Timepieces

Bats in the Belfry

This is probably one of my best ever poems, despite it being written quite a long while ago. Like most of my poems, this one started from just a few lines and was gradually expanded into a full-length story. Please try to read it aloud; the rhymes and the driving rhythm sound so much better and more energized in speech. I should note that the rhymes are often several words from the end of each line, if only because each line starts with a downbeat.

oh the Din and the dazzle and the razzle of the stage and the

Ruffle and kerfuffle of the turning of a page and the

Crisp shutter-flutter of a script unfurled or the

Feather-footed lesson of the caging of a world! And the

Lights, oh the lights, as they're cutting through the night they are

Turning all the canopies from dark to bright, and the

Canopies they mutter and they flutter during May as the

Miners and designers go a-scuttling away! And the

Miners and designers take the papers to the famed, where the

Signers add their curlicued and gently swooping names, and the

Actor playing Schachter mutters sadly what a shame, for the

Hierarchy, it feels like a game, every name.

Huddled in the corner is the stage-girl, she cowers at the

Power of the glower of the boss, now, sliding on the

Gloss of the floor, she walks to the door, saying,

What can I do for you? He says, your

Task is the last and you'd better do it well, for it

All depends on the bell, so

Stand in the wings and watch for the cue and

We'll be waiting for the ding of the bell when it's

Very well rung by you, and the

Bats will flap their leather-coated wings at the

Ding they will jump with a featherless kerfuffle to the

Starry-painted roof and we'll look for the ding-bats

Over our heads at the close of the act and

That is what you must do. She

Heeds his command and heads for the landing where a

Miner and designer are a-fighting o'er the set, for though they

Both agree that two or three objectives have been met, they de-

Bate exactly just what else the two of them can get from a

Phlegethon director who would rather make a bet.

We could even build a castle (if it wasn't such a hassle) but the

Boss has cut the budget for the set, don't forget. And the

Stage-girl runs to the rhythm of a page un-

Furled and the system of the one on top. And the

Rage of the boss is a-funneled from the sauce of the

Stage and the tunnel to the brisk clip-clop of her

Shoes on the floor as she walks to the door or the