Best Doorbells Poems
A fire Pumpkin monster
On lawn with eyes ablaze
Children laughing
With dead souls painted on their faces
Masking terror
TIME to TRICK or TREAT
Fly by moon witches
Unleash magic on the streets
Doorbells ringing
Colored candy pour out galore
High on cloud sugar
Wicked deeds we Will explore
Rotten egg balloons
Are the favorite tricks I Know
If I Don’t get dark chocolate
I'll be stinking up your floor
Enter wayward spirits
Through portals of After Life
Come Dreaded WINTER
Foretell the many who must Die
Choose the mask you put On
It may NOT come Off...
HALLOWEEN is coming to your home
Grim REAPER is waiting outside your door
Oh let's do something crazy
Let's go moonbathing at night
and we can knock on doorbells
and then have a rainball fight
Or let's go on a rampage
of destruction of all fear
We'll wreak some anti-havoc
spreading harmony and cheer
People need to drop their worries
go outside and play
a good old game of hide and seek
and we can lead the way
It's time for some tomfoolery
and high jinks to abound
Too many people lose themselves
in troubles so profound
So let's try something crazy
Oh I know what we can do
We'll skip some pebbles 'cross a pond
and climb a tree or two
We'll take your heavy burdens
and just toss them in the air
and then we'll dash through flowery fields
without a single care
Life is getting very short
it's time for boisterous fun
And many will not understand
until their time is done
Tomfoolery and high jinks
are the order of the day
We'll throw in some shenanigans
while laughing all the way
2/26/19
A knock at the door...
( I don’t believe in doorbells)
What appeared to be a man and his wife
were standing off the steps on the lawn
The man had a nervous, stern look on his face
and his partner had her hands clasped together
tightly at her waist; glancing back at the street
as if she wanted to run away...
“Good morning my friend, how are you doing?”
(Not too good and I’m not your friend either)
“I’m a friend to all people who need the Lord
Do you mind if we come in and visit a while?”
(Yes I mind and I don’t need YOUR Lord either
Is that your wife with you and why is she nervous?)
“She is a member of my church and it’s her first time”
(Ahh, I understand now! She’s a virgin then?)
“Well I-I don’t know...Yes, she IS a virgin sir!”
(You said you didn’t know at first. You sure she is?)
“Y-yes I am sure! Are you a Christian my friend?”
(There you go again calling me a friend and yes I am)
“Pardon me for saying this but you don’t seem to be”
('Judge not that ye be not judged’ How bout another?)
W...('For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God')
The lady was sweating now and wringing her hands...
The Virgin backed away clumsily
and the 'Preacher' followed...
*Bible References:
Matthew 7:1
Romans 3:23
"Another Man’s Treasure"
Jetsam tumbles
broken doorbells
no one
answers
anymore
ironing boards
pressing to imprint
something of significance
a life, your life
droll and predictable
it all sinks
to the bottom
of a bad dream
with yesterday’s
stale tears
sharp heels
clicking on a parquet floor
like knives ripping words
jagged scratches on old wallpaper
like a warning thrown at a wall
Sundry feelings furry
ageing inevitable
intimate moments blurry
moulding green against a new life
you prophesy diamond clean
their part in your life
half-state now
pill swallowed
like a bad dream
forgotten
and
there you sit and twirl
grinning from ear-to-ear
on your swivelling black leather chair
before a glowing screen
lighthouse revolver ready
evolving
glowing prisms adrift
blue ribbons of seaweed green
tangled in your wide Sargasso Sea
morse code blinking reverie
lost memories pleasantly drowned
like a murderess you pin them down
then, the tight grasp of possibilities
rise to face the horizon
eventually, they are Marco Polo found
and
there you are
midpoint
hovering
poised
waiting
Unconditional
Singular
One man’s trash
Another Man’s Treasure
(LadyLabyrinth/2020)
"Wonders of the Deep" / Chemical Brothers
https://youtu.be/xHEgT--jJLk
SISTERHOOD OF AVON
Oh how I miss the sisterhood
the brrr...ringing of a bell
a catalog and a smile in hand
the scent of sweet cologne
nearly met customers at the door
miraculously in their own flavor
jingle jangle of jewelry
not fine but touchy-feely
and collectibles how i miss them
and the sweep of my youthful skirt
i was God-blessed with territory
— assigned not chosen,
a secondary job
i recollect three households
heaven sent, angelic psalms
as if I had travelled beyond earth’s borders
first woman, straight-laced, strict
believed every lady should wear skirts
a Christian, perhaps too pharisaical
Brr...ring at twilight and a gruff voice
a man barks, “who is it?!”
