Historic Poem PAD April 23rd, 2015


A carillon is French for bells, the ones

that play in towers, clanging sounds of joie

from twenty-three or more cast metal copes

that founders shaped and tuned from hum to prime––

the pitch that’s heard when carillonneurs strike

the keys with half-closed fists and half-closed eyes

to hear concordant harmonies rise up

the belfry, exit over cobblestones

and swoop by slanted windows, open notes

that dart among the fuchsia, hover there

before they wing into our memory’s roost.

Kim King ©2015


About k2king

Francophile, writer, poet, and mother of Samoyeds
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