"chimes" poems
kissing you was like swerving into oncoming traffic
i can never tell if i am more haunted by empty picture frames or the ashes of their contents
you taught me that the saying "pick your battles" meant not answering when love was at the door
sometimes when i drink whiskey i swear i can hear your voice in the creases of my bedsheets & i sleep on the floor
i still catch myself running my hands over things you touched the most, looking for the echoes of your fingertips
i practice things i'll never say to you
i remember the day you told me you didn't like poetry, how "everything's already been said" & how "nothing meaningful can be captured without being cliche" you know, i don't miss you like the sun and moon, i do not miss you like tide bent waves crashing on the shoreline, i miss you like a chernobyl swingset misses children
rumor has it that drowning is a lot like coming home, that drinking bleach can **** the butterflies in your stomach
for your love of cigarettes, i would have been an ashtray
this halloween i want to dress up as the you when you loved yourself and show up on your doorstep
i never understood what you meant when you said i was an instrument, back when you would cup your hands around my chest and breathe through the holes in my heart, i still wonder if the sounds i made remind you of wind chimes
i never paid much attention to abandoned buildings until i became one
in my dreams all the flowers smell like your perfume
i am the only person who has ever wished for the same snowflake to fall twice
if i could go back, and rewrite the definition of audacity, it would be how when we lost the bet of love, you said "we never shook on it"
i love you, if the feeling is not mutual, please pretend this was a poem
the only apology i want from you, is to have you repeat the names of children we will never have in your parents living room until they *****
we are the same person if you find yourself up at 4am dry heaving promises, or if you are kept awake by the laughter of those who've abandoned you
nobody ever told you that goodbyes taste like the back of stamps
sometimes i'm convinced that the only reason we hug, is so you can check my back for exit wounds
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC
They brought them
from the hollar
to the barge
to the field ~
into the wallows
in prayer
skinny little pinkers
cropped by ivory gates
buzzed with hot wire
hooked on bug worm
whistling dixie
around scrummers
and **** pen
peckers squawk
down eden lane
(nipping at jean lint
and fraystring)
deep in the hollows
a mad crow
(with steady tap)
the snouts high
on grunters
and squealers
stomping past
the feather pack
folded fingers
on the gatekeeper
(an engineer by
trade they'd say)
pigtails and
slack line
down the dusty lane
a snap of the jawbone
and lawn chairs settle
(facing north)
the bold script
and chimes
uneasy
Jan 6, 2017
Jan 6, 2017 at 1:11 PM UTC
Bells in the town alight with spring
converse, with a concordance of new airs
make clear the fresh and ancient sound they sing.
People emerge from winter to hear them ring,
children glitter with mischief and the blind man hears
bells in the town alight with spring.
Even he on his eyes feels the caressing
finger of Persephone, and her voice escaped from tears
make clear the fresh and ancient sound they sing.
Bird feels the enchantment of his wing
and in ten fine notes dispels twenty cares.
Bells in the town alight with spring
warble the praise of Time, for he can bring
this season: chimes the merry heaven bears
make clear the fresh and ancient sound they sing.
All evil men intent on evil thing
falter, for in their cold unready ears
bells in the town alight with spring
make clear the fresh and ancient sound they sing.
19.8k
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I’m just a lonely traveler
on this earth
Sometimes it feels as if I'm
waiting for the sky to fall
with each passing breathe
of wind
Standing alone,
a windswept tree
leans downwind;
conspicuously wrought,
naked and bowed
by the grinding
silent forces
at nature's whim
Rootless tumbleweeds
roll by randomly:
broken off,
spinning clockwise,
never looking back,
timeworn and tired
of resisting the prevailing
high desert wind
and its unheld temper
Rattling the tinder
dry sagebrush
like songless wind-chimes;
voiceless fugitives
wreathing a bellowing silence
Jesse Stillwater
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 7:04 PM UTC
After school hours, sleepily
Looking down from the window sill
A deep rest in spring wind chill
If I close my eyes
To this brilliant world
Reflected scenery dances still
If I blow a low whistle
Towards the blue sky
Walking becomes a little more spry
Turning my music a little bit down
To listen to the lively corner of town
When I look up with slight rejoice
I hear a distant singing voice
Ah~ Ah~ Ah~
Today begins like any other day
Bathed in the sun slowly drifting away
The most pleasing place to reside
Is here right by your side
Dull clouds early afternoon
A sudden shower in the middle of June
Blue sky peeked out when I arose
Colors arc out accross concrete meadows
The bell chimes when I reach
Out through the window and to the beach
Warm breeze blows through the empty hall
When I looked up I heard you call
Ah~ Ah~ Ah~
Let’s rest into the sunshine
Taking breaths in a comfortable rhyme
We may not speak for very long
Though with just that I feel so strong
My quiet heart echoing true
When I’m here with you
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 12:24 PM UTC
Well you see the thing to understand is poetry is a gospel to the world.
