Before the midnight hour chimed
A white wolf crossed albescent snow
And saw me with its diamond eyes
Shining right into my soul
I miss the woods where Dad and I
Sat by the coppice of conifer trees
The warmth of the winter sun piqued my mind
Nature’s aroma wafting in the breeze
The years have eased the ache of loss
And let the Northwoods live once more
White snow, warm meals, and paths we crossed
Return like footsteps to my door
For every memory, I give thanks
For love, that time cannot unravel
And pray beyond these earthly banks
We’ll meet in Heaven by God’s gavel
The metal scythe like science-fiction machinery whirring passed the farmhouses as dusk enclosed them willingly, soft keystrokes chimed across the fields to the north to sour the fall of the denizens makers are wild on the hunt, but those felled by this reaper took the brunt of the scorned, so this was their last look upon the earth in all realities, the bell chimes for those, and this reaper shalt battle through that first course of lesser bushes and miserly zeal.
Rumple Stein tapped his cane
on the dusty floorboards,
gathering the children in the
mansion's dark parlor.
"Long ago, this very house
belonged to a hunchback
goblin named Quasimodo, "he
whispered, pointing up.
"He had ears like a bat, feet
like a duck, and a crooked
back shaped like a giant
potato."
The grandfather clock
chimed midnight, its heavy
ticks matching the rhythm of
the children's racing hearts.
Quasimodo didn't want to hurt
anyone, Rumple Stein grinned,
he just hated people making loud
noises.
Suddenly, a loud, scraping
THUD- THUD- THUD echoed right
above their heads from the
dark attic stairs.
When the kids don't clean their
rooms, he stalks through the
halls and hides their favorite
toys!
The children gasped, looking
nervously at the dark corners
of the room as the curtains
rustled.
"He is watching right now,
waiting to see who leaves
their shoes on the floor
tonight."
Rumple Stein chuckled softly,
closed his book, and said,
"Now go clean up before
Quasimodo finds you."
The midnight bell chimed through
the empty halls.
Dust settled softly over trophies
on the walls.
Lockers slammed shut with a
metallic, sudden boom.
As freezing air flooded inside the
history room.
Footsteps echoed sharply down
the dim West Wing.
Through no one was there to hear
the sirens sing.
A phantom chalkboard wrote a
single name in red.
The roster of the students who
were long since dead.
I hid beneath the desk, my
breathing sharp and fast.
Trapped inside a prison built of a
horrific past.
The heavy smell of smoke began
to choke the air.
As phantom fire crackled wildly
down the stairs.
Then shadows stretched out from
the dark gymnasium floor.
And skeletal hands began to rattle
every door.
The guidance counselor's door
swung slowly, widely wide.
Revealing teeth and glowing eyes
that waited deep inside.
The hallway lengthened out into a
endless maze.
As glowing red eyes locked into my
terrified gaze.
There was a long queue at the pharmacy.
It was not easy to wait in the summer heat.
The air conditioner could not cope enough.
The three young and comely chemists were efficient,
Still there were so many people waiting.
But I needed the medication, blast it.
Under the soft hum of fluorescent light,
the drugstore was too full.
The air smelt faintly of disinfectant,
Too clean for comfort.
Still the chemists worked hard and smiled.
Behind the counter,
Bottles and packets were chosen and packed.
The bells of the cash register chimed fast.
Sick people were served, some with an occasional cough.
Change was given, cards were swiped.
Finally, my turn arrived. I grimmed.
“Get me some arsenic. I’m tired of waiting.”
With a laugh, my friendly chemist
Handed me some pain killers.
“Have a nice day, my dear friend.”
I smiled, stuck my tongue out and dared the summer heat.
It lay cool against my wrist,
a gold chain with tiny stories.
Each charm was a miniature world
of special moments~
a birthday,
a summer,
a secret wish.
When I moved, they chimed softly,
a music only I could hear,
reminding me that even small things
can hold whole chapters of a life.
The little heart clicked softly
when I moved,
as if remembering
something for me.
I’d lift the bracelet to the light,
watching memories glint and sway~
small keepsakes of a girl
who believed
magic could be worn.
an accompanying memoir vignette can be read at: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/simply_charming_13718
In a twilight garden where the wisteria sways
The lycaenids whisper their loving praise
songs are sung and are being timed
When the temple bells are being chimed
Twosome toddler twirl and swirl in a lawn
Laughing and giggling like a gambolling fawn
No worries of the empty belly nor the pain
Of scratched knees and sees a mirth in a handful grain
The termless ocean hustles at faraway shore
And she called the dorado to hum like before
The brook talks about the stalk leaf that afloat
Lighter and gentler and looks more of pismire boat
In a gloaming garden where the sunlight blushes
All remain silent and only the sings of thrushes
Songs are sung and are being timed
When the temple bells are being chimed
Sun went down this morning
Moon stayed up all day
Buzzards arfed, Ravens meowed
Violins began to neigh…
Rainstorms left the country wet
Hurricanes twisted down bathtub drains
Snow followed, forming igloos
Beaver Cleaver sang the blues
Ice shelves collapsed, waters rose
L.A. vanished, N.Y. drowned
Diseases raged, young folks aged
Then Trump chimed in to complete the day
Ordered ICE to stop melting ~
Kept his golf course out of harm's way
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Betty Jean,
a teacher’s daughter~
saved copper pennies
in glazed ceramic:
a piggy bank, fat-bellied,
painted with cornflowers.
