—on reading a poetry anthology
so many poets beating bells,
enough to build worlds
with their frequency
—a small one
at first breeze subtle
until bass lines heavy as death
rings from somewhere
down the valley
—or church-sized behemoths
clanging from steeples
with peals that could wrench steel—
they blare from pages
innocent as transparency
some struck with the force
of something murmuring
loud as a sea in a conch
the size of Saturn which
(almost eternally)
never tires of sounding
its song
—and one (in heat)
vibrating like the lid of pan
singing love love love
we are you are I am!
bell poems, like that one of Liberty
sometimes split not just themselves
but crack and free snoozing minds
of the close to dead
Jim Culleny
8/17/17
Blink 