These bells had clappers removed.
Give them a hand or helping leg up –
without, within. Give anything
to revive the silenced whose stories are still
contained as the music of a not-struck drum.
Resonance is the ripples of a stone
dropped through water
even when there’s no plop,
a hand just letting go
submerged in circles
where something holy might well.
So these souls are astonished,
becoming history rung round,
more concentric yet
after the actions which stopped them.
Love each beyond their terror-struck blood
recorded on cell phones, the text message
journalism of first-hand accounts,
this techno-world’s camera
witnessing Perils instantaneous
and direct to the home front
so helpless in getting immediate rescue to anyone.
Love past the too-easily-gotten rat-a-tat-tat,
the stampeding screaming, the lone lunatic gunman
fed by masses of glorious hatred eon-delivered
for a single night at a Pulsing Gay Club.
Oh Orlando, Orlando, rainbow processions of candles
and petals shower again and again Dolores as sorrow is
when translated from Spanish though time after time,
the lives could speak any tongue.
Love beyond this as an antidote for violence,
prayers for humanity and every existence sacred
is the song armies of lovers sing so casualties may know
survivors have won.
But what of rage bleeding for peace
when still, after all, in unison, no global answer
of perpetuity ever rings waves across oceans
to every single struggling land?
A resident of NY, Stephen Mead is a published artist, writer, maker of short-collage films and sound-collage downloads. His latest P.O.D. amazon release is an art-text hybrid, “According to the Order of Nature (We too are Cosmos Made)”, a work which takes to task the words which have been used against LGBT folks from time immemorial. In 2014 he began a webpage to gather links of his poetry being published in such zines as Great Works, Unlikely Stories, Quill & Parchment, etc., in one place: Poetry on the Line, Stephen Mead