Best Clear As A Bell Poems
Old Clarry was deaf; yes deaf as a post,
and couldn't hear a word that was said.
But he'd sit alone while we conversed,
when we gathered in young Harry's shed.
I suppose old age gets us all in the end,
but Clarry's still here and he's ninety two.
He doesn't need glasses and his heart is okay;
it's just this deafness that has come through.
Then one day at our get-together,
Clarry with a grin had something to tell,
he said the doctors had found him a cure,
and now he can hear us as clear as a bell.
I said to Clarry "That's just amazing;
they've reversed your ears on the wane.
Your family must be over the moon,
to know you can hear them again".
Old Clarry grinned "I ain't told the family,
I don't think their hearts could stand the strain.
I just sit in me chair and hear what they say.
I've changed me will twice and intend to again”.
She didn’t play poker so well.
Her bluff was as clear as a bell.
Her insides would quaver
So much that they gave her
A hell of a smell of a tell.
At six foot four, and an eighth of a ton,
A gentle giant of a man, he was;
Father to three, and himself a fine son,
Devoted husband to Jean, without pause.
Phone man, painter, in ocean liners he cruised,
Accompanied by family and friends;
Sweet song in his heart, but never the blues,
Wisdom and patience, in life his clear lens.
He loved a recipe, and showing concern,
With actions, like always asking about you;
His life well balanced, his legacy earned,
Sharing his Jesus—the Gospel's Good News!
Taking time for grandkids, he humbly shared,
Both time and his money, an open book;
Bouncing upon knees, for great grands he cared,
Teaching scriptures, over breakfast he’d cooked.
Eighty-two years was his Lord’s master plan,
Fifty-eight to a soulmate, solemnly wed;
What mattered most, to this giver of men,
Was baking and breaking, life’s finest bread.
A Soldier whose honor, served us all well,
Humbly he loved, these United States;
His strong Christian faith, now clear as a bell,
His given name, you ask? Twas—Walter Yates!
(Rest in Peace Dear Friend. We miss you, sir!)
GHOSTLY DAD
new year’s eve
a ghostly frost coats his chair
front porch so still
car horns downtown
turn back the clock
new year’s eve
no moon no starry night
no dad to share
in a sudden breeze
a leaf floats down from somewhere
early new year’s eve
the last trolley car dings by
that long yellow row
if he’s aboard
he doesn’t get off
new year’s eve
late cold coming in
clear as a bell
he points
the big dipper
on new year’s eve
dad and brother made ice cream
mom put on her new coat
i got one too
the vanilla stain still there
Dave Austin
Every poet worth their sault
Every teacher and professor declare you will prove to be as dense as a London fog
Using clichés
But I think clichés make it clear as the nose on your face
That there are things as beautiful as the day is long
And as far as the eye can see
As many to enjoy as there are chins in a Chinese phone book
So my advice to young writers,
From time to time abandon the ship USS Proper Expression
Be above board
Do an about face
Make clear as a bell
That a rose by any other name does still smell as sweet
That absence still makes the heart grow founder
Airing dirty laundry is a no no
And if you must have an ace up your writer's sleeve
Let it be a cliché!
CLASSIC MOVIES
it is surprising
how fine black and white can be
one listens better
one notices more
each word clear as a bell
folks keep their clothes on
blood flow minimum
black and white blood not so gross
favorites are great –
clark, cary, spenser.
katherine, audry, ginger
to love without lust
as I get older,
caring not for violence,
i watch more and more
Our local Church is falling down; it’s in total disrepair,
Father Murphy is beside himself for no one seems to care.
The coffers are near empty so there’s need of volunteers
to refurbish what neglect has caused over many years.
But a call from Father Murphy didn’t quite have the effect
he believed would offer him support, the way he did expect,
for on the day that he proposed to have a working bee,
the promised helpers on his books had whittled down to me.
And I am not a carpenter; a sparky or a plumber.
If he’s looking for a tradesman, he won’t find no one dumber.
I listened to his explanation and his fears that our dear Church
without a huge influx of cash will leave us in the lurch.
Father Murphy stated fetes and card nights hardly even rate,
and lately there has been so little dropped into the plate.
And no amount of threats can intimidate his flock,
and then the room went quiet when we heard a knock.
Opening up the manse front door there standing face to face,
is Father Murphy with a well-dressed man who carries a briefcase.
But who he is, is still unclear … is he a spiritual debater?
One minute and clear as a bell … he’s a tax investigator.
And information that he’s seeking concerns one of the flock,
Ted Hourigan has made a claim that’s not as solid as a rock.
Father admitted he knew Ted, and in his flock he’s one,
but Father Murphy’s apprehensive about what Ted has done ...
... until the investigator nearly blew him off his perch …
“Did Ted Hourigan donate ten thousand dollars to your Church?”
