Best Television Set Poems
It is quiet tonight.
The only sound is coming from
the soft murmur of the television set.
I don't know why I don't just put it on mute.
I don't want to hear what they have to say,
but I guess it is better than the sound
of silence which is deafening.
It hurts my ears, it hurts my heart.
Yesterday I was happy, but that was before,
before I stepped into the dark abyss.
I think I may have been pulled in
by the apathy of death.
Death has such long arms.
I won't ask why, I know everyone must die.
But you left on a happy day, a day we were
making plans, and I had hope,
hope that we still had time,
time to share those plans.
You made me laugh until I cried that day,
and then death swooped in
and took it all away.
It is so quiet tonight.
© Connie Marcum Wong
8-27-16
August 10, 2016 Poem of the Day
My grandmother used to bake pies
in the kitchen where I lived as a boy.
She would spend all day mixing
and kneading,
singing her old lady songs to herself.
I would get to lick the bowl.
This was my prize.
Back when the world was psychedelic
and hippies wandered the streets.
My sister and I would play outside
almost every sunny day.
Magic kingdoms made of mud and bricks.
Toy soldier citizens of mock empires.
Barbie doll victims of terrible wars.
Bubblegum music from the top forty
traced the pattern of our lives.
Our country had a new flag and boys
in school still had short hair.
Little girls wore skirts and dresses and
pony tails were still the normal fashion.
Black and white television set turned to
the latest American sitcoms. We would
laugh at Granny and marvel at Endora.
Mr. Sullivan would present the latest rage,
the latest quartet or singer from England.
Back when the world was psychedelic
and hippies wandered the streets.
We wore peace buttons on our coats,
and drew "smiley's" on our books.
We talked about what we were going
to do to make a difference in the world.
We admired the Fab Four and worshipped
at the altar of glorious possibilities.
We knew it was going to be beautiful,
because that is what we were being told.
Every morning at school we would sing
"God Save the Queen" and "O Canada",
say The Lord's Prayer and
hear the announcements.
Teachers talked about the future
as if it was a land of possibilities.
We did not know the black and white visions
would be transformed into colour horrors.
We had no idea that the dreams of peace and love
were going to be forgotten. Who could predict
the grey soul of adulthood? Where have
all the beautiful people gone?
My grandmother used to bake pies
in the kitchen where I lived as a boy.
Back when the world was psychedelic
and hippies wandered the streets.
A dark room with a small wooden desk, no lamp
A thick pad of paper and a typewriter, never used
Like a museum exhibit, though they aren’t allowed to gather dust
And dead flies and moths, a pack of playing cards
I never learnt to play, but still they’ve turned yellow with age
The shelves full of books, thumbed and read a million times
The pages fall out sometimes onto the slanted shelf, broken
The cascade of over-used books falling into each other
A literary car crash
The carpet burnt by years of clumsiness, dark and worn
The ceiling stained by years of nicotine, the cigarette smoker
Looking on at a world frozen, the books are the only living things
Read a million times and thumbed to death, the dirty pages blending into each other
The faces and the timeless, frozen authors and poets, trapped here forever
In the corner, a lonely television set, never used and not even plugged in
The lonesome keyboard, beaten a million times, my voice recorded
The German tongue, screamed above piano murder, the manslaughter of my violin
A cultural car crash
The curtains, white to ivory to ashen, unopened in an age
Time to let the world come in through the never-before-seen window
I sit upon the bed and watch the silhouettes gather, their vagabond army
Creeping over everything with their tired and dirty little hands
The books I’ve read to death, the literary suicide, gathering in a spot of light
Like flocking birds fleeing for the winter, their matted feathers and scabbed legs
They can’t fly anywhere, trapped here, my favourite victims, dead within the covers,
Like broken pigeons trapped within damning cages. I close the door and leave
The untouched car crash
When a child if gifted with a book it transforms into a key to unlock the mind. The gate to the secret garden of imagination is pried from its forgiving hinges and the child is free to expand their imagination to galaxy proportions.
The simple pages of a book provide a passport for a passenger seat next to the likes of Captain Biggles in his Tibetan adventures to locate the forbidden city of Shangri Lah, or a magical flight to Neverland with Pan and the lost boys. Who knows how each “child’s mind’s eye will envisage the loathsome creature that is Mr Hyde or the demure Dr Jekyll?
It captures the heart of a parent to witness their young boy, lying on his bed, engrossed in the pages of Stevenson’s Kidnapped. His imaginings transform him into the character of David Balfour, fighting alongside the Jacobite rebel, Alan Stewart. Such a comforting vision is a young girl, lounging on the couch on a rain soaked winters afternoon, fanning through a copy of Anne of Green Gables, engrossed in the character of Anne Shirley, wishing to emulate her outgoing spirit and giving nature.
The abundant bread basket of literary expositions act as a conduit, unlocking a child’s ability to make judgements about morality, injustices and an understanding of consequences in decision making. All the while the simple act of quietly reading procures an incalculable and surreptitious response to education for a lifetime to come.
