there is a tolling
just on the outside of my mind
not the clangor of a grand bell
chimed from atop some steeple
with a name like
Ethelred
no no
this is more like
a rhythmic drip
of water
falling from the gutter
of a rooftop
through a downpipe
to plink
when it strikes the bottom
at the drain
no no
it’s not like that
it is the boing-ing
of a spring
slowly uncoiling
keeping cadence
to the unravelling of the bed
beneath me
nono
it’s just a random toll
sounded
altogether vaguely
just
on the outside
of my mind
© Frank Prem, 2017
Poem #26: making home
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Love how you’ve explored the different sounds and the feeling and space it takes up in your mind – and here on the page. It’s almost “fuzzy grey” …. 😉
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Thanks Pat. Still not sure what it actually was, but it’s a poem now.
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