Long Phone booth Poems
Long Phone booth Poems. Below are the most popular long Phone booth by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Phone booth poems by poem length and keyword.
The county seat, a place of humidity and musical beats.
After many years, I decided to revisit my hometown,
Hoping to walk down memory lanes of warm treats, To visit my oldest brother and old friends still around.
Known by many as the birthplace of the blues.
It’s where my folks purchased my first pair of shoes.
Where I first experienced talking from a phone booth.
Where I watched my first movie on the big screen;
Where I experienced my first barbershop;
Where I received my first real job;
Where I ate at my first restaurant.
Thirty years ago, I moved 2,000 miles away.
A popular street corner, fourth & Issaquena.
Cotton gins and cotton bails.
Yes, cotton was crowned king.
There was only room for one king and one throne.
And the ruler ship of queens was virtually unknown.
There were the king and the cash; and if there were queens, they would be beneath the king and his cash, and nowhere in between.
I tell you, everything and everyone bowed to king cotton, even queens.
06262015 cj
I’m not strong enough
I can’t carry this load today
My ego is weighing me down
It’s hard not to reach for a crutch
The littlest of things weighs a ton
I can’t lift them on my own
Dope me up with adrenaline
Pump my ego up with iron
I’m not strong enough
I failed at resistance training
My strength has departed
It’s fled from me with my will
Give me back my crutch
I’ll hobble into a phone booth
I’ll hide my weakness from you
I’ll emerge in my Superman outfit
I’m not strong enough
Resistance is nature’s law
Trees need gravity to grow
They do not lie in despair
They pump fists to the sky
Not spineless me under a log
Resistance to growth is futile
Seeds aren’t trees overnight
I’m not strong enough
Muscles take time to grow
Small failings make skin tough
Turn crutches into wings
Stop these anabolic steroids
Feel my weight naturally
Learn to crawl to the door
Rise on my own strength
But, I’m not strong enough
The equivalent of a cosmic flat tire, the star collector overheated again.
Should've topped off the subzero heat transmogger back at Stuckey's.
Yep we have 'em too.., who doesn't need a Pecan Log Roll, now and then.
Two Roadway startruckers snapped up the last Elmer's paste pies., the luckys.
Right between filling stations to boot, no triple A for a gojillion miles..
and one of my best pint sized, non-binary service robots on the blink.
Not my best idea, feeding her moonshrooms, peaked all his cortial dials,
eventually caused them to puke it up, all over my excremental sink.
Frazusoosh it! not even a UPB (Universal Phone Booth) to make a collect call,
to my mother (planet), which, by the way, is also useful for transmitting matter.
That's assuming you can find someone to accept the charges, of course, LOL.
Had to wash dishes for an eternity, last time, including dried on crupecake batter.
Drack's balls! stuck on this puny planet with obnoxious fumes corroding my chromium tail.
No wonder they call it air; the sixth least favorite word in the Corpadian lingo, P.U.!
Those creatures keep staring, I've tried to reason with them, even tried telepthy to no avail.
When I type in their reply to my trans-googling translator, all it comes back as is 'Moo'.
Oh thank goodness! A family of grubbers in a U Haul pulling over., whew!
Though probably have to sit on a lap, luckily they each have two.
252 words, including these
superman just made a reservation
i am in a phone booth penthouse
a knock on my door gets my attention
there you are, looking like the last time it was the first time
you still have those calming brown eyes
you still possess that laid back smile
in all our routines and the addition of life, i guess we forgot ourselves and each other
that changes tonight when mary jane becomes my taletha abernathy again
your hair is down
my arms are open
let's be each other's Welcome Back Mat and cry happy tears together
it has been too long
the air between us is the sweetest it has ever been
i wonder now if you still are
there is only one surefire way to find out
it a bit it will get so real and surreal
I feel like lots of things.
I feel like the worn out tracks through the carpets,
The old and wobbly furniture.
I feel like the noisy dryer in the basement,
And like the ugly peeling paint on the walls.
I feel like the cracked and bowed floor boards,
The abused sidewalks of seventh avenue and Broadway.
I feel like the balded tires on the truck,
The broken down bulldozer in the yard.
I feel like the dulled blade that can no longer make a gash,
The worn out bearing that won't spin.
I feel like broken e string that you cannot pluck,
Like the trend gone out of style,
I feel like all the Polaroid cameras sitting in attics.
Like the boxes of cassette tapes you'll never listen to again.
I feel like the public telephone, or the phone booth that closed.
And the VHS player sitting in the basement,
I feel like the lost Greek Fire nobody will ever understand.
Like the shoes or bottles buried in the wall and nobody knows why they're there.
I feel like the lost Athapaskan languages,
Like navigating a mountain in Bhutan with a broken compass.
I feel like I've got a nose bleed in a shark tank,
And I feel like I'm out here catching the volcanoes eruption with just a bucket.
It feels like being hunted by something I can't see or hear;
Or like I'm holding back the tsunami with an umbrella.
I feel like a cinder block,
And I feel cold and like I cannot move,
But it doesn't feel like you've broken me.
Maybe I shouldn't feel so brittle from all the weathering.
Maybe I can feel strong.