At first you feel as if it is oppressive chains tying you down to the soiled earth with every simplistic tick tock.
That is at least until you discover this world has no rules for an adventurer of free verse.
Your words now flow like an expeditious brook as long as you use metaphors with pretentious words.
However rules exist it is plain to see.
Some poems go aabb.
Those are simple ones to find.
Those are the ones stuck in your mind.
Now one more step, aabbc.
Those are a little more artsy.
You draw your crowd in.
Get under their skin,
And finish a little bit different.
And now it's time for set number three.
One that can simply astound.
The great, magnificent abab.
Those make a poet nearly profound.
There are couplets, sonnets, and monoryhms.
And now for the last one, all in good time.
I wanted you all to hear them like chimes,
But all that I had I left you in these lines.
Sep 19, 2011
Sep 19, 2011 at 11:26 PM UTC
true death and restless spirits
i remember all of their names
like they were mine
and the charity of cold
chimes forever
in a sea of salt
kicked down the cemetery gate
and kissed the ground
forgive me now
for the pain i caused
that night, canis minor wept
and all was dust
i am the one
who fell from dark
into an even greater void
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 3:12 PM UTC
Prolog:
Foreplay opens with an aphrodisiac dubbed the mind
caressing private chambers with passion, over time
words stimulating nerve-endings for the ideal tease
like the skin dripping of honey from the nectar of bees
exploiting the fragrances of scented oils and balms
or maybe vib’ing lyrics inducing a seductive calm
compelling forces bombard the intellectual’s sanity
as the proximity of the blackhole distorts humanity
Love’s Play:
Costars entwine heated bodies for love’s embrace
as moments become endless as vectors of subspace
sporadic movements take the form of blissful spasms
while the players combine to mold a single plasm
ringing chimes fulfill the awareness with sensations
too diverse to classify for logical deliberations
yet finally, the mountaintop of cliffs can be reached
where there is no retreat and no return from its breach
Epilog:
Aftermath closes basking from the physical exertion
as two kindred spirits epitomize timeless insertion
gazing deeply into the abyss of the partner’s soul
only to find comfort and compassion ruling the role
can this be the earthly heaven that one truly beholds
written in the historic words as the heavens foretold
feelings ignite once again burning deeply within
opening yet another intriguing act, one must attend.
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 10:06 AM UTC
starlight snaps your
cigarette awake. the imperfect
circles of earth’s motion orbit
around your breast. the moon
chimes
from your ears.
north and south run
the rivers of
smeared mascara,
you stop. listen to
the man
playing fiddle with
half-hearted
bar light.
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 2:43 PM UTC
sienna cities
sparkling saturn sunrises
sangria skyscrapers
sublime.
you are kaleidoscoped
through and through
with window blinds, bed sheets,
and street signs.
they call you modern art
and hang you on a wall
of white
and beige.
your color bleeds.
you boil
and no *** can hold you.
you speak and
wind chimes cry,
ringing into the empty night,
morose.
a ballerina can only hope
to move as gracefully
as you do.
your eyes light up
like tuscan sun cities
sizzling sirius sunsets
school bus skyscrapers
divine.
i’m hooked on your city glow
brighter than tokyo.
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 1:46 PM UTC
It's time to enter a sleepless mind
The cogs and wheels spin and grind
I hear the whistles and the chimes
My head racing faster than a v8
Thoughts are larger than a U.S state
For my sleep I am ever so late
Clocks in my head, tick tocking
Side to side my head rocking
Chains pulling of the ship docking
Inside a war is going
Bullets and missiles a throwing
Explosions is all, lost for all knowing
Eternity lost in void of thought
Reminiscing on all I was taught
Consistent darkness you haunt
A sleepless mind is what I see
It is all I know how to be
So if don't you mind, come join me
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 10:57 AM UTC
Prophesies of impending fall
creep stealthily over the Great Divide.
Gold-green Aspens shiver in the breeze
like leagues of fibrous wind chimes
serenading the mountain slopes
with aires of shimmering gold.
