Timepiece

Within a week dust fell
Upon the shoulders of
A timepiece.
An enormous shell.
An empty show box.

My well-worn rag is green
And pushed against fine things – 
And table legs.
Hallway rails.
Vacant chair arms.

In the hallway -step-step
Then skip my hearts beat.
Ragged door.
Behind its wall
No voice of reason.

Within these weeks dust fell
Upon each mountain object.
Wipe the clock.
Turn and place
My fingers round the doorknob.

The old rag fallen carelessly, sleeps.
Beat Beat -this life pumps –
The door cracked – 
My life’s unreason
Stands waiting.

Stack

It is clearer.
A pair of cruddy working shoes
By a metal door-
I am heavy - Off comes the day!
Costume. Name plate. 
Used up words and unused love.
This old basket holds it well.

See my dear friends!
Pages bonded and lined up in rows.
But some escape
And find themselves lying quietly
in unexpected places.
My heart longs to stack them.
Up against the door.
For this: A final barricade.


A pen. A sharp pencil.
Loose inked Paper.
I muse, I write, I bleed.
Music plays a serenade –
An ode to pages gone missing.
Mortar, life’s blood, tears
Hold paper bindings against the door –
Lay down my trowel. Sleep.


Shelley Rae Bell





Tree Meeting

There is time to meet with trees and listen...
the wind will rustle in their hair
and breathe wisdom down below.
Suddenly, if we hear, be still...

the earth will claim our agitation. Will.
Peace. Peace! Ash and dust.
Unrest will filter though our feet soul

and under rocky core -
then up through surrendered flesh -
lifted up to sky once more.

Shelley Rae Bell

Song, Sorrow and a Flower

I have a song of sorrow in my heart.
You only know.
the first born light today
shines on me.
while I suffer notes of weariness
shadows play in minor key.
I lay down in cool downy greens
and I see
notes in blues and reddish hues.
Up and down the scale it goes
a song begging to be free.

shelley rae bell

My Hand is on the Lock

Do I keep things out? Or in?

I cannot tell. I would not say.

Forged bars are where doors

would compose an opening.

I held the blacksmith’s hammer.

And tongs when I breathed fire.

Placed each bar in tedious fashion.

A wartime plan.

Do I lock the door against? Without?

I select. I would indulge.

A secret keepers combination.

A brave companion.

s.r.b