A Bell in Wind
This morning’s wind
won’t take no
for an answer.
There’s really
no other way
to break through.
You found me
living in a steeple
amongst skyscrapers
without the slightest
need to parish
the thought.
If I were a man
inside a tower
I could hear
but not feel you.
I’d pull
the ceiling up
over my head,
though
a cloth cave
makes for
a lame
safe haven.
You will
not be
deterred
while I am
made to
answer.
How can I
not think
of you
as angry?
What with
so much wailing.
I think you’d
like to
peel back
the sheath
of all our skulls
and expose
the thoughts
that keep us
from seeing
ourselves
in each other.
So no
silent night
this!
This wind
means something.
This wind
means business.
That’s how
I know
you’re sacred.
What if a howling
curlycue cry is
the first
and last
brush with
your one
long breath?
Something as
invisible
as you
easily escapes
the bonds
attempting
to contain you
and roams
the land
to blow
histories away
like only so much
dust or ash.
I lie afraid
awake to all
I’ve done
to own
the slightest
portion of
this world.
Then
three dreams in
and suddenly
the branch of a tree
reaches through
the window
mocking the
cold hard
arrogance
of the glass,
or is it mine?
Nothing will keep
you out
when you want in.
A great crash
of chimes
renders Jingle Bells
little more
than a mangled
childhood rhyme;
a power
no carol
could summon
but if summoned,
can hide from.
I drift off
to sleep
to get away
from you
but dreaming
brings you
back. In fact
it only amplifies
this wailing
unharmonious
song.
The wind worsens
and buildings begin
losing their integrity.
The tree branch
that reached
through my window
is a long arm
of a marionettist
made of bark
clearly out to wring
its puppet’s
little neck.
Is what destroys
the same as
what forgives?
I’m afraid
I must know
both before
I can be
whole again.
Peter Valentyne
Christmas 2020
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3 comments:
Peter!
This poem says so much to me. Even more than what is below. It is very deep and profound. It will likely say very different things to others.
Faith.
Knowing and honoring that a supreme power, an energy source, is ever present, even though you cannot see it. You can feel it. You hear it. It is sometimes gentle and it is sometimes brutal. Either way, it is not to be taken for granted.
Wrath.
At times, humankind can get quite arrogant and selfish, forgetting from where all blessings and creations flow. At this point, humankind has to be pulled back in. Eyes opened. Ears cleared. Fears instilled. This allows for humbleness and soul searching to surface and become top of mind, which, potentially brings about a positive change, indefinitely and globally. Is the Pandemic akin to the violent howling of the wind that was experienced? Could this be another awakening mechanism for the eventual betterment of humankind, like the wind?
Wisdom.
When it is all said and done, we are all one. If the “sheaths on our skulls were pulled back”, that fact would be revealed.
We are far more similar than different. We were created as such. It is our thoughts that generate a separation from self to others. Not the initial plan.
Knowledge.
The hand that brings in a life can also take that life out. We are powerless under this immense universal energy, be it a flood, rain, wind or any other element, fueled by energy. Therefore, we are like puppets on a string. We are never the ones in control. When the energy aggressively and sometimes violently booms, something has gone wrong amongst humankind within the universe. Not good. We can run but we cannot hide. But rather, we should make a concerted effort to live in peace and harmony, as one, as designed by that supreme power source.
Lesson.
To be whole, humankind must embrace the good with the bad and the pleasant with the unpleasant, in order to grow, strengthen, evolve and sustain. It is the Law.
Peter, your writing is beautifully expanding on all levels.
❤️✍️ W. Nixon
A profound poem Peter. It made me realize that I live in my own "steeple" formed by "the thoughts that keep us from seeing ourselves in each other." The word "wailing" made me think of the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem, where Jews gather to pray (to "wail" ?) to God. Prayer as an attempt to reach something deeper, mysterious, enlightening. i will be rereading this poem to see deeper into my life. David Garfield
Peter, Firstly, I am amazed and thrilled by the depth, complexity and layers of your poetry. A definite work of art through your expression. If one thinks they can lightly read your poetry in a moment here or there, please think again. This poetry is made for the quiet moments when we may entertain thoughts of prayer or meditation. It is that sacred.
Yes, like the wind our thoughts can be relentless. We might judge this "wailing" sound in our heads as a negative. As our society says keep to the positive. Cover your head, deny what is trying to be said to you. "This wind means something. This wind means business. That's how I know you're sacred." It is sacred to have the dark night of the soul in order to cleanse the debris. Our subconscious is still processing even as we dream. "Is what destroys the same as what forgives? I think of the ancient Hindu stories of Shiva who is both creator and destroyer. It is all part of the whole.
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