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Best Bats In The Belfry Poems | Poetry

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The Best Bats In The Belfry Poems

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Poetry Palace Now Open For Tourists--Beware

Peek, if you dare…inside my Palace of CREATIVITY
Observe my drafty walls, and rhyming dungeons                                     ^^
Enter, my friends, with no delusions!                                             ^^
There are marbled halls of mass confusion… 
Regarding your ILLUSION, of metaphoric INFUSIONs,… 
Your opinions may falter, upon the alter, compared to other verses                ^^

Poetic attempts, and past regrets, are ghostly curses
And with INEVITABLE blunders, they rattle off meter, the echos could haunt you!
Lest you dare, just beware, dear readers….  WATCH YOUR STEP!                          ^^
As your guide, I’ll confide….people have died!
'Cause this Poetry Palace, has bats in the belfry! (As everyone knows)…
EVENTUALLY, this palace place should be foreclosed! 

For Linda Marie’s Contest “Poetry Palace”
By Carrie Richards

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011

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Troll Inspired Community

I have to ask the question of old, how did the trolls move west?
How did they sneak across the ocean, and to the old Midwest?
How did the Trolls come our way, then into our basement to sleep?
Covered wagons, or out of the dark how did they slowly creep?

Perhaps it was the cavemen who led them here on a frozen ocean bridge?
Or were they disguised as Vikings instead, enjoying a little pillage?
I believe they came to see how the Midwest Whale Herding is being done.
They can’t resist a bronco binge of riding with our whale herdsmen.

But then, I might ask what inspired those dragons, to also come along?
Maybe the trolls rode them over, while singing their merry songs.
It seems the dragons have found the caves nearby, and decided to stay.
Thank goodness the trolls didn’t invite them into my basement, that day.

But those caves had all sort of critters, which now all seem rather put out.
The other day, they came down the hill to my garden, in a really big huff.
It looks like they all have plans, for to my garden they came right away.
And it does get kind of smoky… where a dragon decides to lay.

I say, why not let them stay? For if my hubby can have trolls in the basement… 
Why not have all these friends? It’ll be OK and such, for we can all be decent…
Gnomes protecting my garden, and dwarfs mining the hillside, and other stuff…
Bears are in our stream and garage that now has bats in the belfry, a fancy touch?

Ye old whales are a tourist attraction in our lake, as is swimming with the dolphins. 
The Bait N Tackle shop’s selling food for the whales, dragons, and all, so much fun!
Dragons make an occasional fly by, for the tourists doing somersaults, such hams…
Life’s become so fun and exciting… certainly this can’t be too much to have…

Trolls were useful to get the gargoyles into public office to lead the way.
Gargoyles make great policemen and one became The Mayor just the other day.
Our community is fastly growing, as I spied an elf within the woods, it’s true.
We’ll be more popular than Six Flags… when the Elvin campground opens soon.

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2012

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Bats in the Belfry

Like the hordes of bats which surround
the belfry of our old clock tower
wild images scurry around
pressing my mind without referee.

When the moon and stars appear,
illuminating sea and sand, 
sights unseen which ears can hear -
my incessant tongue may set free.  

written July 2016
I promised myself - no quatrains this year
so I broke the rules.

Copyright © Reason A. Poteet | Year Posted 2016

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Concepts Phantasmagorical

When the cows come home to roost,
	or the crows are grazing grass,
It’s time I wrote a rhyme,
	until yesterday returns to pass!
If bats in the belfry stay sleeping,
	until the clock strikes the noon of day,
Tis then the ghouls awaken,
	keeping to their regular, natural way.

If fish in the river are kippers,
	with heads on a pebble, they sleep,
If no one ever can see them,
	perhaps the water’s too deep?
An Otter is preparing his meal:
	it’s a portion of fish and chips,
How do I know he enjoys them?
	Why, look how he’s smacking his lips!	

A Heron that stands on a rock
	has legs that are bandy and thin,
It’s doubtless the effect of water,
	in which he is standing in!
On seeing his rippled reflection,
	he gave himself a surprise
For a body that’s as thin as his is,
	will never get fat, though he tries.

An alligator lurking close by,
	on the Heron is keeping his eye,
Though it would not make much of a meal,
	doubtless he’s willing to try.
He long ago ate all of his neighbours,
	his reason for wearing a grin,
They, not knowing his objective,
	all quickly disappeared within!

When cart horses are seen wearing panties,
	or prancing and trotting with pride,
It’s because they’re taking their Groom,
	who is reluctantly taking a bride.
Whilst the vicar is greeting him warmly,
	dressed in brown boots and spats.
The bridesmaids are dressed in bikinis,
	on their heads, are brown paper hats!

