Belfry Sounds

31 Jan


Belfry Sounds


With an angry sky above me

A dreary Cassiopeia casting a faint, vain glance

I have a jug of Etruscan wine warming my stomach

and allow myself to be made weary by the words of a dead pedant

a pious peasant amongst overrated writers

A pleading confrontation lost in an orgy of obsolete nouns

But I continue reading despite my soporific state

Because all words created for expression are worth consideration

Whether dull or mad, a voice should be heard

I, of course, prefer the ones that yell until all are deaf and drowned

Until the eardrums bleed like poetry flows

I like the loud,

         the brazen,

         the rambunctious; the ones struck in the head

by the celestial manna of the inspired and the lost           

reaching out, always

They are the ones that know that it will all one day disappear

the Tintern Abbey and the Grecian Urn

Neruda’s tomatoes and even Shelley’s western wind

I care for the ones that know this and feel no sadness

the ones that do not need to be in Happy Isles

to know that God is a conjecture  

They can sit on an empty bench in Rockaway Beach instead

sipping from a tallboy

knowing that all of history is a solitude

from which we must escape by living


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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings

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