In the Steeple
The churchbell lodged in ancient timbers
In the steeple
Rung by rope knotted into a gigantic wooden pulley wheel
- mechanical advantage -
Strung down through air and pigeon leavings
Emerging in the vestibule
- A strong Sunday-dressed child can ring it -
Doves lodged in ancient timbers
Flutter in and out through louvers
Chicken-wired but time-worn
Keeping their high watches over the town
From coved and linteled archways
Cooing mildly
Feather-cuddling silent
Generations of doves nestled
In sanctuary at this height
Lived with the sleeping giant
Awakened only on Sunday mornings to summon
The attention of the worshipers gathered below
An under-used instrument
Calling not because of fire, death,
Disaster or rebellion
Struck in a foreign foundry over a century ago
Freighted to this town to be hoisted aloft
And rung sedately by Congregationalists
A ton of bronze lodged in ancient timbers
With peaceful quiet doves
Might be sounding greater attentions
in times like these
Might be rung in shifts 24 hours a day
With all bells everywhere
Across the world ringing out;
our own ton of bronze
With thousands more might speak out
In mad clamor to the heavens
Our ancient clanging
dusty megaphone
Oiled for Sunday use only
Treasured mighty bell
Voice above us though out of our sight;
The news from
God’s Earth
makes one think you should be rung
Until consciousness is lost
And then spelled by another ringer
And another…..
(DD)
..................
Photo of steeple taken 11-7-11 from the roof of the municipal parking structure, downtown South Street across from the old post office, or Rotunda now.
