I wrote the first draft of this poem when I was at school.
The bell rang
Forming a routine.
Ringing on blue days,
Yellow and purple days,
Arranging waking hours.
Long days neatly divided,
Into the bite-sized pieces
of a class.
Weekend starts
The bell is soundless.
No clear boundary lines,
Nothing to shape the days,
White noise fills up the gaps,
Mindless comings and goings,
Sad clocks constantly tick tock
on and on.
Monday now
A schedule to trust,
Sounds return on time,
Bells ring, messages aired,
Children’s voices shouting,
Rigid structures build safety,
Days secured by fixed rhythm
is relief.
More poems here.