taken aback, “the Avon lady…”
a lovely woman practically
knocks over her husband, to answer
the door, sporting silver hair
she invites me in and we chat
over a quite different setting
— relaxed
Christian wearing pants,
so cheery and warming
— the bite of her husband mosquito-like
And now I’m not joking —
Christian sisters living next to each other...
do you see the theme of my life?
this dear woman’s married to a dermatologist —
certainly woman do tip their hat of facts
so i go off to water aerobics and notice my skin
has a rash
so i call
and being young and brash
ask
if i can ask her husband’s advice
the next morning i tell my boss — a naval Master Chief
that i needed to see a dermatologist,
and he laughs, “you’ll never get in”
i say, “sir, i already have an appointment”
so i had shingles, just on the cusp,
and was saved from much pain
for God is good all the time
all the time God is good
and when i step over the border into the heavenly realm
i will still sing of his goodness!
Brr...ring i miss the fine company and the singing
of customer’s doorbells
and one day i will hug my fine
sisters
12/21/2018
The spiral staircase made her high heels sing,
She ran down to meet him at the doorbells ring,
It has been ages since they last met,
He told her not to worry and not to fret,
A nervous fluttering of butterflies filled her,
Last time the age of sixteen they were,
As they climbed up the steps in her right shaky hand an envelope she held,
She knew the moment he opened it he would instantly be spelled,
From here the City churches pierced the mist,
His lips curved into a twist,
They stood for ages in deathly silence,
Her phone rang and she ignored it out of defiance,
He had pity for the man on the other end,
The poor naive man who believed that all these years was only speaking to a friend,
She opened the crinkled pale yellow envelope for his and her eyes to share,
He closed it, and, now smiling, crossed the square,
Intertwining the new couples hands,
Off to the church to get their desired wedding bands.
June 1, 2018
One Nine and Sixteen Upgrade Version Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Viv Wigley
5th Place
Scary faces peer
Down the eerie pumpkin paths
Doorbells ring from fright
All the boys and ghouls
Spooky creatures of the night
Undead creep around
Keep those goblins safe
As they fill those bags with treats
Welcome Halloween!
* for Linda-Marie-Sweetheart of p.s. halloween haiku contest
Sitting uncomfortably on my kitchen chair, waiting for the doorbell to ring,
I think back to past Halloweens, underlying feelings - this uneasiness thing.
Do these feelings stem from my childhood or knowledge of All Hallows’ eve,
Or is it that I live way out in the country - has my mind just taken its leave.
Historically this night was thought to be, all wandering souls’ last chance
To revenge their enemies before entering the realm of their final dance.
Costumes and masks were worn to avoid being recognized by a lost soul,
Jack-o-lanterns of turnips remembered those in purgatory, that was the goal.
Raised in a quiet little village, Halloween was always a time of high alert,
Rumors and folklore outlined of terrible fires, of animals and people hurt,
I would watch my father the town’s clerk prepare for this horrendous night,
Each sign of concealment, a whisper just added to my ever growing fright.
Store owners sat quietly in the dark waiting for pranksters to soap windows,
The farmers watched for signs of movement by barns and over meadows.
Volunteer fire fighters sat by the phone to respond covertly to any barn fire,
No sirens were used tonight, reduce the alarm, or so they tried to conspire.
My best friend lived out in the country, we would trick or treat together,
Her parents drove us around all the country roads in the stormy weather.
Pumpkins would flicker eerily on the railings of front porches as a guide,
Acknowledging someone was home with treats, you were welcome inside.
But every single cornstalk moved in different directions adding to my fear,
No doorbells to ring or bright street lights to show the masquerades clear,
Fires burned in the distance, yellow and orange flames licked at the night sky,
Now cars pull down my gravel driveway, is this a murderer, am I going to die.
With each knock, I take my life in my hands and open the front door,
This time I see a little princess and a funky monster walk onto my floor.
It is now late and I move to the jack-o-lantern to blow out the candle,
Another Halloween - the fear and fright - too much for me to handle.
Written September 7, 2012
For Gail Doyle’s Halloween Night contest
Autumn breathes that time of year,
The shouts of "Trick or Treat!!"
Parents dread that painful throb,
On the soles of their aching feet!
Children parade in masquerade,
Dashing from door to door;
Mom and Dad can't break their stride,
While the kiddos scream for more!
Doorbells ring throughout the night,
When will their bags be filled?
Conquering every narrow path,
Sugar is now their thrill!
At last, it's finally over,
Will the parents ever win?
For now, they'll soak their blisters,
Next year it starts again!
Spring has sprung
Birds are singing
People emerge
Doorbells are ringing
Spring has sprung
Winter disappears
The sun begins to warm
The frost & snow have cleared
Spring has sprung
Flowers do bloom
Hibernated children
Come out of their rooms
Spring has sprung
A time for rebirth
All life… it does matter
I love our sweet Earth
Christmas Bells
Jingle bells, hand bells, silver bells so fair,
Sing their laughing songs in the frosty air
Sleigh bells, church bells cheerful ringing chimes
Celebrate this time of year, this Christmastime
Joyful music every day
In doorbells greetings and Santa's sleigh
And ev'ry time we hear a bell ring
Another angel gets their wings.