Named her Pigtail
her ceramic ears, one forward, one back,
listened for pennies~
its snout chipped clean
where Aunt Betty dropped it.
Pigtail was magical,
filled with the
clink of childhood promise
and deferred desire
against porcelain walls.
Save your pennies, Betty Jean,
her mother chimed
when the Depression struck.
Through those years
Pigtail swallowed
copper pennies
and watched wallpaper
fossilize into sepia landscapes.
Decades later,
Pigtail sits on my shelf—
a hairline crack
running through one ear,
waiting for Aunt Betty
and for the coins that
never come.
No coins inside now~
just the hollow thunk
when I lift it,
heavy with Aunt Betty’s
absence.
Staring in the mirror I smile
But the reflection does not smile back
It laughs
It starts dragging me down my path
The laugh is chilling
Shaking me to my core
It opens the door
A reflection flashes through
A reflection of my past
A memory so deep
A secret I keep
It wants to do a trade
I don't know what to say
I can't let my secret see the light of day
She proposes a deal
So sinister and cold
I have to trade my youth and become old
Do I trade away
I don't know what to say
I can't let my secret out
But I can't become old
I already lost my youth
Should I speak the truth
I was mentally ill at the time
And yes it was a crime
But I didn't mean to do wrong
I don't want anyone to hear my song
The reflection creeps a creepy smile
Telling the truth would be worth my while
I don't take the trade
I rather reveal my past
I laugh
I don't care if anyone knows what I've done
It has gone
I paid for my crimes
I've done my time
The bell has chimed
Goodbye to my past self
Hello to my new self
I see what you tried to do
I smash the mirror
We are through
I was stunned at my cousin’s new mural on her living room wall
I want one! I yelped, can he come by in the fall?
He’s totally booked up, his popularity is big.
I should warn you, he eats a lot, he is kind of a pig.
I hear he is a sloppy painter, my husband chimed in.
He does not want strangers in our house, he has a chinny-chin-chin.
I booked him in October, assuring him we would tire up the dog.
He came on the fifth, and he truly ate like a hog.
But our new mural was lovely, more beautiful than my cousins.
How many have you painted? He squealed, dozens and dozens.
My husband huffed and puffed, irritated at how much he ate.
He was messy and dirty, but my new mural was great!
The clock that once chimed
No longer recounting
The minutes and hours
Of the lives now left mounting
The bodies piled high
As they search for each soul
The sights all around
Should be taking the toll
The silence abates
As the footsteps move forwards
Searching each room
For those in the floorboards
Holding each breath
As they lay still and quiet
Hoping once more
Of escaping this riot
No place is Sacred
Nowhere left to turn
They huddle together
As they perish and burn
The end of the road
For those He's forsaken
Cling to His love
As if they're mistaken
The homes that they cherished
Now burn to the ground
Belongings forgotten
In this hell all around
Destruction abundant
The stench of despair
The lives now extinguished
Are ripe in the air
I had forgotten about the wind chimes
until the deep tones brightly chimed
in the wind and I felt a deep comfort
knowing that the chimes, a berevement gift,
brought forth the thought of my beloved son
and someone who wanted to honor his memory
Once I was starling voice at dawn,
A flock of chimed echoes on my tongue,
Wheezing whistles on choralled lawn,
Each verse a mimic so sweetly sung.
Now I’m a lyrebird lost in the brush,
Framing my solos in shadowed boughs,
With heart unfolding in trembling rush,
A lonesome lilting with hidden vows.
With cheeslets and flummox in my beak,
I sift the flock’s bright feathers from my core,
Icarus maps afresh a path unique,
A broken wing that yearns to soar.
There’s no rewind on a mimic’s mind,
No true home in borrowed refrains,
Yet in these feathers a quiet find,
A voice that’s raised beyond the chains.
.
Foundation.
Do you have a twin flame you are bound to look for and love, searching over many lifetimes?
Title:
Soul Searching
(A lone voice whispers)
I used to search everywhere, but now I just travel North
To somewhere in the US
In the middle of a small city
Stand on a windowsill I finally found and watch
Watch my twin flame
Called Mary Jane
Dancing and listening to her favourite vintage Motown music
Sometimes, I appear as a House sparrow or a yellow butterfly
Just watching and waiting until we are reunited again
But I know our memories will be wiped before we take human form, to make our search more interesting
So my last line is:
If you see a bird or butterfly watching you
It could be your soulmate hunting
Who's been searching for you through time
After its bell
This time around, has finally been chimed.
(C) Copyright John Duffy
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