision,
as cars hurried their servants
to serve,
as trains were running late,
and bakeries were busy,
a uniformed procession of capped men
and neatly trimmed women gathered
outside a tawny little church
in a sleepy little town
known for its irrelevance;
A serviceman expired here,
this last night of winter.
Whether from illness or old age,
gradually or
in a flash of chaos,
his mirror admits no more
the faces of those who shared his world,
and have now come to congress
and to remain
in the feasting sun of this first day of spring.
As blackbirds hush and tickle bush,
as more cars wiggle and park,
as naked trees pretend to still being naked,
crows flap around the tower that begins
a-belling,
and as pedestrians gaze after passing cars,
the mourners follow the bells into the church,
where they splash in thin silence
and scented air,
and stained glass admits the light of the world in,
as if through closed eyelids.
Apr 24, 2019
Apr 24, 2019 at 5:10 AM UTC
My clothes are familiar and I blend in well
the shops are quiet and do not sell
I drive on regardless each day the same way
a sagas myth is here to stay
the welcoming inn a buzzing hive
clothes unpeel and emblazoned I rise
in short sleeved blue Jim Jams with clogs of noir
to follow tiled pathways and stairwells on high
scale the walled harbour and tide
gloves now cover along with gauzed hair
levy labelled with cóem and time
a mask of no air
a visor upon my stare
gloves that give birth in a pair
entering the abode
the door is unsealed
la dévastation is revealed
with each breath mists my brow
stifled sounds and blurried spectres
angels wings unfurled
amorphous canoes float among modulus forms
each suspended on ripples that care
moorings avail the fare
pure is the air
each a lifeline
engaged in dance
the lines waver
a harmonious swell
take gauntlets and bib
many hands take hold
the canoe is in white water
capsized and adrift
what’s up is down
and down is sound
the turbulence unfolds
blue now runs red
muscles unwind
eyes now a veiled
dreams on thin air
eyes are the story
telling their all
prepare, engage, and consider
action stations now all
the canoe revives
eddies are restored
the brows repose
the eyes belighten
a canoe is transformed
the moorings are loosened
our chance to assist
the derrick is grasped
air finally comes forth
a canoe breaks loose
a belling arises and then one more
steers an outstretched hand
the lines are gathered
the harbour protects all
a poem is written
an eloquent enigma
each number makes news
a zero the grail
summoned by home
the inns light fades with the distance
a refreshing shower
a cooling drink
a warm meal
tired eyes, fasten shut
the canoes float past
my eyes open but nothing stirs
I mouth in silence
'yield thou viral hold'
May 9, 2020
May 9, 2020 at 7:32 PM UTC
so he came quite early really,
little fuss or bother, drank
his coffee nicely.
#summerhouse
as did the next one, with
news, that is taken positively.
#belling
so we move forward gently, knowing
now , the man that visited every
sunday, will do so
no more.
#timesup
sbm.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 1:24 AM UTC
sometimes the boy plays on his own, in water.
sometimes it can’t be helped.
the pies are warm,and full of the tenderest
meats and gravy. which helps the day when
the belling is broke.
the bags came greasy, left in the litter bin
nearby.
nearby, the boy stopped playing
and we wondered if the water was cold.
wednesday. betws.
sbm.
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 1:19 AM UTC