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Best Poems Written by Paul Bell

Below are the all-time best Paul Bell poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Paul Bell Poem

The Fridge

Monday

                 It has come to my attention, that someone has been stealing from 

                 the communal fridge. I notice that my own personal milk with my

                 name on the bottle is half empty, also three fingers of my KitKat 

                 are missing. Please refrain, or action will be taken.

Tuesday

                 It has come to my attention, and I’m pleasantly surprised to see

                 my milk has been topped up, though, why two fingers of my

                 kitkat  in a V sign just beggars belief. Just tasted my milk, you 

                 dirty bastard. I will now be monitoring the fridge from my office.

                 You will be caught.

Wednesday

                  

                   It has come to my attention, the camera monitoring the fridge

                   is now monitoring the ladies toilet. This is intolerable, you are

                   usurping my authority. Heads will roll. I will now be moving the

                   fridge into my office until further notice.

Thursday

 

                   It has come to my attention, my office has been penetrated,

                   the fridge is missing, and I find a ransom note on my desk.

                   I don’t know who you people think you're dealing with, but

                   let me leave you in no doubt, I will find out who you are, and

                   you will be dismissed.

Friday

 

                   It has come to my attention, a delivery of fifty fridges is 

                   cluttering up the whole building, management is going 

                   ballistic. I concede to your demands, please get rid of

                   them. Let us get back to you taking my milk and my biscuits,

                   my job, my life. Just leave me alone.

          Thankyou.

Copyright © Paul bell | Year Posted 2021



Details | Paul Bell Poem

The Chuckle Brothers

Woke up this morning with a head
This is the curse when you try to change the world
Gave Mary just a slight hint Tony might be bedding Jill, Joan, not excluding Alice
Big John, definitely gay, but as I explained, Billy his partner was kissing May
Mark was salivating over the barmaid Rose
God sakes man haven’t you heard, Rose used to be Fred
You could have heard a pin drop when the chuckle brothers walked in
Word on the street, Jill and Joan were in the family way
Which in any other circumstances would be okay
But everybody knew the brothers fired blanks, hence the chuckle reference amongst the ranks
Still, honour was at stake on that fateful night
A slight nod Tony’s way would start the fight
A knife to the heart was Tony’s plight
Then a voice cried out, you sure she’s a man
Well, Rose hit Mark with a pan
Big John headbutted Billy
Who landed on Tony, and one of his cronies
Mary, who had now lost the plot when Alice showed the ring Tony had bought
A bottle of bud over the head, put paid to Tony and his amorous ways
Rose stripped off, shouting, does this look like a man
Mark got up, seeing double as the chuckle brothers pushed him down again
Big John threw Billy into the air, landing on the chuckle brothers like Fred Astaire
The brothers took this as a blatant dare, shooting Billy without a care
Tony clocked Rose in her Sunday best, uttering the words, better than all the rest
This sent Mary totally insane, followed by Jill, Joan, Alice, and for some reason May
Guns were pulled, shots went astray, all aimed at Tony who looked on in dismay
The chuckle brothers in the way, killed outright on that fateful day
Legend has it, a crime of passion, no arrests were ever made
Tony fled the country, followed by Jill, Joan, and for some reason May
Mark and Rose fell in love, got married
Mary and Alice gave them away
Big John and Billy gave it another go
I was going to mention to him, but decided no
Not after all the advice I gave went untold
Still, this is the curse when you try to change the world
This is why I woke up with a head
Though, what a palaver
Was it something I said.

Copyright © Paul bell | Year Posted 2022

Details | Paul Bell Poem

The Village Of Trill

Jack and Jill went up the hill

This was never in dispute

It was how Jack fell down

With severe lacerations to his crown

That the jury had to conclude

Jill had a bun in the oven

The news was all over town

The bakers' wife was aghast

Her husband and his shady past

He liked a cream tart

Though, when cautioned down the red-light district

Cream was never mentioned in the Constables statement

Back to that ill-fated day on the hill

Jill says Jack was going down, on her

He was certainly on the edge

A couple walking their dog, state the baker was on the ledge

This was later dismissed when the couple admitted they didn’t have a dog

This was light relief for the jury in this sorry affair

Mrs Black didn’t turn up to church on Sunday

The stand in vicar didn’t know this, being new

All hell broke loose as the witness swore

Jill gave birth on the floor

A black child appeared

There was uproar

The baker shouted to his wife, with a frown

Three women stood up

So he sat down

They all turned to the bench

The Judge was holding his gavel

Somewhat in despair

DNA later found traces of poor Jacks hair

The Judge was taken down, mumbling

She said she was on the pill, Jill

That was the end of this sorry tale

Though the papers ran amok

Mondays headline read

Jack and Jill went up the hill, with the folks of Trill for an orgy and thrill

But things got out of hand

The Judge saw red, and whacked Jack dead

And they all came tumbling after.

Copyright © Paul bell | Year Posted 2022

Details | Paul Bell Poem

The Mantra

5 am, you woke me up, to meditate.

 

I thought someone had died, someone had, me.

 

It was the ultimate time, you said.

 

Looking down, I had to disagree.

 

Can you feel the energy, she said?

 

I can’t feel myself, go away.

 

This is a window of opportunity, she said.

 

There was a window.

 

Let us breathe, she said.

 

This had never happened before, nutcase came to mind.

 

What is your mantra, she said.

 

What is my name, I said.

 

No, you have to reach out, draw in the energy.

 

I am going to reach out, it won’t be pretty.

 

Let me take you on a journey, join me.

 

I’ll phone you a taxi, blast, it’s your house, I’ll phone me a taxi.

