This is my life
he gave it to me
this is my fight
So leave me be
It's time to take
Back the taken
No longer do I feel the need
To let the rage inforged in me
Stand between
Me and destiny
As I piece together
my broken mind
In hopes to find
My friend in time
I come to find
The fault is yours
all this time
It was never mine
Now I know
The evil within
Never again
Well I let you in
And God is my witness
My savior my amen
Not even death
Can save you
My friend
From his wrath
To my revenge
It's your soul
In my hands
In the depths of hell
Round two begins
A shiny forest of an armpit
By Ninety-Five percent a cesspit;
A quick verifying touch of this
By Ridiculed Christopher Elvis
Also brandishing a moist pelvis,
For long months now excused by Doris
His Understanding, Hopeful Girlfriend
But clearly seeking its abrupt end.
Anew, Elvis investigative finger
Goes for The Sticky Feeling that would linger,
His Poor Hygiene Principal Bell Ringer
And Change-for-the-Better Soft Singer;
To his Dad something he should be killed for,
As he keeps wondering what he’s waiting for,
Already by him pronounced A Serious Matter
And on Offending Elvis’ Head a metallic clatter …
His show of disgust had to be perfected
Because Elvis has a wisdom rejected
“All the stops pulling out to pick poor hygiene
From his interactions with Useless Eugene!”
An enduringly charming singer,
His heard voice did linger,
His conquering kicks of a Ninja,
To The Despairing, a ginger.
Wondrously effusive a singer,
His lyrics a bell ringer
And to millions, their Bliss Bringer:
Losers to the heists of Dead Dillinger.
His rhythms rolled the ball of God Wingers,
The strings of his guitars plucked by practised fingers.
Every handed Grammy,
For his doted - upon mummy,
Some of the songs he did tailor,
For his Elizabeth Taylor.
For the most part doubly likeable,
And a character quite believable,
Save for the wanton plastic surgeries,
Describable in terms of body forgeries…
It had to be a Virgo’s tinkering with one’s health,
In same willing to sink unthinkable wealth.
“You can ring my bell, ring my bell, you can ring my bell” Anita Ward
He
rings my
bell so well that
he is like an artist
at his craft because he pushes
all my buttons, but in a way sublime.
Oh, how he makes me tingle from
head to
toe.
June 29, 2021
for John Anderson's Ring My Bell Poetry Contest
Someone has told me that I need single-spacing,
but I thought this WAS single spacing. I hope I am
right about this!!
A gloomy morning is arising,
the monotonous rain of December
makes soothing, relaxing sounds
for those soundly sleeping.
This unexpected rainy day
causes a cozy feeling,
and pelting on rooftops
it creates new dreams
for anyone awaiting spring.
Why are the red-breasted meadowlarks absent?
It's the beginning of winter
and it's not snowing yet!
Around seven o'clock they used
to wake me up as the brilliant sunrays
spread and blinded my sight...
reminding me to whisper
my prayer and appreciate life more.
Even the church bells are silent
in their tower bell, they used
to thrill me with their tintinnabulation;
I anxiously stepped outside
to hear them more clearly,
has the bell ringer fallen asleep?
I eagerly wait on the balcony
adorned with pretty lilies and petunias
in pottery vases that sadly drip,
soon I'll freeze feeling the Arctic wind
entering my bones and blowing hard;
it'll anticipate snow and ice. I couldn't
stand the cold weather for long;
would the merry sound of bells
make one forget that it's still winter?
Ben was a church bell ringer
He was also an opera singer
Some days he would sing
Others bell ring
He was a real humdinger
Colored lights draped over elaborate wire trees
Festive wreaths dressed in ornaments to please
Christmas songs piped in, one after another
Outside a bell-ringer chirps, Merry Xmas, brother
Yet nearly every guest room's empty
Seems no one's checking in or out
No line at the front desk either
There's hardly a soul about...
A hotel lobby's a lonely place Christmas Eve
All that tinsel's a harlot's make-up, disbelieved
James was his church’s bell ringer
Some would listen and linger.
To make the bell louder
James became stouter.
Now he’s known as a real humdinger.
for Neil on his birthday
is where we begin our quest,
seeking enlightenment,
four revelers on a merry ferry
ride, windows down to a watery
wind, cold in winter, gentle in
July on this occasion of a 95th
year of celebration: fruitful,
loving, gift-giving from a man
of long tenure, a span of years
he shared with us: turned-
round collar, chasuble robe,
bell-ringer, server at the Supper
of The Lamb, still the Head
of our spiritual table.
The Bodhi Tree is where the Buddha is said
to have entered nirvana. Bodhi Trees are
planted near all Buddhist monasteries
IS IT REALLY A RACE IF THE RACE HAS NO START?
I am a singer who cannot sing
I am a bell ringer whose bell cannot ring
I wanted to fling but forgot to fling
I am a nobody who ain’t got a thing
I am a painter who is unable to paint
I am a sinner and I certainly ain’t no saint
I am a vibrant color which faded far too faint
I am a nobody and a somebody I ain’t
I am an artist who ain’t got no art
I am a soul who ain’t got no heart
I am an actor who can’t play his part
I am a race that ain’t got no start
This singer can’t sing nor can this actor act
And that’s just a god-damned natural born fact
I am a honey bee who is unable to sting
And Lord knows I’m a nobody who ain’t got a thing
© copyright 2012....PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
In His Heart
I can see it in your eyes,
feel it beating in your heart.
Where does it end and start,
the heavy sighs and reasoning.
They fill the Holiday seasoning
with silver bells, drink, food, and merry.
People who would not stay up in prayer
with you for the lost and hurt.
But made it to the Christmas
morning bonanza at 1:00 A.M. for
those expensive sales.
Spending beyond their means for
some electronic gadget that will rust.
Tossing the left over penny change
to the bell ringer freezing outside the door.
Some will be at the Church for Christmas
dressed in their very best.
I see it in your eyes Lord and
feel the beating of your heart.
The sadness is you been replaced with
shopping madness and computers, gadgets
that rust your Birthday party they forgot.
For the real reason for this CHRISTmas season
was your birth the one of light in
a world of darkness.
Word CHRISTmas is done on purpose to show the true meaning for this season.
Merry Christmas PS Family.