The nostalgic aroma of floral vanilla and almonds that emit from the pages of an old book invokes a sense of anticipation to the imaginary adventures about to be embarked upon, creating an atmosphere of ambivalence.
An implore to parents across the globe to leave the television set and so-called social media, bombarding a child’s mind like a tidal wave, leaving in its wake a desolate landscape of nothingness. Embrace the tactile feel of pages in hand, gently stroking the mind, embedding feelings of, wonder and imagination. Read to your children every day and encourage them to jamb their noses into literary masterpieces from the likes of Stevenson, Doyle, Dickens and many more worthy exponents that have stood the test of time.
You’re wasting your weekends on electronic lovers,
They float by like ghosts on the screen,
You’re kissing Clark Gable and you waltz Fred Astaire
In re-runs you’ve already seen.
You’re changing the stations—you change your emotions—
From channel to channel in vain.
The six o’clock news man is laughing at you,
And the talk show believes you’re insane.
Your television set don’t love you, darlin’
So how come you watch it from bed?
Your television set don’t love you, darlin’,
So why don’t you love me instead?
Down at the tavern my Budweiser loves me,
There’s a TV set over the bar,
And the girl on the screen, she reminds me of you,
So I get up and go to my car.
I drive through the night and the windshield wipers
Remove all the rain from the glass—
It’s like a wide screen, and our show’s off the air…
Our soap opera just didn’t last…
You tell me i am loud
So much so i could restart the pulse of the dead
So what if i am ?
I am what is says on the tin
Would you rather me dead ?
What if i was only a voice in your head ?
Dangling your heart on a thread
Because God wasn't willing to share
Would you be willing to put up with me then ?
And stare at me back like the very
first time that we met
So you tell me i am loud
And it passes right over my head
As currently i listen to you as you do to i
With a microwave burning a hole in our laps
In fits and pieces over the din of our
black and white television set
Till i can't even remember the last time
it took me more than a minute to make
up our bed
Or you made me feel anything at all
Let's call this what it is
Two lonely people who happend to fall in love
Once upon a time
For all the wrong reasons
And now blame each other for it
World is full of witches
I'd love to write on them with stitches
Would you like to talk about your daddy issues,
I got time, lets break out some tissues
You say you want honesty
Your reaction while receiving is deceiving
Your say you and your man share many loving moods
Why am I sitting at a bar watching you hit on another dude
Yours is at home, if he knew he'd regret
Waiting for you in front of your television set
When you come home tossed
He'll make you food while you feel lost
You know you should give yourself to him
Your denying him the right to get in
You want him to beg for you
Just keep doing what you chose
Your love soon enough will be dismissed
He wont be around to kiss.
Happens with one man, ok
Happens with the second man..eh
Happens with the third man, yikes
Maybe a therapist in your future isn't out of sight
My family is an old house:
Dad is the fireplace, which keeps us all warm.
Mom is the food, which keeps us all fed.
Paco, the Chihuahua is the television set, which provides us all with entertainment.
Kiki, the cat is the radio in the house, which makes a lot of noise.
My grandfather is the refrigerator, which stores all of our essential needs in life.
My uncle Joe is the propane tank of the house, which stores all the gas needed for the stove.
My Aunt Shana is the door of the house, which lets viewers in.
My uncle Larry is the propane tank filler which feeds the tank the gas needed for the stove.
Lulu, the pug is the carpet of the house, which keeps all of our feet warm
Sweetheart, the pug is the tile floor, which provides us something hard to walk on.
My cousin, Johnathan is the main bedroom, which people look at with awe.
My cousin Eric, is the insulation, which keeps any sound from escaping,
My grandma Eastridge is the walls of the house that keeps it warm.
My Grandpa Eastridge is the shape of the house, which people see first.
I am the foundation and the framework which keeps the house from crumbling
The Yard Sale
By Elton Camp
We must admit, to our disgrace
Have run out of storage space
We cannot understand just why
Things we don’t need multiply
There’s clothes from when I was trim
Fear I’ll never again be quite that slim
Shoes I bought that were a mistake
Darn things caused my feet to ache
Because its use has become nil
Should sell off, old treadmill
Since using it I so much dislike
I’ll sell my fine exercise bike
Piles of purses by the score
Wife never uses them anymore
Set of dishes, chipped and broken
Gladly will sell them for just a token
Where did we get that figurine?
The ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.
