How I Wish The Bell Tolls For Me
for whom the bell tolls?
i ask that
it must toll for me,
but the bell never really
toll for me,
always, it tolls for someone else,
a friend for 15 years
a relative close to the family,
a baby newly born in town,
a man conscious of his health,
the non-smoker and non-drinker alike,
the successful politician,
the wife of an expatriate,
the rich gambler, oh, the bell tolls for all of them
and there were banquets and city lights
and eulogies
and expensive garments of the priest
i wish the bell tolls for me,
but who am i to really say?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Bell Tolls
The bell tolls not to alarm us
about a break of war
The bell tolls not to announce
the funeral of a great magician
The bell tolls not for classes
to start the school-year calendar.
But it is ringing for you and me
to bend our knees,
To intercede for our land
and for ourselves
The bell tolls to say a prayer
that opens up
avenues to God's love and mercy.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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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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Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.
quote by John Donne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Do not ask for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.
quote by Ernest Hemingway
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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I'm a promoter of the people for the people and by the people and my magic lies in my people ties. I'm a promoter of America. I'm American people. You know what I mean? So therefore, uh, do not send for who the bell tolls 'cause the bell tolls for thee.
No Man Is An Island
No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
poem by John Donne
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No man is an Island, entire of itself every man is a piece of the Continent, a part of the main if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls It tolls for thee.
quote by John Donne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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For whom the Bell Tolls
PERCHANCE he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill, as that he
knows not it tolls for him; and perchance I may think myself so
much better than I am, as that they who are about me, and see my
state, may have caused it to toll for me, and I know not that. The
church is Catholic, universal, so are all her actions; all that she
does belongs to all. When she baptizes a child, that action
concerns me; for that child is thereby connected to that body which
is my head too, and ingrafted into that body whereof I am a member.
And when she buries a man, that action concerns me: all mankind is
of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is
not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language;
and every chapter must be so translated; God employs several
translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness,
some by war, some by justice; but God's hand is in every
translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves
again for that library where every book shall lie open to one
another. As therefore the bell that rings to a sermon calls not
upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come, so this
bell calls us all; but how much more me, who am brought so near the
door by this sickness. There was a contention as far as a suit (in
which both piety and dignity, religion and estimation, were
mingled), which of the religious orders should ring to prayers
first in the morning; and it was determined, that they should ring
first that rose earliest. If we understand aright the dignity of
this bell that tolls for our evening prayer, we would be glad to
make it ours by rising early, in that application, that it might be
ours as well as his, whose indeed it is. The bell doth toll for him
that thinks it doth; and though it intermit again, yet from that
minute that this occasion wrought upon him, he is united to God.
Who casts not up his eye to the sun when it rises? but who takes
off his eye from a comet when that breaks out? Who bends not his
ear to any bell which upon any occasion rings? but who can remove
it from that bell which is passing a piece of himself out of this
world? No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece
of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by
the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as
well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's
death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and
therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for
thee. Neither can we call this a begging of misery, or a borrowing
of misery, as though we were not miserable enough of ourselves, but
must fetch in more from the next house, in taking upon us the
misery of our neighbours. Truly it were an excusable covetousness
if we did, for affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath
enough of it. No man hath affliction enough that is not matured and
ripened by it, and made fit for God by that affliction. If a man
carry treasure in bullion, or in a wedge of gold, and have none
coined into current money, his treasure will not defray him as he
travels. Tribulation is treasure in the nature of it, but it is not
current money in the use of it, except we get nearer and nearer our
home, heaven, by it. Another man may be sick too, and sick to
death, and this affliction may lie in his bowels, as gold in a
mine, and be of no use to him; but this bell, that tells me of his
affliction, digs out and applies that gold to me: if by this
consideration of another's danger I take mine own into
contemplation, and so secure myself, by making my recourse to my
God, who is our only security.
poem by John Donne
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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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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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Mutuality In Invisible Mode
i am online
and you are online
almost
at the same time together
and then
we are offline together
i know
the truth, we are simply on the invisible mode
when no one wants to talk
no one wants to forgive
and forget
and then we continue doing what we are doing
i write a poem
and you write yours
and we post it
using different names
almost at the same
time and we know
that poem and this poem
for whom the bell tolls
it tolls
for thee, ah, it is hemingway again
one of our favorites.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ask not for whom the bell tolls You might get an answer you don't especially like.
quote by Earnst Angst
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The bell that tolls for all in boxing belongs to a cash register.
Prepare For A Take Off
My spirit is higher than the ocean floor,
So let us free our hearts from all odds;
For the chick which is nearest to the feet of the hen eats the fattest worm!
Free your mind and feed your brain with the truth,
And do not tear down those curtains of love!
