Long Bat out of hell Poems
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KARENA FROM SARENA
Like a bat out of hell,
In the dark does she dwell.
Thinks she’s La Belle,
But in fact a mere shell,
Her name is Karena,
And she lives in Sarena.
She tells fantasy tales,
About females and males,
Oh my, not the same,
All over again,
For upon my word,
All she says is absurd!
She assumes she is clever,
And to this end will never,
Admit she’s outsmarted,
That is only for the fainthearted
Says she is humble not famous,
Her thoughts quite outrageous!
So if you ever hear of Karena,
Who lives in Sarena,
Steer clear, for your name
Made mud by this dame
She burps and blurbs, insults hurls
A woman whose mind twists and twirls!
Pure Fantasy you say,
Absolutely, all the way!
Messianic Zeal Of This Good Humored Punster...
Without making a
twit tarring buffoon, sans unshackle
irrepressible bone a fide
funny reaction, or appearing
the foolish spectacle
of myself, trying to tackle
a mal hip apropos
prism mirth wells up
inducing me to cackle,
neither explaining any rhyme,
nor giving reason, then busting
out in laughter obliquely
analogous to ramshackle
structure, resultant outcome
from some slapstick
Vaudevillian farcical debacle,
perhaps regarding the heady
beer burr of Seville scene thru
black and white daguerreotype mackle
more or less hazy, gauzy,
or fuzzy warm
feeling in actuality
thinly disguised as
dog gone hackle,
which vicious canine attacks ready
to tear limb bough to limb mitt,
thus luckily handily repair
with accessible spackle
ye kept on yar person, which caper
doth captcha an instantaneous titter
easily confused for
mating call of grackle
giving rise to a raft of songbirds
that incessantly crackle
snap, and pop with...witch sounds
indeed oven eerily
bloody suck'n vampire
bat out of hell cackle.
Other creatures in
the animal kingdom
cane be barley able
to communicate wheat seems
oat rage juice lee wry,
no matter how
much horse sense,
a smart species doth
porpoise lee try
though porcine not
remiss to wallow
in mud as seen high
atop a bridge
abutment over the River Kwai
ah look...a pig in a poke
unable to pry
loose caked mud blocking snout
prematurely ejaculating, an outcry
for help even fishing for small fry
doubling up as
potential best buds
with Englishman such as Dry
den, and/or dear reader
hood doth lamentably cry
claiming this badinage i.e. my
trademark gobbledygook didst render
momentary lapse of
reasonable judgement alibi.
You asked us not to cry when you have passed on
But we do not need handkerchiefs we need storm water drains
May the flash floods of tears irrigate your memory and wishes
To dance on your grave and be happy was your final request
When the funeral director has gone home to his family
We will respect your rebellion and turn over the soil
‘I expect you to wear happy clothes tie dye home-made batik
Hippie gowns and torn jeans covered in ink with messages
Not for the dead but for the living who gather in full colours’
As we write our final farewells onto the cardboard box
You designed for your coffin with crayons finger paint and
The mud of the earth you smile contagiously from inside
‘One flower only per person but you must bring worms
A few butterflies a handful of moths and a couple of rodents
Crack open the container that holds my remains for I must breathe’
It is midnight and a full moon invites kind witches and spells
Of Karma on broom sticks and a bonfire of faithful disbelief
Fireworks are in order because Tom likes to go out with a bang
We sing Hallelujahs ‘Bat out of Hell’ and ‘Stairway to Heaven’
‘Born to be Wild’ ‘Wish you were Here’ ‘Bridge over troubled waters’
Remember that voices aren't mute when they’re encouraged to speak
Sandalwood incense mixes with smell of roasted chestnuts and
Fig jam to honour the Buddha and pink lemonade for chakras
To caress emotional reason as we hand over your torch
‘Adults must play with Lego please’ you decreed ‘Life is a building’
‘Find me a unicorn and fix stick on tattoos of impermanent shine’
‘Adorn you skin with jester’s wisdom and henna or heart blood’
Now that we bid good fortune to the future we will light paper lanterns
Watch the wax melt slowly and the sun to rise for your final departure
We know that you will turn to compost but will watch over our lives
23rd June 2019
She was possessed or so they imagined what else could it be
only two years old and already she could speak fluent Spanish
though she never heard the language in the household before;
She cried for her mother and when her mother arrived she said
" mommy what is your name " and then the lights in the room
shut down by themselves...
Then came the night when the window frosted in her bedroom
though it was summer and the temperatures were way above
the window frosted with ice and the roomed chilled to below Zero;
When the Priest attempted an exorcism prayer and genuflected,
she gave out a guttural laugh and yelled, " Padre Arrependito "
repent Father, repent, he ran out of the house like a bat out of hell....
