Church in evening May
The evening comes down lately in May,
the church bell from the tower rings,
the train rattles through the lanes
of Dublin housing hedgerows.
The grounds are tidy, flagpoles white,
the fuschia flowers again,
the priestly Sunday job is done
the eremitical seal.
Then the staircase,
duvet dream,
and visit from remembering
and wish.
the morning bell like lauds again,
awake the slumbering souls.
And yawn for like a triduum comes
the routine rush and stale staccato.
of novena repetition.
The graveside down the road is full,
the coffins bakers dozen,
the wedding bells are ringing out,
the child his chrism head
is done,
the money bagged and
village shrived.
Many the parson, manse and bell
is quiet in this age.
The football brats from College school
kick up against the wall the ball,
and deep within,
in silent meditation,
beads the soulful wanting heir.
And onwards towards another dawn,
centenary bell rings out.
The shriven shrived,
the canon fired,
and day is done,
amid the purple fuschia bells.
poem by Bernard Kennedy
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Related quotes
May Night
The evening comes down lately in May,
The Church bell from the tower rings,
the train rattles past the distanced
red bricked decency.
The bills for candles, doors painted
and keys replaced.
The grounds tidy and flagpoles white
and fuschia flowers again.
The money counted, banked and sent
to pay those higher up.
The priestly call this day is done
my life eremitically sealed.
And then the staircase,
sleep and dream,
and wait the morning bell
across the wall,
And shake the morning Echium Flower
from out its slumber.
No statues hopefully have moved,
no visions seen by pious rustic soul,
no messages received from distant parts.
The morning train it rattles through,
and carries index linked friends to city hall,
and stock exchange, and law men,
to the four courts hall.
O Yawn! For tedium like a triduum
comes with novena repitition
and unanswered prayer.
The graveyard down the road is full,
of Canons and their retinue,
and parsons lie asleep beneath the soil.
For what remains is expectation,
like cinders to the grate of faith.
O Dawn! to what do we awake,
towards other weathered bettered day?
poem by Bernard Kennedy
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Serani
When it is cold,
The school bell rings;
When it is hot,
The church bell rings;
But when it is warm then,
I am able to meet Serani my lover.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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When the bell tolls
At times when I hear
a church bell that tolls,
I know that there
is more to life
than just living.
On a Sunday
the bell tolls almost endlessly,
(like a alarm clock)
before the service begins.
At times when I hear
a church bell that tolls,
it rings for a funeral
and I am glad
that I’m alive.
At a wedding
the bell sings a joyful song
and everyone smiles at each other
and wait for the bride to appear.
In the dead of night
the bell tolls lonely
no one cares about
the time that it keeps,
as sleep creeps deeper
into everybody’s soul.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Dublin
After our affair
I swore that Id leave dublin
And in that line Id left behind
The years, the tears, the memories and you
In dublin
At the quays friends come and say farewell
Wed laugh and joke and smoke
And later on the boat
Id cry over you
In dublin
How can I leave the town that brings me down
That has no jobs
Is blessed by god
And makes me cry
Dublin
And at sea with flowing hair
Id think of dublin
Of grafton street and derby square
And those for whom I really care and you
In dublin
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dublin
After our affair
I swore that Id leave dublin
And in that line Id left behind
The years, the tears, the memories and you
In dublin
At the quays friends come and say farewell
Wed laugh and joke and smoke
And later on the boat
Id cry over you
In dublin
How can I leave the town that brings me down
That has no jobs
Is blessed by god
And makes me cry
Dublin
And at sea with flowing hair
Id think of dublin
Of grafton street and derby square
And those for whom I really care and you
In dublin
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Church Bell Rings Too Early
the church bell rings too early
the town's electrician
bald and ugly
poor and lonely
he was looking for his wife
who left with another man
taking with her
his only son
he could not eat breakfast
skipped his supper
and would not care for any lunch
and then the church bell tolled
for him
though not as early as he once did it
we shall always remember
grief, lament, the sound of the bell
too sonorous
to remember
lost affections, betrayal, death
and lack of
prayer.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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For whom the bell tolls
Sunday church congregation
Now that rings a bell
haiku by Ken e Hall
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The Church of Wenslow Haze
The sea that batters the eastern coast
Has often subdued the land,
Five hundred years have seen the retreat
Of a mile of cliffs and sand,
When tides are low in the summertime
From beneath the distant swell,
The villagers lying abed at night
Hear the tolling of a bell.