Someone else, tasteless as we,
May want it, quick as can be
Clothes that my wife no longer fit
Might be able to sell for a little bit
My old ties, both narrow and wide
Put in ten cent pile over to the side
Computer and printer that work very well
Unused for years, so we’ll see if they sell
To operate it, you will have to use DOS
Made long before Windows was boss
Letters from the printer made of little dots
Talk of noise, when working, makes lots
But there is no expensive toner to buy
Prints from a ribbon is the reason why
Television set that’s so old
It never had remote control
But to deliver a picture it’s able
If it’s connected to the TV cable
Turn it on, give it time to warm
After a while, picture will form
It may prove quite a fright
Only shows black and white
Guess it’s time to sell my old chair
Comfortable, but getting threadbare
Sit down hard and feel the springs
Not one of those unbearable things
Also, I think it would be for the best
To put for sale Aunt Martha’s chest
We’ve had it since she passed away
Never liked it, honesty must say
So next Saturday will put it all out
Let the town know what it’s about
Come over and please take a peek
What was junk, we’ll call antique
The Reflection
The high definition television screen
Played a movie of the world opposite it
I delighted in my real-time cinema
As I snacked on an assortment of insects
Buried in the rotten wooden frames
Now, in my television set
I saw the most beautiful white dove
Seeming to have always been there
Strangely mimicking my every move
Yet, oblivious of my presence
I cocked my head to the left and right
Surprise! surprise! She cocked hers too
I moved my neck both up and down
Surprise! surprise! She moved hers too
Aww! Such a playful little dove
"Hello friend", I’d suddenly said
In an obvious offer of my friendship
Her lips moved, but my voice was heard
Again, and again, I tried and I tried
Yet, I was treated with the same disdain
“You have two choices my dear dove
A place by my side to enjoy my world
Shaded from the heat of the tropical sun
Or, I’ll kick you hard off this window sill
So, friend or foe, which shall it be?”
The silent mimicry now boiling my blood
I huffed and puffed like a mythical dragon
Clawing and pecking, I kicked and slapped
At nothing but my reflection in the mirror
of the highly polished window glass
May 7, 2017
Hear that sound coming from your
television set
Government warning: This is not a test!
There’s no music rocking
from your radio
Only the shrill alert of an emergency signal
indicating transmission shutdown
Better put on an aluminum tin foil hat
to block out the penetrating EM waves
Unauthorized dark-net instructions
rapidly rappelling
over your cranial firewall
Audio emissions
spiking an intrusive breach
Fertile mind-control conditions,
activate the patriotic sleeper sells
Keep the pocketbook within reach
You never thought to ask
how did you get that small scar
on the side of your neck
When you went to the doctor
for a regular checkup visit
Anesthesia clouds your memory,
microchip implantation
not put on your medical history
Audio emissions
now have put someone else
in control of you
Stay on script to the program,
that’s all you can do
Can no longer block
the high-tech matrix
noise pollution coming through
Audio emissions
have made a human robot out of you
It is recorded in the Bible that the memory of the righteous will be a blessing;
And it further states that the name of the wicked shall rot.*
Such truths were never more refreshing when I recalled pleasures of my childhood.
Just around the bind from where I lived
Was a home with a television set.
For me and my friends, this meant the
Three Stooges, Tarzan, Mickey Mouse,
Roy Rodgers, Dale Evans, and The Lone Ranger.
I and other kids all around the neighborhood gathered
And watched make believe, never fearing any danger.
This first television set in my poor community grew kids aplenty. As we were being entertained, we fell in love with a gracious lady.
Some people give nothing to others, and are soon forgotten.
Many like our lovely neighbor, are best UNFORGOTTEN.
A dear friend of my mother, she was strong, gentle, and kind.
Her husband called me Gabby, and her name was Mary
Posted062216PSCtest, All Yours(Jun 11), Brian Strand. 1P
* Proverbs 10:7
I Can’t Connect to the Internet
By Elton Camp
When I got home from having been gone all day,
It’s into my office to see what e-mail has to say
The Internet Explorer icon I give the usual click
However, it doesn’t accomplish the expected trick
In annoyance, “Oh my goodness! What the heck?”
Then I give all the connections a thorough check
But, all seems to be as it was just the day before
Somehow, I can’t connect to the Internet anymore
Frustrated and angry is how it made me feel
I said, “Oh man, this surely can’t be for real.”
I can’t check on the popularity of my new write
And, even worse, I can’t Google a thing all night.”
Into some electronic oblivion I felt I’d been hurled
Because I was effectively cut off from all the world
I began to think of the things I might well need to do
Then thought the most simple explanation’s often true
I then made a functional check of the television set
And found that not even a single channel could I get
When I made that shocking discovery, then I was able
To know that the trouble lay in the television cable
So, out to the back yard I went, beaming a flashlight
And there on the ground was a most distressing sight
The black television cable was the thing I had found
All twisted and broken and most of it on the ground
Among humans it's the most addicting drug
We embrace it everyday more than a hug
It has made most people wack
Ever since it was white and black
Today everyone can use it
For games, shows, and music
We can watch it in our homes and our cars
It's in our schools and our bars
There are those whose highs are illegal
Which they get through a joint, straw, or needle
Oh but this drug takes us for a repetitive ride
As we sit there taking it in with our eyes wide
And your children take it while sitting on the rug
The television set is that most addicting drug
Modern Family Life
By Elton Camp
Families sat and talked in days of yore
But a great many don’t do that anymore
Oh, they may be present in the same room
Flickering screens lighting up the gloom
Some on the television set so intent
Others on laptops their time is spent
Thumbs on keyboards will play
As text message are sent away
And status on Facebook updated
Others’ inane posts eagerly awaited
If the Internet signal should die,
Family talk they still wouldn’t try
Rather, this is what they will do
“Restart the router” is the hew