Bells

—on reading a poetry anthology

so many poets beating bells,
enough
to make worlds break
at their frequencies

—a small one
at first as
subtle as a breeze 

until undertones of death suddenly
rang from somewhere
down the valley

—another
church-sized behemoth
clanging from a steeple 

with peals that could bend steel
blaring from a page 

innocently as white
as every other

struck with the force
of something murmuring

loud as a sea in a conch
the size of Saturn which

(almost eternally)
never tires of its
ringing

—and one
(in heat)
vibrating like the lid of pan

singing love love love
we are you are I am!

bell poems
like the famous one of Liberty

sometimes split not themselves
but instead 
crack
and free the snoozing minds
of the almost
dead

Jim Culleny
8/17/17