Bell-Ringers (Poetry)
23rd October 2022
Through my window the sound of the Parish Church bells
wafted mellow along with those mixed floral smells
from the garden below — campanologist’s night
when they practise their pulls — get the rhythms just right
and the child I was then — maybe seven or eight
on a warm summer’s evening lay listening late
picking out all those sounds while I waited for sleep
and the pealing went on ... rolling distant and deep
All those long days of June when it stayed light till ten
lowing cows on the hill merged with voices of men
drifting into my dreams as dusk started to fall
and the shadows crept higher up my bedroom wall
as the bells chimed their last and a silence came down
like a blanket to tuck in the small drowsy town
with its comfort of trees and those tidy estates
newly-built on the edge where true darkness awaits
and creeps out of the forest across empty fields
while the moon climbs the purple-blue sky and reveals
a face glowing sickly — so pale and forlorn
as she squints at our rooftop and lustres the lawn
where the hedgehogs are snuffling — I hear how they grunt
and the bark of the vixen and cubs on the hunt
then the hoot of an owl and the answering cry
of its mate — low and ghostly — comes shivering by
Through the part-open window sweet lavender scents
from the garden nextdoor spread their perfume intense
and that heady aroma infused the night air
with a fragrance so peaceful — beyond all compare —
that it lulled me and soothed — all my childish cares gone ...
Now the bells in my memory peal on and on
bringing back sounds and smells all so clear in my head
of those midsummer nights lain awake in my bed
My young thoughts on a world stretching endless and wide
as I curled in my nest feeling thankful inside
I was safe — neither hunted nor searching for food
I felt sad for the owl and the prey it pursued
thus this novice philosopher mulled for a while
on the various aspects of being a child —
the pros and the cons — what it meant to be me
while the creatures outside wandered careless and free
With the scent of that lavender haunting me still
and the cows lowing soft on some lush Sussex hill
plus the tugging on ropes every week without fail
as the evening drew on like a long breath exhaled
though I’ve left that small room in the house where I grew
and the years passed me by, most philosophy too
the best things I remember combine with sweet smells —
all those hopes for the future tolled out by the bells
wafted mellow along with those mixed floral smells
from the garden below — campanologist’s night
when they practise their pulls — get the rhythms just right
and the child I was then — maybe seven or eight
on a warm summer’s evening lay listening late
picking out all those sounds while I waited for sleep
and the pealing went on ... rolling distant and deep
All those long days of June when it stayed light till ten
lowing cows on the hill merged with voices of men
drifting into my dreams as dusk started to fall
and the shadows crept higher up my bedroom wall
as the bells chimed their last and a silence came down
like a blanket to tuck in the small drowsy town
with its comfort of trees and those tidy estates
newly-built on the edge where true darkness awaits
and creeps out of the forest across empty fields
while the moon climbs the purple-blue sky and reveals
a face glowing sickly — so pale and forlorn
as she squints at our rooftop and lustres the lawn
where the hedgehogs are snuffling — I hear how they grunt
and the bark of the vixen and cubs on the hunt
then the hoot of an owl and the answering cry
of its mate — low and ghostly — comes shivering by
Through the part-open window sweet lavender scents
from the garden nextdoor spread their perfume intense
and that heady aroma infused the night air
with a fragrance so peaceful — beyond all compare —
that it lulled me and soothed — all my childish cares gone ...
Now the bells in my memory peal on and on
bringing back sounds and smells all so clear in my head
of those midsummer nights lain awake in my bed
My young thoughts on a world stretching endless and wide
as I curled in my nest feeling thankful inside
I was safe — neither hunted nor searching for food
I felt sad for the owl and the prey it pursued
thus this novice philosopher mulled for a while
on the various aspects of being a child —
the pros and the cons — what it meant to be me
while the creatures outside wandered careless and free
With the scent of that lavender haunting me still
and the cows lowing soft on some lush Sussex hill
plus the tugging on ropes every week without fail
as the evening drew on like a long breath exhaled
though I’ve left that small room in the house where I grew
and the years passed me by, most philosophy too
the best things I remember combine with sweet smells —
all those hopes for the future tolled out by the bells