Tag: Joe Chelius

Corinthian Blue Wind Chimes by Joseph Chelius

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Corinthian Blue Wind Chimes

When a wind from the west
blew through the yard
like a neighborhood bully,
tormenting the delicate chimes
that only moments ago
had tinkled and swayed
in the April breeze,
I went out in a robe
to whisk them inside—
in the doting cup of my hand
quieted their sniffles
as I lifted them down
from the metal hook.

But carried through the house
their gentle music brought cheer
to the spoons and bowls
that soaked in water
in the yellow dish pan;
to the leftover oatmeal
grown stiff and cold
in a pot on the stove.

In the drafty mud room, where
they would wait out the wind,
they gave a lilt
to the plain and functional
in their humble corners:
dust bin and broom;
pebble-gray litter box;
the trash-picked locker
we’d spray painted a custodial green
and repurposed for storage
of soup and beans.

*

Joseph Chelius is the author of three full-length collections of poems, the most recent being Playing Fields, published by Kelsay Books in 2025. His work has appeared in Cider Press Review, Commonweal, ONE ART, Poet Lore, Rattle, THINK, and other journals.

Two Poems by Joseph Chelius

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The Franklin Institute

All the wonders of science and invention
stood before us in the distance: if only
we could decode the pattern of the Parkway lights—
our grandmother in her green coat and hat,
the scent of Jean Nate,
leading the three of us with our blond crew cuts
on the day’s expedition: the trolley ride
into town; soft pretzels from a vendor.
And then, as amused Ben Franklin looked on,
peering through his tiny spectacles,
our stepping into the crosswalk—
the talk so many years later
not of the Planetarium, nor even the Giant Heart,
but our awe of tall buildings, the bewildering
phenomenon of commerce and traffic;
our linking hands as if entering
a panorama—sun glinting off metal and chrome.

*

Stopping Between Errands to Watch Little League Baseball

Forget the hardware store,
the broken clapper
on the running toilet.
And the wilting asparagus,
the half-gallon of mint chocolate
sweating it out
in the sauna of the trunk.
Unlike my fellow spectators in the stands,
I have nothing invested here:
no regard for the score
or, as I’d had years before,
no son to cheer as he stands at bat
or maintains his poise on the pitcher’s mound.
But like some roving ambassador,
a retired neighbor filling his days,
I have taken these moments
to play anonymous fan
for both the reds and the yellows
as they compete on the field.
To feel the sun on my arms,
on the back of my neck,
to be a man interrupted—
kindly, avuncular,
without a list or an agenda,
who if only just briefly
on a Saturday afternoon
can put out of mind
the unpacking of groceries
and querulous fixtures.
Can resist even the call
of the pent-up mower—
shrill and exacting,
that disciplines grass.

*

Joseph Chelius works as a principal editor for a health care communications company. His poetry has appeared in journals and magazines such as Commonweal, Poetry East, Poet Lore, Rattle, Schuylkill Valley Journal, and THINK. He has published two full-length collections with WordTech editions in Cincinnati: The Art of Acquiescence (2014) and Crossing State Lines (2020).