Those Bloody Bells Poem by Ian Bowen

I can't recall ever having
stepped on the soft pink shoes
of those that pretend
they are white birds
who dance around lakes.
The Robin can sit on my fence
from dawn to dusk, without fear
of hurtful stones that whistle
through my vilified air.

Encounter me in a dark alleyway
and I will allow you
the widest of berths.
For there are no daggers
concealed beneath my pristine cloak.

Please do not fear me;
my ugliness is only formed
by misshapen bones
and false images
of the cuddly and kissable.

'Esmeralda', I have
the world on my back...

come,
listen to my heart,
it is as clear as a bell.