Listen to this merry sound
Heavenly bells, all around
Hear their message ev'ry day
Peace on earth - Goodwill - they say.
12-6-22
Contest: November or December Quatrain
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
My Dream of Life
A life we used to dream about, the life full of adventure..
Trying new stuff everyday, no worries about the future..
That time, happiness lied within the play ground..
Riding bi-cycles, blowing gums, making too much sound...
Yelling at those people, passing by
Whoever gets offended, who cared aye...
Drinking only meant, having sherbet or lime
Thing that matter was, having a great time...
A time we used to think about, the time full of moments..
Moments including good times with friends and parents...
When meaning of fun used to be, trips and ferries..
Meantime, the life originated from those memories...
Homebaked cookies and high time gaming parties...
That tied with results, scoldings and long sung ...
Wounds or fever appeared only cause of exam signs
Thing that matter was, having great times..
A company we needed to find out, that company full of friends..
Buddies we shared our secrets with, could count on, no bands...
Things were ringing doorbells of houses in the streets,
Ran like Usain Bolt, feeling of winning Gold in Meets...
Passing comments to the people, whom we didn't like...
Treats were regular like there's nothing such as price hike...
Bunking, covertly passing through the college gates, no crime..
Thing that matter was, having great time....
A love we used to imagine and talk about...
That word meant a lot, when someone spelled it out..
Heart breaks and fights were very common those days...
School or college, all places were in its gaze...
The time, we tried understanding the meaning of this word..
Those days were the best, not a lie but a truth unheard...
Some of us were the hero, unsung, of our own time...
Present is the best time, not going to come back..
so have fun, be amazing the way you're, you try..
As I m living my dream of having a good life...
It's the look in your eye.
It's the smile on your face.
That makes time slip by.
And I know I am in a better place.
It's every moment spent with you,
That makes my grey skies turn blue.
And lets me know that these feelings I have are true.
Getting lost in my own dreams.
With a mere image of you.
It's hard to imagine, you are the sweetest thing that I know.
It seems a future lost, one without you.
I love the way you hold me when the lights go low.
You shake my soul every time like a pot hole.
You have my heart.
And even when you ain't besides me,
I trust you to always keep it whole.
See, your love is the river on which my life sails.
Those tin wind chimes used for the doorbells of my heart.
Like fields and trees, your adorable scent fills my lungs.
I wanna spent the rest of my life besides you.
For you are the flint that sparkles the lighter,
And the fuel that holds the flame.
Wamilia, uli kamuli ka'rosa with a sweet scent.
I found love, when I found you.
And if your are infectious like covid-19,
I will happily catch you.
I need no life savers
I feel comfortable drowning inside you.
For you are the lighthouse in the night that will safely guide me back home.
Empty Nest
Sounds echoing through the house of slamming doors
Heavy metal turned up to a fever pitch
The whirring of the washing machine in perpetual motion
Screams of outrage from warring siblings
The insistent ringing of the telephone
Dogs barking
Cats hissing
Doorbells chiming
Pillows flying
Babies crying
OH LORD...WHEN WILL IT EVER STOP!!!
Oh Lord, who giveth and taketh away…
The sound of silence...
is deafening today!
Copyright 2007 Beatrice Boyle
(All rights reserved)
When I think of my father my heart
starts beating in time with his 7 A.M.
footsteps on hardwood floors.
His image rests in the second chamber
of my heart. If I could shrink you
down and put you in there, you’d hear
the sharp, industrial twang of golf balls
alongside windblown, sun-wrecked dune reeds and shark
fins cresting the ocean’s ceiling.
My nose fills with scents of SPF 4
and scheduled coffee. Salt spray off
the foreshore permeates the air as he runs
up and down the neural pathways he forged
with white hot reaffirmations and ice cold habits.
If you were to run the needle over my
inherited, though painted skin, the music would
radiate in clouds of bookstore doorbells,
deafening sneezes and sports bar televisions.
This year I’m starting construction on a new
chamber in my heart; one just to hold
the memories of my father, a chamber filled
with the loud, consistent banging of beanbags on wood,
a chamber big enough for me to chase after
frisbees tossed with sixty-eight-year-old skill
most crucially, a chamber with integrity
enough to hold the blue, persistent flame
in focus long enough for me to light my own
cigarette, and smile as the smoke comes out.
The new room design has soundproof walls
and the door and locks are all fireproof,
withstanding flames as hot as the water my
mother uses to wash his greasy meatloaf pans.