Father Murphy’s prayers are answered; to tell the truth he’d be a dill;
so he looked this bloke fair in the eye - and said “Oh yes, he will.”
The world, his wife, or her partner, and the kids
Are mostly upsized, overweight, bloated or even worse obese.
Millions of scientists, doctors and nutrients can't figure out why
Too many theories, too many claims and counter claims, conflicting.
Finger of blame swings wildly around like roundabout in the park swinging in the wind
Fat, carbs, protein, meat, dairy, fast food, you named it has been blamed.
Diets galore, too many to mention, all tried in vain as more weight is gained.
The equation is simple: Calories eaten in food versus calories burnt in activity.
A Calorie excess means body stores fat, you get fat.
A Calorie deficit, more burnt than eaten, means body burns fat and mass, and you lose weight.
The sad fact is that modern Western food is far to rich.
It is processed and enhanced to be bloated with sugar, fat, protein and calories.
You and me get fat, even when we eat three 'normal' healthy meals a day.
The food is too rich, the portions too large, so we each too much, even without eating fast foods and junk.
Exercise helps, but what you put in your mouth matters most.
The evidence out there is clear as a bell.
The obesity epidemic started in the 1970's when the food processing revolution began.
Primitive communities that adopt Western foods get fatter and fatter.
The problem lies in the food we eat: We eat too much; and the food we eat is far too rich.
The solution: Only eat the better half of each meal, eliminate processed foods, and fast for longer each day.
Eat well, eat less, watch what you eat, enjoy the little you eat, enjoy fasting, and be more active.
My friend had a Christmas gift
He wanted to give me;
He shushed it was a secret
And I couldn't see.
It's awful not knowing
What a present is:
It's like getting stuck
In a cryptogrammic quiz.
He laughed
When I begged for a hint,
With an evil snicker
At my hapless predicament.
But as I steamed,
I looked about:
A light snow was falling,
And it was so very peaceful out.
The year had its struggles,
We nearly lost the place,
But that sudden promotion
Put me at a more amiable pace.
Janell gave me an awful scare
When she found a lump on her breast;
We prayed pretty hard,
But she aced every test.
Sadie and Jeff
Gave a grandchild last spring:
The sweetest, dark-haired girl
That life could bring.
I felt a little misty
As I stood there,
But he hadn't told me about the gift
And it just wasn't fair!
I thought of the fancy paper,
And I saw my grandbaby stand;
I thought of the lacy ribbon,
And I felt my wife's hand.
Something was happening to me,
I couldn't tell,
But it dawned
As clear as a bell.
There were gifts
That I had gotten,
Not in boxes and paper,
How could I have forgotten?
Saving our home
Was a gift, indeed,
And my wife's health,
What more did I need?
The grandbaby, in my arms,
Made me feel alive;
You know, I heard angels
Right there in the drive.
I wanted a gift,
But what gifts I'd received;
"Merry Christmas," my friend grinned,
"Now do you believe?"
Anna is a charming Mom,
I met her at my gym.
A madam of sorts, quiet and calm,
Level headed, articulate, fit & trim.
Between sets we talk, of life’s little sagas,
Comparing civic cares and concerns.
Verbal jousts before noon, while avoiding drama,
Like racecar drivers, who bump in a turn.
We kayak, and camp, with kids and the spouse,
And refer to such things as time off.
On her radar and mine, busy lives we espouse,
Repaper the kitchen, life gulped from a trough.
Our friendship’s base tenet, is clear as a bell,
BFF’s with great wow, lots of passion, and flair.
Talk of family—a Top Spot on which we oft dwell,
No stats, just sheer love, great hopes and much prayer.
May 10th,, 2018
You tore a hole in my heart my dear old Dad
when you left and went away
The dreaded disease you bravely battled
refused to let you stay
The calls home now are not the same
your voice I cannot hear
However sometimes, I sense that you’re there
and standing very near
I picture your haircut, that timeless flattop
colored in wisdom’s grey
Your beautiful smile and those calloused old hands
gently pointing the way
I see your blue eyes so filled with love
and wonder when they turn my way
What do you see way down the road
and what are they trying to say?
