These cool sparse chimes are shining not for me.
Oh no, they share their strikes across the roofs
Both wild or lonely nights, both shy and busy
Days, like time’s heart, faith pulsed as punctuations
To the growl and drone of traffic, the hum
Of conversation in the bar below.
Not here for time, not cast for one fashion,
Tuned only to themselves, their hard rhythms
Encompass birth and death, striking equals,
In this shaking tower of flesh lived badly.
No more blessings. No more curses. These hours
Announced without favour, counting and shaped
For a longer stay than one birth, one breath.
Not needing your belief to mark your passing
On little errands that amount to life.
Peter Appleton has worked in theatre, education, and campaigning. He has lived and worked in several countries and now is resident in England. He is particularly interested in political poetry that reflects contemporary issues.
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