2026-04-02 Write a Beautiful Terza Rima Poetry Contest, Constance La France
I’d grown tired of Poe’s bells, having heard them diurnally, until the birds performed on the rooftop. —by Poet The Soaring of the Bells His wings swing to and fro; sonorous tweets On top of the roof triangle. Lifts, he floats, off tippy-top with tolling sweets. Church bell in expectant jangle. Do villagers notice what a poet holds dear? She witnesses from the right angle. Melancholia becomes a cherubim cheer. Two small birds, now, ding-dong like a bell. I’ll treasure this moment as a souvenir. I’ve heard many a steeple song; all’s not well, But the winged couple is merry. A spry Disney-like dance with each decibel. The soaring of the bells, a dulcet cherry. A feather pen, in my eye pocket I carry.
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