Your words I hear as clear as a bell
though inaudible in my ear
I think of the things you would have said
when helping my path to steer
Dad, you’re gone yet you’re always right here
I carry you in my heart
Somewhere down the road we’ll join up again
when we never have to part
“holy candle blues”
in the rust red sunset - angel brother bends his blown glass ear over the wall of eternity listening in on my sweet restless rathouse jam
she entered peeling story-caked walls riding a lightning broom swept me
out to half dippermoon bridge
we swung downtown where
waltzing heirs warmed six-figure derrieres above smorgasbord fires
I faked all the right questions into hell’s Paradise
panting at the emerald city ****** waiting beneath her olive skin gypsy thin cocktail feast
ignoring the runaway beast
and someone beamed—they make a great couple
as we sweat to god’s blistering last-chance desperate romance bugle call
my ragged sailor heart pirouetting out the hornpipe door over muddy cliffs
on the way down a devil in white linen gown serving dark red obsession wine flaming flambé soft brown coconut limbs
the fly doing backflips in a honey pot
over the lava baked sea
a million miles away
the moaning rusted ship creaked like a red infection begging to be freed from the last ripples in a skin game port
You knew all along prophet of the beautiful tracks
That my ramble played in a forest of doom
I surrender dear monk in the sad samba night
that wind pushed me mountains away
flushed me out of hiding in the prehistoric pubescent
road-burnt grotto
at the piano bar you played me like a thundering chord…till a
midnight candle grabbed the shades
and a fire came roaring down in flames
we crawled like god’s sweet snails to the clear-as-a bell day
glaring up to the dark blue smoke where a cherry red sunset angel rained wild woolen ashes down on love’s last twitch…applauding the singed curtain call
live! live! ... he cried from his bongo perch on heaven street
hot orange coals fading in the chilled breeze
words we’ll never speak again you and I
Unless fate has too much time to deal strange train cards
this harp strung midnight reverie
sad violins hijack innocent dreams and twist the arm of violet coated wishes
In my hidden dark room
holy candle blues…
whispers of sea wind blowing
The female Black Widow Spider, they all do the same
When they copulate with their mate, the next thing you know he is dead
And so goes the cycle, kind of like the game you play
The Statues of Limitations, it has no time frame
But little lady, God has a price on your head
You will pay, come Judgment Day
Old Joe, was a proud Mexican man when he was alive
They said that he could fix anything, Helluva mechanic
After work, would always have a few beers with his friends
But you made it to where he could not survive
God, the way that he died was traumatic
They all remember, he had a lot of friends
They maybe be old and can't remember five minutes ago, yesterday is clear as a bell
Of all the good times they had with Old Joe, the tales they told me
They way that he died, left a bad taste in their mouth that will not go away
They get to talking, do they have a story to tell
Sooner or later you will have to plead guilty
I figure that old cocaine, will run out on you someday
Old Joe is in the grave, cause you put him there
But his spirit will come to visit you, when you are trying to sleep
You see sweetheart, God has a way of not leaving you alone
If I were a gambling man I bet you don't have a prayer
At night, I reckon you will be counting sheep
The thoughts of Old Joe's ghost will be chilling you to the bone
"Just thought I would drop by and leave a few recollections in your head"
"Not to worry you any, just something for you to think about"
"I know you keep telling everyone that you are not guilty"
"But we have to remember, that is not what all of his friends have said"
"When the jury come back, I don't think that there will be any doubt"
"Sooner or later, we all have to face reality"
Blond hair & blue eyes, yes he remembered her well
Those pointy ears and tiny voice still was clear as a bell.
Her velvet shoes and ballroom gown were perfect for the dance
He knew the spot he'd take her was perfect for romance.
They danced and sang the night away with hopes of more to come
The meal they shared was exquisite and it made her hum.
The ring he had remembered for he picked it especially
For the lady that had caught his eye it would fit perfectly.
He hoped that she would be his bride, lovely for all to see
The mother of his children, a perfect wife she would be.
His nerves were wavering, his stomach in knots
Every where he looked all he saw was dots.
The words they tumbled over his tongue his mouth was cotton dry
The look that came across her face he new it was worth the try.
The tears that streaked her lovely face he knew were tears of joy
The words that came pouring out were yes, my lovely boy.
Ramblings of an Old Woman
I’ve lost my hat, its completely gone
It’s on your head, you put it on
I’ve got one glove on my right hand
T’other’s in the fridge as right as rain
It’s stifling in here and your coat is on
I’m late for work and I need to run
No work today, it’s time for rest
Since twenty years, your job has ceased
Did you put the dinner on for Bert
I’ll get the iron to straighten his shirt
He passed away, don’t you recall
Please take care not to trip and fall
You’re my lovely little girl, dear Sarah
Your daughter’s not here, I’m just your carer
You’re just like her. She’s missed so much
Try not to cry, and I’m very touched
My clothes are damp, they need to be changed
And your nightie’s on under all that garb
I’m even forgetting how to talk
As well as my ability to walk
I want to help and make life better
Your specs are in the dish for the butter
I’ll put the kettle on for a cuppa
And do something for your supper
Make sure to put water in the pot
I’ve broken so many when I’ve forgot
The smell of gas is no longer there
The controls are immobile fair and square
Your safety secure for the moment
But I won’t get better, you must know that
I remember before as clear as a bell
But life in the present is just a shell
I love to hear your tales of the past
A dialogue of stories unsurpassed
This living book for me to recall
A piece of history with which to enthrall