A Ghost Story Poetry Contest
Sponsored by:
Angela Tune Jan 10, 2022
The Rebel Lives On
It was a Black Sabbath night when they turned his remains into the sea
‘Lost into the darkness I fade into the light’
Friends and family wore Deep Purple gowns and mauve attire there was
‘Smoke on the water fire in the sky’ as the float burnt into ashes
Moody Blues connected the revenant’s congregation at his final farewell
‘White satin’ engulfed the flames ‘never reaching the end’
Shades of Marillion left the mourners uncertain about the future
‘Yet another emotional suicide overdosed on sentiments and pride’
His life had been like a Red Hot Chilli Pepper exultingly passionate
Always ready to ‘Kill the pressure it’s raining on salty cheeks’
Fireworks exploded into a bouquet of floral infinity to the sound of Guns N’ Roses
‘Well if you don’t like it go ahead find yourself a saint’
Two more songs ushered the guest of honour into new life facing salvation or not
Stairway to Heaven and Bat out of Hell offering ultimate requests beyond death
At times it’s best to cover both options and leave the gods to decide at free will
27th June 2019
Poetry Anthology - Music Theme Contest
Sponsor Geraldine Taylor
the initial purport
this literary effort delivered atchew
to reed constitutes hazmat tocks sin
within White House blew
per, viz thee president be
getting a Hollywood love story
with "Stormy Williams" despite brew
haha murmur, now dapper Don in deep doo doo
thus, this garrulous married pro LIX prone papa flew
off (like a bat out of hell)
to his Macbook Pro laptop presenting myself
implicating Trump as po' faux guise Mister McGoo
affiliated, confused, and explained
being on par with Winnie the Pooh
especially stuck right tub bear arms in grr...
Rabbit's House, now he doth stew
nsync, nonetheless this path a logical
rhyme stir on the straight and true
composeing grist sill for ye to view
now, nar hating, hit ting
private links provide attention turned toward
two thousand twenty presidential election campaign
no Iron nee, anno putter opportunity,
how he diplomatically strived, and nearly scored
to boast asthma, overt braggart, stalwart
asper ideal consistency of cement poured
affiliation, aggregation, and attestation moored
prevails ma (Jack booted - magical) lord
rolling back to Timbuktu progressive liberal
Democratic initiatives star Apprentice
sans ("NO LIES") being linkedin, he almost ignored
with voluble chattering class hud hoard
hobnobbing (with the likes of Missus Muir's ghost,
who resort to Matthew Scott's turf brand),
reconstituted, recycled, and repurposed, gourd
nonetheless Trumping protocol necessitates me bing bored
predictable feigned "FAKE" non accord.
The world turning vegan and we’ve lost our Meat Loaf
Nothing really rocks and nothing really rolls
music that was worth the cost
A real dead singer we loved
A real dead sinner leave us
And if he’s gotta be dammed
you know he wants to be dammed dancing through the night with you,
And now we won’t do that
Forget dreaming every night of our lives,
No way, I would do anything for loaf,
but he won’t come back
took the words right out of his mouth,
It must have been that COVID 19 weaz
Like a bat out of hell was unwell when the mourners come
Now life is over like a bat out of hell he is gone gone gone
A few lyrics of Meat Load set up this tribute
so saddened by the news in my final salute
Goosebumps rise upon my arm
Setting off internal alarm
Clammy hands and sweaty face
Holding tight a can of mace.
Spooky moment, shake with fear
Disembodied sound calls me dear
Shadows of doom shift and shape
Like bat out of hell need to escape.
Now door slams so tightly shut
Feel ghostly eyes, afraid to look
Light goes out and footsteps thud
Definitely somethings out for blood.
A dream's a dream I believed
Extremely glad for this reprieve
Yet, Why am I holding a can of mace?
Remnants of nightmare cannot erase.
Something Spooky
Poetry Contest
Sponsored
by:
Tania Kitchin
06/10/2021
Have you ever listened to Rock Me Amadeus on Karaoke
I would rather be a Bat Out Of Hell on my Stairway To Heaven
And that is what they will have to sing when my box gets lowered
Sunk into eternity while the pastor's Guitar Gently Weeps
For Singing In the Rain we can be sure A Hard Rain is going to fall
Pitter patter on the Eve Of Destruction and Smoke On The Water
Overcoming Sounds Of Silence on a miraculous Yellow Brick Road
Funeral For A Friend Knocking On Heaven's Door Born To Be Wild
I wish for a cacophony of voices a true concerto for a Tambourine Man
Honest and truthful recitations of Lucy Jordan when I cross the Styx
Caron shouts Don't Pay The Ferryman for my ultimate Ticket To Ride
A Script For A Jester's Tear has to ooze gracefully and Slip Sliding Away
Dance Me To The End Of Love and don't forget The Famous Blue Raincoat
For it's The End Of The World As We Know it and The Doors know The End
The Song's Over and from now on it will be Radar Love on Telegraph Road
Another One Bites The Dust and I have peace Somewhere Over The Rainbow
23rd December 2019
I've lost my train of thought again.
Even if on trial, I tend to derail.
Even on track with Maglev intact.
I broke out in front long past bullet speed.
A bat out of hell, quick time villainy.
I recount losing that thought so quickly,
faster than Berry Allen feet velocities.
Cannot catch what's too fast to see.
Some people obviously say, "we are
only humans, that we are helpless to
our biologic afflictions."
Some would go as far to say, "All that
makes you unique, another would
attribute it to a genetic mutation.",
"Our own condition itself is human,
and we are victim to the will of nature."
A precious filtration system weed
out and decides what is best for
the preservation of a species. A
delicate process that isn't fool proof,
falling prone to error. Allowing zealots and
charlatans to artificially inseminate this process.
Removing naturality from the environment.
Entirely re-designing and gene splicing.
Easy baking babies made with test
tube gravy. Modifying the gene-pool
prioritizing Human logrolling,
steamrolling dormant efforts
in favor of biological engineering.
That shouldn't concern the terrain
originate. The soul of a future humanity
is part of the plans of Highest High.
What a sight to see, imagine the view
from the zenith peak? I'd tweak, my electrons
would be firing so fast the high multitudes
increase. The speed would like some ecstasy.
ecstatic till the static no different
from the TV screen. It gets hard to decern
when CERN keeps hadron colliding all of
our memories, effective immediate collectivity.