A few distant bugle calls echo
across the Big Thompson valley
as bull elks warm up for the autumn rut.
Sudden early gusts of frigid wind
bring waves of sleet and snow -
in tune with the turning polar axis.
The greater chill is soon to come.
The animals know it as do we.
Bears bulk up on grasses, roots and berries.
Elk and deer drift down from the heights
To show their young the ways
of the plains and river valleys.
We pull our sweaters on
and toss another log on the flames
and greet the harbingers of approaching fall
creeping stealthily over the Great Divide.
September, 2018
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 1:56 PM UTC
found
grounded bird closed in
ribboned-box and buried
underneath a willow snapped back
to finally relax
to decompose and nourish
by the lake in drooping shade
the felled leaves pile
candy wrappers gray snow in
parking lot corners
with pumpkin spice scented candles
with charred letters skirling up
the arm dropped to sizzle and puff out
white beanies
flannels
leather boots and jangly bronze-leafed wind chimes
I sit on the patio and listen to you speak
the chill of your words
perched like a squirrel barking on a fence top
hibernation preparation and breeze
the gospel of your autumn
it’s lovely.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 11:26 PM UTC
A vacant room of dark spaces,
where furniture once lay
An empty lot of trash and cracked concrete
Where weeds take root with hopes of becoming trees
And cobwebs span for miles
Worn wind chimes still glisten in sun
Papers of bad handwriting fly with the wind
This place left unoccupied for so much time
Small lives make home in the walls,
While this home settles further beneath dirt
This place reminds me of our forgetfulness, our need to not rebuild
As a place turns old we leave it behind,
never to fix again,
never to feel loved again
Weeping floorboards
Walls crying tears of yellow paint
Roof caving in feeling hollow
Abandoned places
Forgotten
Always forgotten
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 3:42 PM UTC
They sing a song of melody
Some beautiful tune
That only Fairies sing at night
They ****** in the daytime
They quietly chime in the distance at night
Wind chimes ****** in the forest
Where the Fairies dance at night
In their beautiful Fairy Ring
Where all Fairies gather for the dance
Where we dance in a Ring
Wind chimes are our music
And they chime in the night breezes
A tune for us to waltz to
Even butterflies join the dance
And I am waltzing with the moon
Who smiles happily from his chair
In the dark, dark midnight sky
I love to hear the wind chimes
When they ****** in the Spring
And Summertime breezes
And in the wind of a thunderstorm
When they may chime vigorously
In the rain-scented winds
That send a twister of leaves
Flying through the air
Wind chimes soothe the mind
And tired body at night
And send sweet dreams
Into your head
~Marian~
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
A shallow breath,
A gentle tone,
Sustained,
Ringing out,
Calling the trees,
Whose ears bend to hear,
Subtle harmonies,
Growing,
Calling the hills,
Whose eyes close to hear,
More clearly,
The song,
Calling the earth,
Who stirs the sleeping seeds,
So they too,
Can hear,
The calling chimes,
Asking the world to smile,
As they resonate,
So easily,
And sing their metallic song.
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 4:00 AM UTC
The time was early or late - to us it's all the same/Our minds, a phone, two lovers alone and playing a lover's game.
We had made a promise not to speak or write those special words/Instead we chose to circle around them like a pair of lonesome birds.
Beyond all expectations we stayed true to our oath/Though in more ways than one it was torture to us both.
The day of our meeting was the date we had chosen/To express our emotions and melt lips long frozen.
But Life intervened and our plans were broken/Our love, it seemed, was not meant to be spoken.
Yet still a call was made and the reason why was clear/My patience had run out weeks ago and I simply longed to hear.
The melody of your voice and the thoughts in your head/And the rhythm of your breathing as you lay in your bed.
It isn't long before we start to speak of our vow/Though every fiber of my being begs to say it now.
Then a catch in your voice makes my ears perk up with glee/Could you desire to be first to say them to me?
Somewhere a clock chimes loudly four times/While criminals are out committing their crimes.
You become one of them as The Words leave your mouth/My love is now yours to take - North, East, West, and South.
I'll change and grow but there is one thing I'll always do/And it's whatever it takes to hear you say "I Love You."
