Bells Of Dusk Poem by Sandra Fowler
Bells Of Dusk
Your hand grows gnarled.
It makes a fretwork shadow on my face.
The judgment of the mood is Biblical.
I hear you counting red leaves as they fall.
Frost angels write
Their thousand times ten thousand names on panes.
The heavy candlelabra of gray trees
Lifts ribbon flames of fading warmth in prayer.
Is this the end?
The woodsmoke of the dusk is indigo.
Your gnarled hand has become less intricate.
Its pressure no more than a passing cloud.
The bells of dusk
Ring clearly from an Appalachian height.
The cold, gold force of sunset is a shout.
Silence reverberates in brevity.
I stand alone
My cheekbones brushed by high white peaks of wind.
The ancient whisper comes from everywhere,
'This count includes the tears that make a sea'
Talk about a poet who gives us a reframe of the world. I find lines 5,6, & 7 of particular power, if not liberation. Bill Grace
Reverence is the word that comes to mind after reading this wonderful poem. Bells of Dust - for whom the Bell Tolls - images of majesty with an unpretentious touch. Sandra, this piece is thoroughly satisfying - like a perfectly cooked meal. Your work continues to surprise and delight. love, Allie xxxx
jRobert Frost knew how to write outdoor and nature poems very well. Well you my lady do a very fine job of doing it also. you are a very fine poet, keep 'em coming.
Beautiful imagery abounds - I love the image of 'The heavy candlelabra of gray trees' - it's so evocative. You create such a presence with your words Sandra. Simply lovely. Justine
A wonderful poem Sandra. You have beautifully presented things that are predestined and scheduled.5 stars for this thoughtful write Sandra dear.
I can hear church bells where I live. They're not so picturesque as yours.
The contents of this write stupendous, scaling the heights of your imagination Sandra from beginning to end - Bravo.
Amazing Sandra, I can smell the dampness of dusk and feel the sunset in my eyes. I love it. N
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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12/5/2025 4:39:40 AM # 1.0.0
And for me the last two lines are simply electricity. Bill Grace