The bell resounds up the village street
And rattles the cobblestones,
As the villagers close the shutters tight
And lock the doors of their homes,
They hear the thump of a wooden stump
As it echoes along the street,
The wooden leg of the mate, John Clegg
From Drake's Armada Fleet!
The thump is steady and purposeful
As it heads towards the sea,
Where the bell still rings for matins
As in 1563,
When priests were burned for popery
In the England of those days,
They used the little singing cakes
In the Church of Wenslow Haze!
John Clegg was a surly protestant
In the service of the Queen,
So the use of the cakes for massing bread -
He thought it was quite obscene!
The vicar had leant to the Roman Church,
The Reverend Walter Raise,
And Clegg had stood and harangued him there
In the Church of Wenslow Haze.
‘You'll bring your Popish habits here
At the risk of mortal pain,
I fought for the Queen Elizabeth
To see off the King of Spain,
If you don't revert to the massing bread
And the Book of Common Prayer,
I'll see to the piling of faggots
When they burn you in the square! '
But Walter Raise would never be stayed
By the threats of an ignorant tar,
He said: ‘I only answer to God
For the what and the where we are!
The form is not as important as
The salving of the soul,
You'd better look to your own before
The Devil takes you all! '
But Clegg had waited for matins, he
Returned with a burning brand,
Set fire to the ancient tapestries
The pews and the altar stand,
He raised his cutlass and brought it down
On the Romish vicar's head,
And he cursed the Church of Wenslow Haze
As the vicar lay there, dead!
The sea rose up in a sudden storm
And it swept across the land,
Engulfed the Church of Wenslow Haze
As if raised by God's own hand,
The land had tilted beneath the sea
And the church, it settled deep,
With the bodies of Clegg and Walter Raise
And the bell-tower, and the keep!
So now when the tide repents and drops
To a fathom, over the bell,
The toll rings out from the surly deep
Like a call to the fiends from hell,
And a stump sounds over the cobblestones
As Clegg, for his soul's sake pays,
He carries a burning fire brand
To the Church of Wenslow Haze.
29 July,2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
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When the playtime (recess) bell rings
When the playtime bell rings, it's time to cease fun,
when the playtime bell rings, it's time to grow up,
when the playtime bell rings, it's time to get serious.
When the factory whistle blows it's time to roll sleeves up,
when the factory whistle blows, it's time to pay bills
when the factory whistle blows, it's time to forego rebellious thought
When the church bells chime, it's time for commitment,
when the church bells chime, it's time to make plans
when the church bells chime, it's time to make compromise
When the death knoll tolls, it's time for regrets
when the death knoll tolls, it's time for rethinking
when the death knoll tolls, it's time for peace
poem by Jason Jackson
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Quasi Moto
(This is a favorite joke I've put to rhyme)
Quasi Moto was a legand
who became a man of fame.
This crippled man was known as
The Hunchback of Notre Dame.
Quasi Moto's health was failing.
He was old and growing frail,
so they hired an apprentice
he would teach to ring the bell.
This poor apprentice fellow
really wasn't very bright,
but at least he was determined
he could learn to do it right.
They climbed up to the bell tower.
(A steep climb that isn't fun)
And finally reached the iron bell
for lesson number one.
Quasi told him, "Push the bell..
then step aside.. and let it go,
but the bell came back and struck him
because he was so slow.
It knocked him from the tower
and he landed in town square.
Quasi slowly limped down all the stairs
and found him lying there.
The townsfolk had all gathered.
Quasi pushed till he got through.