For Jénay - My soulmate
I love you honeybee
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 2:29 AM UTC
Hear the gentle summer breeze
Whisking through gulmohar leaves
In the music of wind chimes
Tinkling songs of summer time
Feel her quiet on the skin
Filling hearts imaginings
See her as the blossoms dance
In the cusp of dawn's romance
In saplings that take a bow
In wind blown hair tousled now
Petals touched by her stir
Silken soft in gossamer
Light and dark shadows play
On shrubs of green bunched bouquet
While butterflies and bees sup
Drink nectar from sun's molten cup
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 10:08 AM UTC
Your eyelashes send a strong winds,
waves sail across your blue ocean eyes.
I hung wind chimes off of your heart while you were sleeping,
it tells me which way your mood is swinging.
I try to sing along with the tune, but its quickly lost in the night.
You sing it back to me,
you join in my delight.
We dance quickly across the line we've tried to pretend doesn't exist.
We know what has happened cant be fixed.
Last nigh,
when I laid down to sleep,
I found a wind chimes hung on my heart.
I felt a warm breeze across my neck.
Was it you?
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 8:47 PM UTC
Dangling bangles in rhythm of light,
colorfully shining right into the night;
Caressing my ears with magical tones,
dancing on air while my mind gently roams.
Lovely to hear and so sweet to see,
the motion of sounds in a song that's free;
Notes call to the sky with a fresh melody,
my very own voice sings the harmony.
In Autumn we sense those mystical sounds,
of spirits awakening this time around;
Each breeze sends the chimes out into space,
with pleasure and smiles no cloud can erase.
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 2:02 PM UTC
In our bed she lay
Tangled, sprawled, and filled with grace
Talking in her sleep
“Wind chimes sang
for your waking breath”
She whispers,
“soft and warm like fresh picked innocence
It gets so quiet these days”
The bedside photos said nothing
But they listened and remembered
a time when the sunrise seemed weightless
Now, though, in a room left deserted
she struggles
under the growing gravity
Of Dawn.
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 8:48 PM UTC
P-Postponing all those things until another time
R-Rostering them for attention down the track
O-Offering all sorts of excuses stalls one's climb
C-Constantly one defers the mounting job stack
R-Repeatedly ignoring their pealing bell chimes
A-Acting upon them requires an assertive knack
S-Still one avers in responding to their rhymes
T-Taking not a step forward nor any back
I-Initiative and get in and do it isn't one's paradigm
N-Never does one heed their ever tolling clacks
A-Always sitting in an idle non moving show time
T-The day shall arrive with a great waking whack
I-Into motion one shall soon be called to climb
O-On one's toes the chores are waiting in the rack
N-No more disregarding the many sounding chimes
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 9:37 PM UTC
When, instead of cozying in bed
I wander out there with Kerouac,
Imagining that I am Kerouac
Or some slave who walks upright;
Or a priest without a crowd
With hands and feet tied.
When, instead of snoring like hell,
I am left unimaginative by some;
I am making disgusting Love with shadows unknown
And remain pinned against the wall.
I am some nine year old senile who wets her bed
in fear and disbelief.
Lights flicker and then fade
And the switch becomes a button pressed to send
Someone in raving comfort.
I am not a stranger to sleepless nights
Even when night becomes noon.
Nightmares haunt me no more but I
Am left haunted by my bed.
Sheets crumpled by tossing and turning.
My bed does not recognize my warmth.
Voice recordings and constant tweetings
Pump blood to my Über active head.
Sleepless nights are well received as my body
Succumbs to sleep.
I live in a different world with five hundred other names
And the ten thousand other Me’s are all in disarray.
(And when the clock chimes at one, two, three ‘til way down six,
There’s a carnival of sorts with hair strands flailing like
Seven sets of arms.)
I am not a stranger to sleepless nights
And wetting my bed is not a Sin.
I am sinful beyond recognition, as my bed is my witness.
I have had different beds
But to me, they’re all the same.
Some, soft; others, too hard
Or covered in satin, exaggerated by the moonlight. Some, made of wood
While others, with tight springs.
Water’s absurd but so is steel.
Double padding, triple linings, four feet, at times, none;
There’s the car, the guest room, the floor, hospital bed,
A seat next to a complete stranger ---
I make my bed before sleeping
And leave it when I’m done.
I am not a stranger to sleepless nights
And I jump on the bed at midnight.
I am not a stranger to morning tides and the morning shows on TV.
I’m not a stranger at all, no,
And when I sleep, I sleep in peace.
Stranger things have happened
Noons and sudden weekends are no way sleep - inducing; I am left believing
That nights and days dance in my
Sleeplessness.
May 23, 2012
May 23, 2012 at 8:19 PM UTC