Long Dispatcher Poems
Long Dispatcher Poems. Below are the most popular long Dispatcher by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dispatcher poems by poem length and keyword.
I wouldn’t call what we do ‘blogging,’ would you?
I’m somewhat conversant with blogging and it would be like:
‘December 14th, I realized I was out of dental floss, so I called 112 (France’s 911) and they yelled at me.”
A poet might say:
The morning was pale and judgmental, the light didn’t illuminate, as much as accuse me of oversleeping. I’d just spit-out the last of my bubblegum toothpaste, when I tugged the dental floss only to be rewarded with a two-inch fragment.
The sink gurgled like a drowning swimmer as I rummaged through the medicine cabinet and then the linen closet - where we store spare soaps, shampoos, mouthwashes and the other detritus of modern hygiene -
but no floss.
I’d started the shower minutes ago, expecting a quick entry and now the bathroom had become sauna-like. French bathrooms have these box-like, ‘on demand’ water heaters, like 2 gallon coffee percolators, that dispense hot-as--holy-hell water, the mist of which, falling on the chilled, white, underfoot tiles, created a ceramic slippery-slide. I even searched Peter and my travel toiletry bags! Alas and again, no floss.
The ticking clock, that merciless, bureaucratic tool, mocked the undoing of my morning schedule.
In a moment of clarity, born of despair, I picked up my iPhone and demanded “Siri, call One-one-two!”
The French telephone system returns a higher-pitched, single-tone ring with longer pauses in between.
Three rings later I got an answer, “This is an emergency.” I announced (‘C'est une urgence’).
“What is the nature of your emergency,” a calm, dispassionate A.I.-voice asked.
“I’ve run out of floss.” I blurted.
There was a long pause where I could almost hear the A.I. dispatcher glitching.
“Mademoiselle,” it finally said, “calling 112 is not a joke.”
“Neither is plaque!” I replied - thinking of how proud my dental hygienist would be of me.
“Yet here we are,” I added, before the line went dead.
.
.
A song for this:
daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_21.mp3
Stop if you've heard this one before, climb onto
another rock as you jiggle life's rope to
safety.
The stiff cliffs, the shifting rocks,
the boulder you're sitting on.
The story of love begins in a dream. It is
known to smother people in their sleep.
Once there was a man who wanted to fly around
the Everest, and that's when love tipped her hand
landing him by the camp side and the lonely dispatcher
sending SOS for stranded climbers.
He had seen her before, more than once, in his dreams
He was the first man to touch her hands in years.
The wooziness brought on by the altitude didn't make things easier.
In the hours that followed she barely noticed him and then,
when all hope was lost, she went out the tent for a smoke.
"I'm sorry," he said, for whatever it was worth.
In her grief and sorrow she weakly smiled back.
The ropes are a reminder we are all disconnected.
Do you believe in all of this? Interconnectedness?
Love's an illusion, stick to it, one day you'll need the rope.
Within The Trenches
911 Dispatcher Tribute
Nine one one, What's your emergency? Keeps replaying in her head.
When she lays down at night and she can't sleep instead.
Her mind keeps going backwards to when her heart began it's fall.
Memories of the other end the night she got the call.
She could hear a woman screaming, was it a husband and a wife?.
Then she heard the gunshot the night a woman lost her life.
There were many times before when on a call she'd wait.
But she prayed she'd never see the call that came too late.
Nine one one, What's your emergency? He said into the phone.
“I can't find my mommy and I think I'm here alone”.
He tried to reassure her and to keep her on the line.
One more family murdered there wasn't enough time.
So he lives his life these days beneath a blanket of the shame.
As he now bears the burden of his own misplaced blame.
The rise and fall of all mankind right from the very start.
Buried deep within the trenches inside a dispatchers heart.
Praying still with all their heart someday the world will see.
All that's taking place today is not how it has to be.
Like a ship safe in the harbor still subject to the fall.
Each day a brand new heartache as they're witness to it all.
Depravity in someones mind who's passions have run wild.
Buried in a shallow grave, now remnants of a child.
Haunted by what's taken place they never will be free.
As they wait for the answer to, what's your emergency?
Edwin C Hofert
I had two feral cats scheduled for surgery,
so I called a cab to take me to The Humane Society.
When the driver saw the cats, she asked me,
"Are you TNR?" (Trap, Neuter & Release).
"Yes I am," was my reply to she.
then she went on to say the following to me,
"Whenever you have more cats scheduled for surgery,
when you call my dispatcher ask for me specifically.
From here on in your transport to and from The Humane Society
will be on me. Your transport costs will be absolutely free."
Taken aback all I could say was, "Thank you,.. really, sincerely."
"I'm TNR also, no worries," she then told me.
I just may have made a new ally and friend possibly.
The night's breath is mumbling in my mind.
Maybe I'd never heard it once in a decade.
After this, I must share my story forever.
A Gift to a shrinking heart and sea dispatcher
Purplish blue-colored waves stimulated the stones.
A tasty, rainforest, and never-ending zones.
A dazzling fancy tree and a flock of clear birds!
By sunset, the shore rises, and wildlife group in girds.
A few groups live in congruity with nature.
People can live in the wild with no dread to injure.
And realize how to transform fresh fish into cash.
Mindful of and can stay away from a torrent crush.
You're an enormous wave till you strike my soul.
Avian exists in the middle of rainfall.
Our spirits are lifted by a stroll by the ocean.
