"carillon" poems
The boulevard knows I don’t care
My hair’s messed up sometimes
These cobble stones remind me
That roughness has its charm
I turn a corner, find myself
In a whole new street of dreams
The fountain whispers to the wind
That nothing stays the same
As I wander unknown alleys
Each junction poses questions
Every showcase I walk by
Displays what life could be
Each passerby’s a promise
A sample story to be lived
The hilltop view reveals all
Of the possible paths to take
Strolling squares and avenues
I am searching to get lost
To find what I could never find
Where shortcuts are the norm
The cathedral proves to be the x
On my worn-out treasure map
The stained glass lays a mosaic
Of nuances on my heart
The arches paint perspective
Into my constricted reference
Their majesty lifts up my head
Compels an upward glance
The wideness resonates a truth
That shakes me to my core
The carillon sings an anthem
That accompanies new strides
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 5:25 PM UTC
~~~~English~~~~
Everything is white
Snow is all I can see for miles and miles
Icicles hang from the shivering trees
And the flowers are resting in sweet peace
Until Spring wakes them from their sleep
Sound of jingling sleigh bells
Blow across the wind
Mingling with the sound
Of distant church chimes
Cold bitter breezes sting my face
And I can clearly see my breath
Slowly I homeward trod
To sit beside the fireplace
With a hot cup of cocoa
~Marian~
~~~~French~~~~
Tout est blanc
Neige est tout qu'i can see for miles et des miles
Glaçons pendent des arbres avec frisson
Et les fleurs sont reposent en paix doux
Jusqu'au printemps eux réveille de son sommeil
Bruit de tintement de grelots
Coup dans le vent
Se mêlant avec le son
Du lointain carillon église
Froides brises amers piquent mon visage
Et je vois clairement mon souffle
Lentement j'ai foulé chemin du retour
S'asseoir à côté de la cheminée
Avec une bonne tasse de cacao
~ Marian ~
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
Margo was a fragile girl,
so ****** it was cool,
we stayed in locked bathrooms, talking till nine,
her father was a liar, sipping cheap wine,
her mother a white pelican, death took her young,
she talked how she wants to orbit around me, like earth do to the sun,
wrote words on my palm,
"I think you can fix me with you sugarplum chewing gum.."
She had no clue I was just a young wolf, passing my time,
I liked broken things that lights up at dawn,
girls that hide in shadows,
waiting for their monsters to come,
blinking neon signs,
smoking cigarettes with their trembling hands,
like they are passing a gun after robbing your mom.
Once she had a dream, about us, no longer being seventeen,
she felt dumb, expressing it to me,
gazing to the distance, her dream became reality,
sound of sirens, resonating in the distance,
wind was playing with carillon on their front lawn,
I didn'tt felt guilty, wolfs don't do, after they eat all lamb.
Margo was a fragile girl,
her pale skin, blue eyes mirrored her moms,
she used to made me peanut butter sandwiches without the crust,
but she didn't know that my favorite color was rust,
I liked when things fall into dust,
enjoyed smoke after ripping young hearts apart,
I filled her world while my insides were numb,
I left after damage was done.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 5:53 PM UTC
Deep perfume seeps still from the fallen rose Down down endlessly
filling the air with all that is pure, and soon all that is not
diamonds glisten upon its skin Sparkling in the summer heat, he
knows this won't be the end
moisture condenses around his roots, the tree growing up into
heaven, life surging around him, springing, growing, ripping
through the thick and crusted earth. Pun i ca gra na tum is such a complex word for what here has come to pass. the roots shooting down and spreading, their mirrors filling the sky, soaking up our
shining beams of phantasmal brilliance.
Only those loved have names wouldn't you Agree some are special
to the producing world, and Others are left to rot, take the fruit of a morning lily, no one loves her, yet she bears all the same
something stirs within his being, some new body grows out from
inside, some new some new some new something new. The sky fills
with blood espousal carillon, their pods filling rich and new,
chiming out for all to hear the dawn rising, the birds flying, yes,
hear them fly above as you watch their song paint the sky in cool
purples and blues.
Color is so trite and love is so outdated and there are those who
wish for the end of the world as well Creation falling to the Ground
as the rosebud does in winter
united in final ecstasy, the bells descend as dying mistrals unveil
our sinking crown, sound-bow dripping away
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 8:19 PM UTC
i choose to be a misfit, it's part of my artistry. i choose to be a misfit, a pirate and a bandit. a slave to my ministry. i outwit your chemistry and scream from the pulpit. i awoke to explosions and time lapsed erosions. the air filled with fire and rainbow smoke. i couldn't find my breath, the bed was ablaze. i inhaled the nightmare and began to choke... just then, things went fragmentary. i was more than just a dignitary. i found myself in a cinerary, facing someone legendary, and they were me. so i looked up my apothecary, knowing that i should be wary. i quickly dispensed with commentary, avoiding all things monetary. but nothing's free. speaking briefly of the goings-on, i stopped to berate the hangers-on. my mouth wove a verbal marathon, it was a virtual phenomenon. lost in my ego. restless, like the myrmidon, i was unsure of my prolegomenon. when i heard the ringing carillon, i went for a swim in the phlegethon. like abednego.
Aug 29, 2010
Aug 29, 2010 at 6:35 PM UTC
I knew when the bells were silenced
that it was finally done, as was I.
The snow fell furiously trying to cover
the ugliness only man can beset upon himself.
The memory of warm lips
brushed against my bluing ones
and I felt myself rise above the frost
but there was no lightness in my spirit.
Carillon splendor had marked the births and deaths
of everyone I had ever known, but no more...
it would die along with me and fall
into the dusty desolation of this place.
The sons of Adam had honed their weapons well ,
smashed the fruits of labors of all who had come before.
They had stolen the sweetest of sounds in a greedy grab for glory
and tossed it into the vacant winds of history.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 3:48 PM UTC
The all faith popes were flaming atheists,
all two thousand leagues of stacked sea,
sending out their **** hole flotillas
on carillon arks stacked ten tiers deep with homing doves,
tithe teething continents of dithering dullards,
the poor mouthed succulent souls
that have so, so
over crowded a once peaceful heaven
to render this one blue ball a hell on earth.
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 10:23 PM UTC
The rain is falling, coalescing now
Off the roof onto new blooms.
Dusk slips in with its indigo shroud
And I watch it kiss the purple,
Of the Rhododendron’s earliest flower,
Plucking away Azalea’s last veil,
Hiding her into a bower,
Where summer never ends
And the rain falls when it will;
I would have this all year instead of an end
Where these soft mists know nothing of a chill
But heat and rain,
Sun and shower.
I can still hear raindrops drumming
On a Chinese rebel’s tin roof,
Outside Jakarta and the red guard coming,
We could lapse into hypnosis,
Rapt senses gently humming.
Despite our temperate flowers and leaves
That droop under the deluge.
Their color seems to strengthen as they grieve,
And they cluster, seeking refuge,
Yet from our New England loggia,
A stream turns them darker, a humid green.
And in the slowly deepening dusk,
The trees’ heads toss, agitated,
Like elegant women whose gowns have cost
A tidy sum and now are saturated.
Their full, green plumage lost.
I love the mockingbirds’ changing cries,
Announcing from to squeal to carillon.
Cardinals’ song change from pleasure to pain
Flashing coats of taupe to vermilion.
As the evening slowly dies.
It ends and begins with summer, summer,
Soundless footsteps in the rain.
A prismatic wakening from slumber,
A season with no name.
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 10:06 AM UTC
I saw Heaven hanging over my head like a chandelier, it's
angels were swimming in the light, whispering sweet hymns,—
in a kaleidoscope filled with broken dreams.
The gates fell open like a strand of hair, trumpets were blaring for kings, with thrones like rocking chairs, of my ancestors and their heirs. On earth, I had cattle trodding around my heart to pay for love; as dowry couldn't pay enough for who I once loved.
I drank the tears of Heaven's rains, to tie my tithes wrapped
around my neck; waiting for their fortunes reigns.
I kissed an angel that melted my lips, and had suckled on the ******* of mother nature, who fed me milk and honey to keep me alive. I danced around the edge of an end, where life begins once again. My toes felt cold as a tear drop lost in snow,— my ears were ringing like the church carillon, calling me to repent.
And from the stained glass window frames, it all immediately painted out my pain.
I thought of you, just before I took my last breath, begging the favours from the mistress of Death. I felt like a flower in your hand; each petal being picked away, asking the question of,
__"does she love me or love me not."__ I thought of being holy enough to fit in your heart, but I was as holey as the holes in my socks. My prayers all stunk of the lie behind them all. I looked into your eyes to see heaven inside, as I was living in the world.
I bit on time to have it for seconds, and served a dish of revenge only in my heart,— I was taught it will always be a cold meal; so
I'd use my spark of love to keep it warm. I shared stories with
the world, told my biggest secrets to the sky, and left
breadcrumbs to them, in every word of my poems.
Still...in the chaos of my mind, lied a still river flowing with worth. Drowning myself in your eyes, as your every tear was the inspiration of what became our story. But I know in the end, our love will just be another person's story...
Jan 11, 2024
Jan 11, 2024 at 7:22 PM UTC
The Twentieth Century War -->
A carillon => Calling all fronts to move a pace...
Not to be confused with a Fanciful Past, Nor a Fabulous Future.
There is only one real History
Of the Twentieth Century on Earth,
And that History is embedded too deeply to dislodge.
The Reality as a Collective Mind Evolving
Through Time & Technology & Knowledge & Art.
Forget the externally imposed insider Jokers,
That thinks they can clear collective guilt's,
Or whitewash cultural tragedies,
Or brush aside National Pride,
All for the Love of Mind-F**king society at large.
I might have instinctively specialised in WAR,
But that hasn't been the greatest Bane
Inflicted from further a-field.
The Pseudo-philes and their undue influence
Have spoilt our brethren and relatives;
And the big, glaring signposts to disaster,
From my Point-of-View (as a G'day Man) are:
Economicks, Psychiatry, and Post-Modernism's Political Correctness -->
All ******* Fields, underscored by Fundamental Miss-Information ==>
Globally influential Slave-Trading systems; Imperialers of Free Thought.
Even though I'm not a Religious Man,
All things being Equal ,
I say, "Credit where Credit's due" -->
Like those Institutions or Loathe their Dogma,
At least they get into the guts of Society
And do the best they can as attractors
Of both Good and Bad proto-types - community Gravity Wells -
They, too, tag and release for the greater social benefit.
So, regardless of your P.O.V., have some consideration for Others.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 4:03 AM UTC
seminal squirt didst sanctify
an anonymous boulder
when mercury dipped below
hashtag mark registering colder
than usual temperatures circa
winter of year 2000 in proximity
to the sacred chapel
at Valley Forge, Pennsylvania
(house zing carillon player)
rifling thru manilla folder
first inn search of apropos
mailer daemon ***** muse sic,
thence finely pitted secretly riddled with holes
encoded sheet threaded thru bell jar contrivance
sans, handy dandy mechanical holder
to accompany prurient powerful ******* pang
bubbling (like the **** kens), and didst smolder
especially, cuz a free ranging
NON GMO, **** in boots
hello kitty sauntered
(emanating pheromone heat
hand dill lee pronouncing feral passe faux foots),
dripping, seething with hormonal secretion
uttered via vow welled roots
gluten and monosodiumglutinate free *****
hapt tabby on the prowl ready
for par laid view ****** piqued Saint Peter
to enter heavenly labial shoots
rather than suffer frost bite
the above mew wing tigress attempted
to keep toasty warm
('thru minuscule tunnel
lacked add **** quit light)
prickly endowment fired
raging testosterone
with braggadocio, brio, bravura and might
owing pretentiously pusillanimous feline
fur reed black as night
hood hit attempt to cap cha moxie ********
thus ensuing a mutually satisfactory plight
until a park ranger back his utility truck
than gregarious, felicitous, erogenous
then quick as greased lightening
***** creatures disappeared out ta sight.
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 10:19 PM UTC
*Across a looking glass pond -
facing zephyr music revelry
Atop paint-by-number artworks , leaves
in brotherhood with perfect rainbows ,
shine on midday tall 'Lantern of God' ,
ruminations of a change in season , of
eventide convocations with the North Star
and frosted narrows , October operas of
wind carillon and songbird , golden bottom
land misty coming of nightfall , the sconce
of The Little Dipper and Orion , of woodland
diapason , timely Whipporwill and Thrush* ...
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 9:58 PM UTC
*To tarnished golden escapements ,
lonely eves dividing the days -
in hubris moonlight
For the taut brushstrokes of Dusk
Orange , blue upon red
Gray home fires on icy morns
To the carillon of October wind
Sunlight across brown grass ,
now estranged* ....
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 3:50 PM UTC
In the morning wind
my thoughts are tinkling clearly --
like a carillon.
Nov 26, 2024
Nov 26, 2024 at 3:45 AM UTC
Mountain winds carry the church carillon through town ,
hymns echo across sleepy juniper meadows and hamlets for miles around ..
Neighbors gather for Sunday morning service , children laugh and
play throughout city square park benches and monuments , husbands and wives are rather 'chatty' and quite proud in their finest attire ..
Restaurants open at noon , hungry churchgoers celebrate life
and togetherness , one day out of the week the locals swoon jointly
over the month of June , impending harvest , all that is good in the world on a sleepy , thankful afternoon ..
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 12:10 PM UTC
She turned her face and moved away
But brief light on her countenance
Her gentle features did display
A moment there, and never since.
What saw I then? A rosy cheek
As smooth as cream, a moonlit brow
Creased as if in thought, and now
Ruddy lips part as to speak.
But not to me! I cannot spy
The one whom Providence allowed
Her comp’ny; nor any more descry
That angelic face amongst the crowd:
A hand of grace so quickly gloved
That could or could not soothe the beast
A glimpse of beauty, sure at least
It was, or was not, my beloved.
The image lingers, then is gone
Fading, as image is wont to do.
What remains, a warmth of feeling
Ringing like the carillon
Across sun-dappled pastures pealing:
A glance that lit the world like dawn,
And hopeless hope that again we two
Will meet, perhaps, one day, further on.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 12:57 PM UTC
J'aime le carillon dans tes cités antiques,
Ô vieux pays gardien de tes moeurs domestiques,
Noble Flandre, où le Nord se réchauffe engourdi
Au soleil de Castille et s'accouple au Midi !
Le carillon, c'est l'heure inattendue et folle,
Que l'oeil croit voir, vêtue en danseuse espagnole,
Apparaître soudain par le trou vif et clair
Que ferait en s'ouvrant une porte de l'air.
Elle vient, secouant sur les toits léthargiques
Son tablier d'argent plein de notes magiques,
Réveillant sans pitié les dormeurs ennuyeux,
Sautant à petits pas comme un oiseau joyeux,
Vibrant, ainsi qu'un dard qui tremble dans la cible ;
Par un frêle escalier de cristal invisible,
Effarée et dansante, elle descend des cieux ;
Et l'esprit, ce veilleur fait d'oreilles et d'yeux,
Tandis qu'elle va, vient, monte et descend encore,
Entend de marche en marche errer son pied sonore !
Malines, août 1837.
398
The carillon bells
Ring to celebrate a man
The tower is strong
The music ethereal
The metal clappers striking
Four bells become three
Each tolls a biography
Catholic Central High
Carroll College French classes
Manhattan Paris Lisbon
Three chords one chorus
Many banjo strings twanging
To honor one man
A lovely still life hanging
A note in perfect cursive
Two bells together
Laughing singing travelling lots
Two souls two hearts one
A home full of love and cats
A home of ringing bell chimes
Looking forward back
Eyes opening to the other
Ears awake and true
They dedicate an album
A domestic partnership
Music and flowers
To honor the resting man
In a niche that loves
Where family sings and prays
Where two are one together
© Lewis Bosworth, 7-2017
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 1:55 PM UTC