As he looked down a fellow asked..
"Quasi…is this a man you knew? "
Quasi looked at his apprentice
and slowly answered "Well……
I can't say I really knew him
but his face sure rings a bell."
poem by Ron Tranmer
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Ups 'n Downs
Like white ink on black paper
sometimes life seems turned around.
Like ice in summer, desiccated leaves in spring,
like fish swimming in the Gobi Desert,
like a bell that will not ring,
it’s disconcerting, I've found.
Like black ink on white paper
sometimes things seem straight ahead.
Like iced tea in summer, cherry buds in spring,
like fish catapulting in the thrusting whitewater,
like a bell that rings and rings-
then life’s a dancing thoroughbred.
poem by Sonny Rainshine
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The Walking Bell
A CHILD refused to go betimes
To church like other people;
He roam'd abroad, when rang the chimes
On Sundays from the steeple.
His mother said: "Loud rings the bell,
Its voice ne'er think of scorning;
Unless thou wilt behave thee well,
'Twill fetch thee without warning."
The child then thought: "High over head
The bell is safe suspended--"
So to the fields he straightway sped
As if 'twas school-time ended.
The bell now ceas'd as bell to ring,
Roused by the mother's twaddle;
But soon ensued a dreadful thing!--
The bell begins to waddle.
It waddles fast, though strange it seem;
The child, with trembling wonder,
Runs off, and flies, as in a dream;
The bell would draw him under.
He finds the proper time at last,
And straightway nimbly rushes
To church, to chapel, hastening fast
Through pastures, plains, and bushes.
Each Sunday and each feast as well,
His late disaster heeds he;
The moment that he bears the bell,
No other summons needs he.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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November Night
Across the wet november night
The church is bright with candlelight
And waiting evensong, (2x)
A single bell with plaintive strokes
Pleads louder than the stirring oaks
The leafless lanes along. (2x)
It calls the choirboys from their tea
And villagers, the two or three,
Damp down the kitchen fire (2x)
Let out the cat, and up the lane
Go paddling through the gentle rain
Of misty oxfordshire (2x)
On country morning sharp and clear
The penitent in faith draw near
And kneeling here below (2x)
Partake the heavenly banquet spread
Of sacramental wine and bread
And jesus presence know (2x)
And must that plaintive bell in vain
Plead loud along the dripping lane?
And must the building fall? (2x)
Not while we love the church and live
And of our charity will give
Our much, our more, our all (2x)
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A tidy everything!
A tidy me a
A tidy you
A tidy clean body or soul
Is a tidy human?
No…
Four tidy bedrooms
A tidy lounge
A tidy kitchen
An evenly cut grass
An organised garage with a freshly washed car is a
Peaceful shelter?
No…
An eventful upbringing
A functioning family
A good manner scheme
Is a blissful gift?
No…
A perfect persons snap
An excellent picture?
No…
A well-educated father
A knowledgeable mother
A lenient couple
An ideal parent?
No…
An old man,
An old woman
A young boy
A child
A toddler
Age concern is it?
No…
A black girl, boy
A white girl, boy
An Asian girl, boy
A Chinese maybe even a mix-race
What does this matter?
It is a multicultural union.
Yes…
A graduate
A chav
A weirdo
A mad man
What does this matter?
Not at all…
Civilisation rolled in one piece - in our hearts, is what makes a single, a “WHOLE”
Not a flash motor or a colourful photograph.
Or a “Rich man” with golden rules!
Life isn’t a race
There aren’t any “winners” nor “losers”.
It is all a myth
Errr…YES!
poem by Noorie Ali
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When regulations on the housing industry are reasonable, the cost of housing goes down. Regulatory relief is needed to make housing more affordable to more Americans.
quote by Randy Neugebauer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Farewell Bell
The peals of the funeral bell echo to the calm sky
For someone today 'tis a final goodbye
And on some future date whenever that be
A similar bell will be ringing for me.