If elephants were seen blowing trumpets,
	with giraffes happily banging a drum,
Then imagine the picture that’s painted,
	it’s much better than normal humdrum?
And think of the fun you’d be missing,
	if you were reading some other book:
For one must possess vivid conception,
	be they brainy or a pitiful schnook!

Now there’s little of rationalised reason,
	to be found in work such as this,
Just the pleasure it affords this poet:
	a delight he never would miss.
He is concerned the reader will wonder,
	as to what his words might mean?
But there’s nothing intended nor hinted,
	It’s only a phantasmagorical scene.

Phantasy exercised thus, is a boon,
	at least to someone like me,
For it allows my mind to roam freely,
	to places I doubt it ever will see.
When I indulge in illusory rhyming,
	it’s amusing and a source of great joy,
I find writing in a free-wheeling manner,
	is therapy, few others enjoy.

So when reading my weird peregrinations,
	think not on the content therein,
Just envisage the picture presented,
	then permit yourself to grin.
There’s nothing profound nor insightful,
	nor an arcane message within,	
For it’s purely whimsical commentary,
	of unorthodox origin.

Rhymer.  March 24th, 2017



Copyright © Denis Barter | Year Posted 2017

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One famous night (a Quiz)

Ok so I decided, to try another quiz,
And see if you can guess, what the answer is.
It will be an easy one I promise maybe, 
Just follow the clues and look in the belfry.
Look out for the bells, don’t bump your head,
For this I would surely dread.
Ok so we all settled that,
Now look oh look for your hat.
You don’t have a hat, imagine that, 
I wonder who took it, that dirty rat.
So here we go one more time,
I am trying my best to make this rhyme.
You think it easy well not well not
Back to the answer I forgot.
Bats in the belfry two by two,
Lets think of something completely new.
A car you say, could it be,
If that is the answer, you get one free.
Now lets think of something famous,
Could it be someone named Amos. 
No-no, no-no that is too easy,
Oh my tummy is getting queasy. 
And just imagine on that night, 
The way he felt on his flight.
Oh my oh my there’s bugs everywhere,
Cant even imagine sitting in a chair.
Oh look oh look the bugs light up,
Don’t let them in your coffee cup.
Now that must be a clue you gave it away,
You know better than that, that will be the day.
Where do we go from here,
That word is familiar, it rhymes with cheer.
Lets just forget it and go have a beer.
So many clues you must be near.
Well I think he has taken a long haul,
Thank goodness he missed the wall.
And yes his first name is Paul.
Now I know you have it, not a surprise,
Or did I just pull wool over your eyes.
Well you don’t get off that easy,
Cause I am still feeling queasy.
It is three words, we are looking for,
Call me when you have it and nothing more.
Go back to the beginning, remember what was said.
Maybe something will pop in your head.
Yes the bats are a very big clue
Just remember this, their were only two.
The bugs the bugs what light does shine,
Maybe two to help this rhyme.
Oh that sounds so good to me,
And don’t forget the number three.
Three words it is, we need to know,
Wonder if the reverend will tell us so.
Oh my look what you said,
Just something off the top of my head.
But you almost spelt the second word,
How can that be, you are absurd.
I cant remember, was he riding somewhere,
On that night, its not clear.
Foggy it is, misty too, its so dark,
That’s how they knew.
The ride is known throughout the land,
And so famous is the man.
That’s all you get, and please done fret,
You have to know it I’ll bet I’ll bet.

Copyright © Kenneth Fordham | Year Posted 2007

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The Hum Mew Zing Night Owl

more often than not, a knightly surge
     combs a pawn me,
     especially after the stroke of midnight, when
hermetically sealed in my rookery,

     where bats in the belfry
     flap their wings at the speed
     of sound times ten
thence, this king heads to his counting house

     (which doubles asthma
     Perkiomen Valley bishopric)
     to economize on space,
     especially during tax time

     (as April fifteenth slowly approaches,
     me heartbeat doth) quicken
though becalmed, when imbibing
     idyllic, fantastic, and bucolic kingdom

     Americana paintings courtesy, sans nomen
Percevel Rockwell, thus jitteriness pacified,
     particularly speaking
     on the telly phone with Ken
Burns, whose trademark documentaries,

     particularly War between the States,
     where even roosting hen
got into the frayed scrimmage vis a vis, even
chilly being egged on to surrender as Ben

a fit to this American
     Civil War Yankee incarnate,
whose doodling word
     ya probably don't give a hoot -Amen!

Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2018