(for the ghosts who buy memories)
The tones of the big bell settle in the dust
Of this small market town in County Meath
And, on the stained glass window, still
I see the sun-marked resonance of bell —
Circles of uninscribed sound
Through all the cerebral centuries
Chimes and chants for Christ the King
Chimes of crucifix, pyx and plate –
These bells have blessed the insouciant faithful –
Buttressed, battered, no-man mattered –
Through all the occupied centuries.
Turning dust to dust again
And echoing to the music of bells.
Mon 15th May 2023 15:14
John, a poem which spoke to me in many ways. Bells send messages and almost speak. A tolling bell at a funeral, the clarion bell at the elevation of the host, the Angelus to tell the time of day and to remind us of the incarnation and wedding bells which peel out their joy. I also love the sound of bells on the continent as their sound is quite different to our bells. The bells in Rome on a Sunday morning. Dare I say that they ring in my head. We seldom hear them these days but thank you for a poem which once again ignites their significance.
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