 

If we connect, the sex will be out of this world.

 

Okay, through the delirium I heard the S word

 

Mm, mm feel it, Mm, mm, feel it, Mm, mm, can you feel it.

 

I can definitely feel something.

 

It’s getting stronger, we are one.

 

We definitely are.

 

We must connect.

 

We definitely must.

 

Before my husband comes off the night shift.

 

Thought I heard the H word there.

 

Let us be one.

 

Let us wind back to the husband.

 

He is but a component in time.

 

What time does this component come home at.

 

Six, but it’s okay, he’s gay.

 

Thought I heard the G word there.

 

He likes to join in, which can be a pain.

 

When you say join in, what do you mean.


He likes to join in, in the mantra.

Copyright © Paul bell | Year Posted 2022

Details | Paul Bell Poem

The Final Fall

She called them the sad days

The wasted days

Hated days

Moving on days

 

He called them the hard days

The bad days

Sad days

Moving on days

 

She blamed him

Bloody men

Mental torture

Good riddance

 

He blamed her

Bloody women

No respect

Goodbye

 

She wanted love

Commitment

Wanted him

Needed him

 

He needed love

Needed space

Needed time

Wanted her

 

She couldn’t move on

Wouldn’t move on

Hated time

Hated him

 

He drank the bar

Numbed the pain

Saw the train

No need to explain

 

She took the call

Final fall

Found the pills

Ended it all.

Copyright © Paul bell | Year Posted 2022



Details | Paul Bell Poem

Man at peace

The Christmas tree shone, brightening up the room
Decorations hung in splendour
Gifts lay beneath the tree
He was sat in his favourite armchair
A man at peace with the world
He would watch the children run down the stairs
The room would come alive as they opened their presents
A special present for the good lady
The noise drifted into the past
A long time ago
Seemed like yesterday
The accident
The Policewoman crying, telling him the news
The day he died inside
Seventeen years now
Always the same ritual
Made the day seem right, special
Memories came flooding back
He sat down to rest
Slowly drifting off to sleep
They found him that way
In his favourite armchair
A man at peace with the world.

Copyright © Paul bell | Year Posted 2022

Details | Paul Bell Poem

The Tortoise

I told her marriage was an institution.
She went mental.
I consoled myself with shooting the tortoise.
It was for the best.
There was no way it would win the greyhound derby.
She was beyond reason.
I was bringing it out of its shell.
I sort of laughed uncontrollably.
She didn’t.
She actually was trying to bring it out of its shell.
I suggested mad passionate love.
She wanted chocolates.
How about a toffee crisp and a fumble.
How about you dropping dead.
Who would pick up your pills if I dropped dead.
I would pick up my own pills.
What, you don’t know what day of the week it was last Thursday.
I was in love last Thursday.
Not with me.
No, with the pet shop owner
You do know he’s married.
He was leaving her for me.
He’s married to a bloke.
They’re both leaving their wives for me.
Is this about the tortoise.
What tortoise.
Never mind, let's get married.
Just now.
Yes, we can get married in the chemist shop
Somehow that makes sense.
What about children.
You could get them at the supermarket.
Three for two.
They hide them behind the screens now.
Children.
No silly, the alcohol I think.
They don’t hide the chocolates.
Did you really shoot the tortoise.
Yes, but the bullet bounced off its shell.
That’s good.
Not really, the pet shop owner was holding it.

Copyright © Paul bell | Year Posted 2021

Details | Paul Bell Poem

Protocol

Okay let's get the etiquette straight
I walk towards you, I nod
You nod back
Works all around the world
What doesn’t work, is, you're stopping
Stopping is bad
It’s a protocol thing
One must never stop and engage one
You just don’t do it
I really don’t want to know about your corns
Don’t give a crap about your lumbago
The price of fish doesn’t interest me
Old Mrs Jones died this time
Sure she’ll be missed
Your wife’s having an affair.
How are your corns
They really can be painful, I'm told
That lumbago
I could recommend a good chiropractor
The price of fish these days, shocking.
Old Mrs Jones
God, I'll miss her
Is that my bust, bus
Need to rush.

Copyright © Paul bell | Year Posted 2022

Details | Paul Bell Poem

Destiny

Did you seek the all so cool

Did you see the mortal fool

Waited for eternity at the bus stop of life

Old man of destiny, dust became your wife

 

Watch the woman on the train go by

See the decision in her eyes, she sighs

Running away for the final time

But only as far as destiny’s line

 

See the tramp as he stumbles down

To the depths of dirt that lays around

Watch his eyes as he hears the sound

You can’t go lower than destiny’s ground

 

Call the girl who loves so well

Fondle her breasts, the erogenous smell

She will do things you never can tell

But when the woman finds out

Then destiny's hell.

Copyright © Paul bell | Year Posted 2022

Details | Paul Bell Poem

The Two Faces Of War

The rain washed the blood away
And for a time I became human again
Children with dead eyes
Play amongst corpses rotting in the morning sun
A father prays to some god
Hoping for a miracle
Abound by his faith
Certainly a deeper faith than mine
For the moment only the gun is god
In these quiet times
I think of people sitting at desks
Being productive
Dreaming dreams better than mine
Building a future
The survivor alarm kicks in
I've been here too long
The scene changes
The father has found his god
For a time he becomes a soldier
Two gods about to collide
One through total frustration
The other with the dimension of time
He once read a book
The romance of war
He always thought the title should have read
The two faces of war
The bullet killed him instantly
Tomorrow he would be another rotting corpse
No romance there
People at desks building futures
Children with dead eyes play in the morning sun.

Copyright © Paul bell | Year Posted 2021

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