For no man is an Island by himself.
This is like for whom the bell tolls in life,
And it will also toll on you and me;
So fasten up your seatbelts and prepare for a take off with my muse!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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I hear and Reflect
A bell tolls sonorously
one single chime. Then silence reigns
It wakes me from my reverie.
Conscious again of aches and pains.
I had lost temporarily
in contemplation of the past
That single knell reminding me
Of the long years which quickly passed.
Before the years caught up with me
For old age does not come alone
It brings along infirmity.
Which hitherto you have not known.
When you are young you do not know
What future lies ahead of you
but as you live and learn and grow
You will become as others do.
Much more aware than what you were
of how your body will re- act.
To the stress and strain you bear.
That you must think before you act.
Gone is the energy of youth
You used to waste without a thought
You slowly come to learn the truth
That rude health can’t be sold or bought.
As long as I can hear that chime
which has disturbed my reverie
I can be certain that this time
The death knell does not ring for me.
Each day an opportunity
To do things I can still do
although slow and steadily.
My body still allows me to.
Although I pay in aches and pains
I do not think the price too high.
My interest in life remains.
I am too busy far, to die.
I know I will eventually
but do not let it worry me
It is the only certainty
the bell will toll one day for me.
23-Nov-08
http: //
blog.mypace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A Little Difference
there is
a change
a little difference
in the morning
in this town
when the bell
tolls
after the flood
the people
begins
to pray again
a new life
perhaps
or fear
that God may
send
another flood
again
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Battery Moving Up to a New Position from Rest Camp:Dawn
Not a sign of life we rouse
In any square close-shuttered house
That flanks the road we amble down
Toward far trenches through the town.
The dark, snow-slushy, empty street....
Tingle of frost in brow and feet....
Horse-breath goes dimly up like smoke.
No sound but the smacking stroke
As a sergeant flings each arm
Out and across to keep him warm,
And the sudden splashing crack
Of ice-pools broken by our track.
More dark houses, yet no sign
Of life....And axle's creak and whine....
The splash of hooves, the strain of trace....
Clatter: we cross the market place.
Deep quiet again, and on we lurch
Under the shadow of a church:
Its tower ascends, fog-wreathed and grim;
Within its aisles a light burns dim....
When, marvellous! from overhead,
Like abrupt speech of one deemed dead,
Speech-moved by some Superior Will,
A bell tolls thrice and then is still.
And suddenly I know that now
The priest within, with shining brow,
Lifts high the small round of the Host.
The server's tingling bell is lost
In clash of the greater overhead.
Peace like a wave descends, is spread,
While watch the peasants' reverent eyes....
The bell's boom trembles, hangs, and dies.
O people who bow down to see
The Miracle of Cavalry,
The bitter and the glorious,
Bow down, bow down and pray for us.
Once more our anguished way we take
Towards our Golgotha, to make
For all our lovers sacrifice.
Again the troubled bell tolls thrice.
And slowly, slowly, lifted up
Dazzles the overflowing cup.
O worshipping, fond multitude,
Remember us too, and our blood.
Turn hearts to us as we go by,
Salute those about to die,
Plead for them, the deep bell toll:
Their sacrifice must soon be whole.
Entreat you for such hearts as break
With the premonitory ache
Of bodies, whose feet, hands, and side,
Must soon be torn, pierced, crucified.
Sue for them and all of us
Who the world over suffer thus,
Who have scarce time for prayer indeed,
Who only march and die and bleed.
The town is left, the road leads on,
Bluely glaring in the sun,
Toward where in the sunrise gate
Death, honour, and fierce battle wait.
poem by Robert Nichols
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I Have Not Been To Oxford Town
Baby grace is the victim
She was 14 years of age
And the wheels are turning, turning
For the finger points at me
Alls well
But I have not been to oxford town
Alls well
But I have not been to oxford town
Toll the bell
Pay the private eye
Alls well
20th century dies
And the prison priests are decent
My attorney seems sincere
I fear my days are numbered
Lord get me out of here
Alls well
But I have not been to oxford town
Alls well
But I have not been to oxford town
Toll the bell
Pay the private eye
Alls well
20th century dies
This is your shadow on my wall
This is my flesh and blood
This is what I couldve been
And the wheels are turning and turning
As the 20th century dies
If I had not ripped the fabric
If time had not stood still
If I had not met ramona
If Id only paid my bill
Alls well
But I have not been to oxford town
Alls well
But I have not been to oxford town
Toll the bell
Pay the private eye
Alls well
20th century dies
And the wheels are turning and turning
As the 20th century dies
This is my bunk with two sheets
This is my food though foul
This is what I could have been
Toll the bell
Pay the private eye
Alls well
20th century dies
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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