We ring the bells for
Babies, we ring them
Then for brides and
Grooms, we ring them
Every Sunday, in politeness
To our Father, his Son and
Of course, the Holy Ghost.
Today’s bells ring and ring
And clash with the drums
And brass blowing down
The street to the pound
Of feet remembering flesh
That was blown to sand
Or mud or stone, depending
On the time, the place and
The type of luck or
Bravery that graced
The soldier who didn’t know
The shortcut was It.
Arpeggios, majors, no
Minors – Don’t dwell
On pain, keep calm
Carry on – Don’t clock
The fuss civilians
Make about bombs.
Drums for triumph
Beating out a time of
Red and gold and
Sabre mounted on the
Field, blast through the murmur
Of stealth or chocolate bars
Mingling with Kalashnikovs
In the long-distance lorry’s bowels.
Drumming stops and the
Ducks go quack quack as
They paddle in the
Lake and the leaves
Break out in chatter
Now that they can hear
Each other better without
The dreadful stacks
Of beats that back
The boots that crack
The streets to remind
Them that another year
Has passed and more
Bodies are piled on
The old ones who died
Young. God rest their souls.
Being Every Day 