Poetry @amazon.com

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Ladies of Bling

Sweet Ladies of Bling
Are a wondrous sight
With gold-tone rings
That shine in the night.

From ankle bracelets hang
A fancy Christian cross,
Wrapped round their boots'
Patent leather gloss.

Aside are seen flashing
A black sequin purse
With a tarnished compact
That is none the worse.

In flaxen hair a barrette
Of Bakelite and jade.
Long matching bangles
From earlobes arrayed.

Our Ladies of Bling
Are never complete
Without a loud necklace
To finish their treat.

Those glitzy glass ladies
We see on the streets
Are evening's jewels who
Sleep on satin sheets.

A heavenly light shines
On lovely Ladies of Bling,
All bedecked and aglitter
As they await their King.


      by bennie bell – 2015


lifeslittleverses - © 2015
all rights reserved

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Sir Arthur Itis

Sir Arthur Itis is an S.O.B.
A rheumatoid devil is he
Who sneaks up on you
With much aplomb and glee.

He makes your knuckles knobby,
Your knees to pop like corn.
You find it's harder to smile
Or get up in the morn.

The Knight of Aches and Pains
Jousts with your body's joints.
Taking sure aim at them
With his weapons' points.

Sir Arthur reminds you
When turning your neck.
You hear the gravel grind
That hurts like all heck.

Sir Arthur has not merit
To grace the noble Round Table.
If it were soley up to me
He'd have a seat in the stable.


          by bennie bell – 2015


lifeslittleverses - © 2015
all rights reserved

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

The Saga of Sanctuary Villiaga

Saturday morn they marched
To The Freddie-Sue Bridge.
Their tents staked in groups
Along the river wall's ridge.

It was fine at first,
Camping outdoors.
Runners jogged by,
Others took tours.

Soon they were forgotten,
As Thanksgiving Day neared.
But the Landlord was irked
And demanded them cleared.

"How dare they not move
When we issue an edict"
Was heard spewing forth
From the mouth of a Regent.

"Remove the squatters
Who dare not to leave.
Then level what's left
Before Christmas Eve."

It mattered not what
The Villagers had to say.
The Sanctuary wasn't meant
For their permanent stay.

"We must not care that
They cannot help it.
We who are in charge
Do not give a whit."

Many Villagers returned
To squat at The Freddie-Sue.
When it got frigid at night
It was declared a Code Blue.

The Sanctuary Villiaga
From beginning to end
Is a saga so cryptic
It's hard to apprehend.

        by bennie bell – 2015


lifeslittleverses - © 2015
all rights reserved

Sunday, January 11, 2015

Little Theater

We missed one another
In fractions of time.
You at the little theater
Me acting the mime.

Platters were spun
At parties on chance
Of waiting for me
To ask you to dance.

Happened so often
This matter of fate.
A tire gone flat,
A letter too late.

A call from someone
That nobody knew.
Without a name left
We hadn't a clue.

That day at the diner
In a rustic township
To see your pixie hair
Would have been quite a trip.

Maybe it was just
Never meant to be.
But that's too easy,
Impossible to see.

I wanted to hit stop
To replay the scene,
You in your white dress
Me a doo-wop teen.

But the day of your play
On the little theater stage
Act III had been altered,
It was missing a page.


by bennie bell – 2015


lifeslittleverses - © 2015
all rights reserved

Saturday, January 3, 2015

Flowers for Saints and Sinners

Why ask where the flowers have gone?
Perhaps they were meant to pick
To give to those in love and loss,
Delivered to the frail and sick.

Flowers may sigh when watered,
Heard crying when cut free,
Lay in wait for a crystal vase
Or be tossed into the sea.

Madams love them when alone,
As do Saints in dark cathedrals.
Sinners love them as well or more
To aid them through life's upheavals.

Do pick a bouquet of flowers
With all the seeds they harbor.
Give blossoms to Saints and Sinners.
With the seeds, start a fine arbor.

You'll no longer need to wonder
Where all the flowers have gone.
They await your gentle harvest
At the crack of each day's dawn.

          by bennie bell – 2015


lifeslittleverses - © 2015
all rights reserved

Thursday, January 1, 2015

The Edgerton Library

Wearing dark winter coats
On a cold day in January,
They climbed the iron steps
Of the Edgerton Library.

Inside a large classroom
Where English was taught
To those who left homelands
For the America they sought.

"It's an 'i' before 'e'
Except after 'c.'
What's that you say?
Well, don't blame me."

Just do as they say,
It will help you a lot
With school and work,
To become a big shot.

Today they want you
To remember this.
English is better than
Being an odd fish.

Speak slowly and clearly
Look them in the eye.
Say hello and shake hands,
And then say goodbye.

America always invites
The many who come
To the Edgerton Library
To get out of the slum.


     by bennie bell – 2015

lifeslittleverses - © 2015
all rights reserved

 The Edgerton Library - 1968 - Rochester, NY


Saturday, December 27, 2014

Stuff

It comes with bar codes
On shrink-wrapped bags.
In Styrofoam casings,
Made in China tags.

For ages three to six,
Star Trekker Warriors,
Surround sound purists,
True Beyonce followers.

Some stuff's too big,
Some much too small.
It goes on the mantle
Or goes on the wall.

Some breaks too easy,
Some just gathers dust.
So much of it though
Was never a must.

Stuff's in the basement,
The attic and closets.
Gets under your feet
Or sent to non-profits.

When is the stuff enough?
When it spills out the door?
When it drops from the shelves?
Or when you say no more?

Those piles of stuff
Can't be taken with you.
Kindness and sweet kisses
Are all you need do.

by bennie bell – 2014

lifeslittleverses - © 2014
all rights reserved