Treasure Island

David Harris

(18 June 1945 / Bradfield, England)

The Bells, The Bells (Fun Poem 150)


Each morning I awake
and on the balcony sit
to watch the new day rise,
then at six o’clock
the silence is broken
by the chime of bells
and every fifteen minutes after that.
The alarm call to exit bed
and greet a new day,
the only problem with this is
that they get louder and louder
as each quarter of an hour progresses,
a numbing and deafening experience
some might say and they would be right
when you are less than a hundred yards from the noise.
At seven o’clock it increases its volume
for a lengthy period of time
as your body vibrates from its clatter.
If the six o’clock didn’t wake you,
the seven o’clock certainly
will shake you awake
as if a herd of Buffalo
just ran over you,
and if you think of just lying there,
the Calvary charge at quarter past
will ensure you are out of bed.
So much for that lie in
while you’re on holiday,
and with a second bell answering
the first’s mating call
you don’t stand a chance
of ever getting back to sleep.
So much for that lie in
you’ve been promising yourself
as it just does not happen
where the bells are concerned.
Give me an alarm clock
any old given day,
because at least with an alarm clock
you can turn it off.
With bells there is no chance
to switch them off and go back to sleep.

Submitted: Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Edited: Thursday, August 29, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

18 August 2013

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