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'
i love this poem, and all your others that relate love and so many emotions to nature, i cant stop reading your work. ben
This poem will remain with me for quite some time to come, the imagry as usual is smashing, the content is awesome, you are a true poet. Absolutely brilliant work. Thankyou--Melvina--
Sandra>>>A bountiful display of image and stanzaec mellifluousity...Fine crafting F.J.R.
There is just so much about this piece to like, the emotion pours onto the page Far greater than fine wine, and you show the ability to lift a soul even when the mood Be melancholy Amazing piece Love duncan X
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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4/19/2024 3:18:43 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Being born and raisedin the hills of Eastern Tennessee, I think gives me more insight of your thoughts. Or it might just be me. A truely wonderful work. Joe