Free of the cares of life and of worry and fear
The farewell bell for him or for her the deceased one doesn't hear
By it's slow drawn out tolls it's not hard for to tell
That for someone the ringer rings the farewell bell.
The same fate for you and for me and for all
To the scythe of the Reaper we eventually must fall
Yet on a sunlit wattle the magpie does sing
And he care not if for one the farewell bell ring.
A beautiful morning the magpie in song
With the farewell bell he is singing along
And white butterflies dancing a beautiful sight
Around the blossoming trees in the warm sunlight
poem by Francis Duggan
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Dinner Bell
Ive been leaving on my things
So in the morning when the morning bird sings
Theres still dinner on my dinner jacket
til the dinner bell rings
Experimental dog*
Salivating dog
Good dog
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the dinner bell)
Dinner bell dinner bell ring
Ive been leaving on my things
So in the morning when the morning bird sings
Theres still dinner on my dinner jacket
til the dinner bell rings
I dont want a pizza, I dont want a piece of (experimental dog)
Peanut brittle, I dont want a pear.
I dont want a bagel I dont want a bean I wouldnt like (salivating dog)
A bag of beef or a beer or a
Cup of chowder, corn, cake, or creamed cauliflower cause Im (good dog)
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the dinner bell)
Dinner bell dinner bell ring
Shoulder, bicep, elbow, arm
Forearm, thumb, wrist, knuckle, palm
Middle, pinky, index, ring
Dinner bell dinner bell ding
I dont know whether Id rather be having a bottle of vinegar (experimental dog)
I dont know whether Id rather be having an egg.
I dont know whether Id rather be having an order of bacon (salivating dog)
Or whether Id rather be having a basket of garlic bread.
I dont know whether Id rather be having some pie or (good dog)
Saving my appetite cause im
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the dinner bell)
Dinner bell dinner bell ring
Ive been leaving on my things (Ive been leaving on)
So in the morning when the morning bird sings (the morning)
Theres still dinner on my dinner jacket (on my)
til the dinner bell does the bell thing
Dinner bell dinner bell do the bell thing
Im waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the ding)
Dinner bell dinner bell ding ding ding
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the ding)
Dinner bell dinner bell ding ding ding
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the ding)
Dinner bell dinner bell ding
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Staring At My Face In The Mirror One Evening
for a long time that i stared
at my face in the mirror
one evening
when the church bell
went ringing
midnight, yes, that was
midnight
i saw my face as a skull
and i was not afraid anymore
i must have been dreaming
i am not sure anymore
was it my soul in the mirror?
i doubt it
it was so white.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Martha
SEXTON! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
Her weary hands their labor cease;
Good night, poor Martha,-- sleep in peace!
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha 's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
For many a year has Martha said,
"I'm old and poor,-- would I were dead!"
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
She'll bring no more, by day or night,
Her basket full of linen white.
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
'Tis fitting she should lie below
A pure white sheet of drifted snow.
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
Sleep, Martha, sleep, to wake in light,
Where all the robes are stainless white.
Toll the bell!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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The Bell From Europe
The tower bell in the Tenth Street Church
Rang out nostalgia for the refugee
Who knew the source of bells by sound.
We liked it, but in ignorance.
One meets authorities on bells infrequently.
Europe alone made bells with such a tone,
Herr Mannheim said. The bell
Struck midnight, and it shook the room.
He had heard bells in Leipzig, Chartres, Berlin,
Paris, Vienna, Brussels, Rome.
He was a white-faced man with sad enormous eyes.
Reader, for me that bell marked nights
Of restless tossing in this narrow bed,
The quarrels, the slamming of a door,
The kind words, friends for drinks, the books we read,
Breakfasts with streets in rain.
It rang from europe all the time.
That was what Mannheim said.
It is good to know, now that the bell strikes noon.
In this day's sun, the hedges are Episcopalian
As noon is marked by the twelve iron beats.
The rector moves ruminantly among the gravestones,
And the sound of a dead Europe hangs in the streets.
poem by Weldon Kees
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