As the church bells ring out on a bright and beautiful Sunday morning the resounding music is so captivating that I always find myself stopping and just listening to the voice that has for me always been enchanting, and which for me has always heralded, reminded, and symbolized the gloriousness of the divine. The sound of bells playing in synchronicity that echoes from the bell-free of a church in the countryside or within the cathedral of a city is something that is unmistakably a thing of beauty... the ringing of bells by the pull, the release, and the capture of a rope, or by the timely movement of someone's hand, is a magical and inspiring gift of the soul - like the most meaningful and heartfelt of poetry. When a bell rings, when a bell is played, when a bell sings, when a bell says what it was always cast to say, a resonating spirit and rhythm comes into being - like the heartbeat within a person's chest - and if every heart within everybody, everywhere, all around the world, were to strike in time, and if they could all be heard as one, it would be like hearing the beautiful music of life's eternal bells.
Bells
My Poem ‘The Whispering Gallery’
Every Sunday,
bang on 10 o’clock in the morning,
the bells of St. Martin’s church
ring-out loud and far –
and every Sunday,
when I am standing and listening
in the most perfect spot
that can be found in all the city,
over time I have discovered
an amazing phenomenon…
just as every whispering gallery
that can be found in places
that are often places of silence
and peaceful serenity,
if you whisper a wish into the air,
and it is carried away on the wind
in the right direction,
then that same wish will come true one day
after having been delivered directly to heaven
by the wings of a listening angel –
and that almost silent prayer
will echo and create epic waves,
like an ocean being skipped upon by a stone,
and you will have been blessed –
even though the evidence of what has taken place
and by whom may have already disappeared without a trace.
The bells of St. Martin’s church ring for almost an hour –
the are a source of hope for many, and they have a power.
Church bells, to me, have always had a solemn beauty to them;
church bells are like the accent of a place of worship’s voice,
and I think they are wonderfully important;
church bells have a way of drawing people to them like a beacon;
you have never felt such a feeling like that
of being as close as you can be
to the breathtaking vibrations of sound
that are produced when ancient bells are ringing
and hammers are hitting their mark in a bell-tower.
The world is one big whispering-gallery;
the Earth has places on it
where the magical can be conjured into being
with the flick of a magic-wand
disguised as an ink-pen;
some people want something so much
but they are afraid to ask for help from anybody –
sometimes things can only be heard
when they are said in the first where
and at the right when…
so, I encourage anybody who feels something special
when they are somewhere,
even if that place may not look anywhere
that may be at all “somewhere to write home about”
to let their inner-most thoughts and wishes
be set free into the atmosphere
of the worlds biggest whispering gallery.
Mark The Poet 