ALARM

The bell is brass
Its somberness assures me
Its alarming frankness disturbs me
In the strange off hour
When few sleep
And fewer venture out of doors
The darkness' seething
Half stillness pierced
By the demanding call
Of the bell; the tower
Seems to rock, to sway
Under the big sound's weight
As the street fills achingly
With barefoot half-sleepers.
The horizon in illume of
Smoky pink unnatural light
As the bell rings alarm
To the ambling somnambulists in the square
The sky alight with fiery
Figures darting and dancing
Upon distant treetops
As the bell rings
The street is thick
With talk, with fright
And unnatural fiery light
From distant treetops
Dancing in the dead of night.

© Celeste Plowden 2010