Rising over anguished seas that can't hang on.
Also, shells and footprints in the sea as well.
Stunning whales may be seen where they dwell.
Golden rays of the sun glided over the brine.
Recollections smash alike spear at bowline.
1st place winner
Written: August 21, 2021
Writing Prompt, Oceans or Seas - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
1st Place contest winner
A Strand (1067) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
"No, don't follow him
We don't need you to do that."
Did I hear what I just heard on that vocal record? Is that the best my hammer, anvil, and stirrup could afford? It didn't seem too muffled, or distorted by wind. Well maybe you didn't hear it. Let me play that again.
"No, don't follow him. We don't need you to do that."
Did the dispatcher not just win us that case, by telling him which way to point his face?
But you take off anyway, and go starting some trouble. Say you had to kill the kid because he started a rumble, and you still ain't even humble.
You got away with murder. You LOVE America.
my dreams were not meant to be caught
nor horded to be worshiped in secret
No, no "Dream Catchers" for me
my dreams fly free
from the recesses of my mind
where they are caught
in my internal "dream catcher"
which was meant to bind
for fear that should they escape
and materialize into reality
they'd be ridiculed and abused
misused by the confused
who do not even know
what a dream was meant to be
they'd vaporize and die
there before my very eyes....
from this very place, they rise
freedom bound
unbound
they seek the skies
Aurora displayed to be found....
"Dream Catchers" are not for me...
I am the Dream Dispatcher
You heard me....
the dream and reality Matcher,
I'm the dream scheme of success Catcher
the "ride the wave" Snatcher
taste ebullience Latcher
Dream stuck to catcher...
Detacher
Yes....that's me
Dreams were meant to fly free
Transience of life
has made me see
There is no other way for me
to be
"Dream Catchers" are for fools,
and I surely am not one of those
Are You?
Eileen Manassian
SNOWBALL’S JOURNEY
Whither we go, dandelion seeds,
blown by a zephyr with toddler stature.
Snowball’s journey will yield petaled weeds,
but for now, we fly from the angel-dispatcher.
Our cyclonic parachutes, sublime.
Our flurry of seedlings put on a show.
We float, we flap in long distance climb.
Whither we go…whither we go!
What wings arise, ascent of bees -
Are they following our dandy cloud?
Finding a new home, they freeze,
hovering over the wild sowed.
Laying down roots, we surrender,
a flight of seedlings grow stems
and buttery-yellow petals, tender
to the toddlers, their mother’s gems.
6/3/2022
Flight Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Cooke
RhymeZone used
Inside the coffee shop
At the counter a beat cop
Being a routine buyer
Late night special that soon will expire
Keeping tabs
On those driving cabs
Is the dispatcher
Finding a matcher
Make the right run
Passenger pick up done
Sitting in a booth
Paying bills keeping a home and roof
In another corner
Fiddling with a recorder
A reporter
Writing a story
Saying ‘not to worry’
Then there is a teen
Releasing poetic anger using words that scream
Garage rock n roller
Scribbling lyrics on a school folder
Explaining what he told her
Goal right now collecting green
Will do anything for the team
As the waitress comes bye
Visiting each guy
Pouring a drink
Leaving them alone to think
In a place
Where a dessert brings a smile pleasing one’s face
Discuss issues and build a case
Over a blue plate
Actually tasting great
After paying bill
Enjoying the fill
They all leave
Working for a fee
To a degree
Sitting back down
In the diner town
Server watches another group
Come in enjoying an all night loop
A teacher
Preacher
And a creature
Working concession at the drive in double feature
Wearing a costume
Entertaining under the moon
All here
Bringing some cheer
Simply put there is nothing to fear
In a rural state of mind
Where everyone has the time
So, thanks for the distractions
But I need to pursue my passions
What paths am I on again?
My universe was turned upside down
I gave you my hearts crown
And you were too busy filling your purse
In other words, can I get a reimburse?
Of the curse of knowing you
Time cannot be reverse
Where to Start?
You may argue that it was my choice to go rescue
Because I thought I saw, strength, value, and virtue
That’s why I was into and wanted to continue
Now I see though that your love was never true
It was all just a waste; my heart needs to be erased
My hearts broken and needs to be awoken
Where to Start?
I need a nurse, for these symptoms are getting worse
But the dispatcher only wanted to send a hearse
Because I’m frozen and instead I’m being led in a sled
Consumed by this blacken cavity tissue
Because girl you are my issue
My love became the smoke of a cigar
Forgotten memoirs of a fallen star
Thrown down and drowned in a shadowy well
Farewell. No misspell. I meant ‘Go to hell!’
Here’s my eulogy. Wish you never met me
Thanks for the remembrance of you
Where to start?
She a player who’s queued for her next match
Wanting to try out her newest patch
Then taking aim
And ------- until there is nothing else to game
The body counts
Something is wrong with her account
Where to start?
She needs to go find a new toy
Something like a little solider boy
Melting all the plastic
Making all the room toxic
Did someone call for the medic?
The verdict, horrific
My empty cavity
Just a tragic memory
Where to start?
As there will always be this shadow behind my ---
To harass
As a reminder of our past
So, why do the nice guys finish last?
Because of you!
Where to start?
In pain, I cried
Being electrified
In this hospital room
Called life’s classroom
I’ll need a qualified doctor
Something to monitor
This surgery of your robbery
From the treasury
Of my heart
Where to start?
Form: