~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Petals chime in porcelain white~
a secret vow beneath the leaves.
Their fragrance wafts through morning light~
tiny nuptials on vines.
Yesterday's love is lost to time
Buried upon the hill I climb
Her name is etched in marble stone
By her grave, I hung a wind chime
To dance with the winds that now moan
Each day, anguish and pain I own
I picture her face with each tear
Revealed when I'm at her tombstone
Where her voice is soft, yet I hear
This imagined sound I revere
The pain in my heart will not mend
Takes me to a madness I fear
The timeline of life can not bend
So in my night dreams, I pretend
Where we go through time and relive
There I will stay until my end
At midnight sharp a bell tolls,
but there's no tower near.
The notes float and then melt
within the crypt of sleep.
I listen to the chime in dreams
that linger without seeing.
Everything is normal in morning,
except for what I still hear.
Christmas around the world
Church Organs play
Rise and Shine
Joy on high
Blessing on impact
Cocoa hot
Warmth within
Fireplace reflection
Happy in full control
A day to embrace one another
A Christmas holiday that comes once a year
Inspiration to always preserver
Reason for the Season
North Star birth
Let there always be peace on Earth.
Another wee witty ditty about Chris (the Hawk) on BBC 6 Music - as they celebrate World Poetry week
“He talks the talk (well that’s his job to use his gob..twiddle that kn*b)
He walks the walk
But don’t balk..not a dork
Popped champagne cork
Baby face dropped by a stork
Won’t stalk like the Duke of York
Hasty that haircut.. we squawk
Looking pasty..no bulwark
At his barnet we gawk
But still love the Hawk
Tasty as a fork of Iberico pork
Let's all have a ball..twork
Maybe K.Y.O.B.C or just S.W.A.L.K”
A bell tolls — with a single chime.
Igniting the spell of dawn’s regret.
It halts the breath, suspends all time,
Foreboding with threats you can't forget.
You flinch—one foot on the stepping stone,
The wind's first touch scalds your face.
Just one finger grips your hand alone.
You wait for relief from bell’s disgrace.
The silence palls where echoes die—
The ring bell toll fades with no reply.
There's no sign, no sound, no reason why,
You're left here dangling from the sky.
A bird attempts one fragile note.
Bashful in the spelled applause.
The breeze catches breath in its throat.
Afraid to continue through the pause.
You toll the haunt of some unspoken spell,
A pact with ghosts to stop the feeling.
While winds and seas rise on the swell,
Sending your hopeful plans reeling.
A lone bell tolls—no one answers now.
So old scars and doubts take the blame.
For dismembered memories you can’t avow.
In the flinching cringe that has no name.
Old hands counted fingers to define,
That the hours in a day chime twice twelve,
That the months in a year toll what the old hands told.
Twelve apostles, tribes and days of Christmas do unfold
Twelve jurors decide, the twelfth is the hanged man card,
12 inches make a foot, 12 notes in an octave for a song do abide.
12 eggs in a dozen, 12 faces on two dies, does craps decide.
On 12 lunar cycles and 12 months in a year, does the seasons reside.
The annual elliptic zodiac journey passes through 12 constellations.
So it's so true, that so much of how we count and conceive,
Our universe, fate, course and the passage through time,
Depends on how our ancestors counted with their fingers.
Broken Wind Chime
The broken wind chime played one note at a time
In the soft, blowing, evening breeze
Still, it’s tune was relaxing and pretty
A reminder, to slow down, to pace yourself
- It ends with a beautiful result -
A song emerges like anything you create
Not rushed, just easy; free flowing, genuine, creativity
Resting, listening, observing, all coming together
- Topped with a smile -
Heidi Sands
3/28/25
(C)opyright
Happy hearts each day,
Gives joyful smiles, okay,
Find light for dark time,
Cheerfl bells chime!
I sit in the sun like a happy giant cat
My dogs have found shade
A tiny chime dings in a pretty way
Dogs sleep through this dainty sound
Does it bring a faerie to their dreams?
I will ask them later
Announcing her swift arrival, hanging chimes sing
gentle breeze of calmness by pure soft harmonic tones
as my adrenaline rush amidst the loud chaos erupting
eagerly stepping outside to feel her presences of grace
gently caressing my skin as she flow threw my hair
feeling a sense of serenade and swaddle as I breathe
aligning and balancing the need for my inner peace.
I am the grace : in repentance face
In twilight's hollow, where shadows play,
I find myself lost, in a heart's gray day.
A soul once afire, with love's pure flame,
Now flickers faintly, in loneliness's cold frame.
In secret gardens, where memories reside,
Our laughter echoes, a haunting, mournful tide.
The ghosts of our whispers, the shadows of our past,
Torment my waking, and forever will last.
Like autumn's leaves, our love withered away,
Leaving me to wander, in a desolate gray.
No warmth of your touch, no gentle summer breeze,
Only the echoes of what we used to be.
In this limbo, I search for a way to escape,
From the prison of longing, the weight of heartache.
But like a migratory bird, lost in endless skies,
I'm left to navigate, the dark and lonely sighs.
So here I'll remain, suspended in time,
A heart forever trapped, between love and loneliness's chime.
I’m sitting on the edge of time
For just a disembodied pause,
While pointed hands o’er rounded chime
Obey the pendulum’s swayed cause.
Where kinetics’ course is lastly laid,
Comes forth the pointing to a door
That opens wide. Be not afraid,
I think, to thereupon explore.
And there I search the sea, in stay,
For those few drops that speak of me.
Below a crystal clouded day,
I look for cause and clarity.
But deep inside, my inner clock
Is calling forth its metered rhyme.
Inclined I am to learn like Locke,
I’m also tuned by trembling tine.
The edge of time is thinner than
The fairest maiden’s finest hair,
Yet broader is the settled plan
That puts us just exactly there.
Beneath the noise of borrowed truths
and the weight of clocks that chime with urgency,
there lies a quiet field—vast, untamed,
where the soul remembers its original name.
No walls, no maps, no mirrors to hold us;
only the steady rhythm of breath,
the pulse of being untouched by thought.
Here, the sky is not a question
but a boundless answer,
its blue stretching into forever,
inviting us to dissolve.
The rivers do not seek their course;
they flow, as we do,
when freed from the dams of desire.
Conditioned beliefs fall away like autumn leaves,
leaving the stark beauty of the bare branch—
vibrant, unburdened, alive.
The Self glows, not as a beacon,
but as light that needs no witness.
There is no agenda here,
no shelf to hold the books of becoming.
Life flows on—effortless, infinite—
as we step into the stream,
not as swimmers, but as water itself.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.