My shame is my scarlet letter
Sewn stitch by stitch by years
A scarlet letter emblazoned
An alphabet on my chest
A superhero’s symbol disguised
Find me a phone booth
Tear off my Brook Brothers shirt
Pull down my J Crew pants
It’s good to see my scarlet letter
Fly like a speeding bullet
Save us before we fall
Into the maddening crowd
Is it a superpower
When everyone has it too
No man is free from shame
All of us Hesters in disguise
Superheroes without shame
Some heroes act without applause
Some of us for Pearls in oysters
I can hear Dimmsdale’s sermon
My Chillingworth condemns me
My scarlet letter beats on my chest
My shame for all to see
My superpower my weakness
My weakness on full display
God chose the weak in this world
We bring shame to the strong
We are the stones of Zion
We cause the shameless to pause
Look back on our scarlet letter
Shameless in our exposition
Without shame what are we?
Without the scarlet letter
Aren’t we just numbers?
Word Lyric #7 for Music
“It Isn’t Far To the Dance Floor”
Mister Sinew is just standing still,
By the old phone booth on Pine Street.
He was curb-walking, looking for a thrill,
Now he is stopped, looking for place to eat.
Into Clyde’s Café he casually saunters,
Mister Sinew in shark skin, with dark Melissa in chains,
She looks like a fish flopping out of the waters,
Mister Sinew is up to his old games.
Garçon! Garçon! A table for two please,
There, by the blinking neon light above the door,
Seat us there, in the cool cross breeze,
And it isn’t far to the dance floor.
Two hard cocktails with shrimp hors d'oeuvre please,
And add a nip of rum, to put Melissa on her knees,
But memories of Sister Mary Daniel returns to his brain
And her monotone warnings of his coup de main.
So Mister Sinew tells Melissa to get up from there, off the floor,
And quickly he scoots her out through the back door.
“Hey Ma! I was only lusting for a white whore,
And sweet Melissa went running out my back door!”
Into the traffic tangled throbbing,
Sweet Melissa goes a-bobbing,
Bobbing from every avenue and every confused street,
Looking for anyone dangerous she might meet.
But danger lurks in a ’63 Ford four-door,
Bang! goes sweet Melissa, hit with guts flying galore,
Mister Sinew pulls up in this loud rod with exhaust spewing,
He walks over to her and asks “what are you doing?”
Unable to speak or breathe or be understood,
Sweet Melissa, in sections scattered, here and there,
Answered the best she could,
“I’m dead. Can’t you see? I am up here in the air!
Garçon! Garçon! A table for two please,
There, by the blinking neon light above the door,
Seat us there, in the cool cross breeze,
And it isn’t far to the dance floor.
In a house with all the lights burning; but nobody's home
In the clear night; stars burning brightly; but no lines drawn or shown
Constellations; the only connection; that's never physically known
But that's where salvation lies; Hidden behind those dead eyes;
In the infinite unions; found; in those raven skies
Defining purpose in fields of darkness; location mind-blown
Bleakly smothered, a foligenous blurring; bestown
Black holes; darkly mystical, in their misdirections unknown
Calling out in plain sight; from the worlds last phone booth
Lost in my damnation; is astounding material truth
Staring at finite delusions; as I'm becoming long in the tooth
O kabab merchant, thy skewer!
Fresh fish on the line!
And, moreover, in a blur -
Life, be unrefined!
Tangled are the strands of Fate?
Causality, roam!
Make a meal of small, ye great?
Lie down in the loam?
Well, we hope not, young fellow.
Let's keep it mellow.
Otherwise the killing blow?
Mine or thine below?
That is how it tends toward.
Yes, but why this time?
O ye tigers, how you purred!
Sirens, sing sublime!
Poverty for poets?
Depends on how they write.
Songwriter, sing well thy hits!
Erebus means Night!
Think it through. Tomorrow.
Surcease of sorrow?
O ye beggars, doth borrow?
Whiskey, flies, thy jar o'?
Formulate or fix? Foment?
Liquor? Liniment?
O Queen Dido, thy lament?
Roundabout repent?
I, the fabled Carthage Queen!
All that I have seen!
Automaton, thy machine!
Frog-skins wrought a-green!
This I tell ye, O wild youth!
Flicker as ye fall!
Woman Night, thy cold phone booth!
Funeral, thy pall!
Agony. It comes and goes?
Waits for tomorrows?
O for carrion feeding crows!
Blessed roads a-chose!
But! Great queens about me stand!
Hard be not our hand!
Aryan King, thy path is manned?
Blighted by the banned?
We say not! Give it no thought!
Sparks in wire a-wrought!
Buried treasure, are you bought?
Foreign wars a-fought?
You have our love, and each ear!
Therefore nothing fear!
O for those who don't hold dear!
Whisper in thy beer!
Madam, thy best blessing...!
I trial and tumult seek?
No more time for guessing!
Plant one on my cheek...
On the first day of the new year in a nature preserve not far from our home
we ran across a Wind Phone when on our visit to a giant gnome.
The 17’ tall gnome (whose name is Gnomeo) was impressive
and a fun way to start the day…
but what caught our eyes and touched our hearts was the Wind Phone
one short walk away.
In 2010, after his cousin died, Itaru Sasaki, who lives in Otsuchi, Japan
had this notion…
To build a phone booth with a disconnected phone on a grassy hill
overlooking the Pacific Ocean.
When his cousin died Itaru was crestfallen, despondent…dejected….
and he used this phone to express his grief and to his cousin stay connected.
Itaru would enter the booth, pick up the phone and talk to his cousin…
on those days he was feeling low.
He believed his words would be taken by the wind to exactly where they needed to go.
A year later, after a tsunami hit Otsuchi, Itaru found in his grief he wasn’t alone…
and with his permission people began lining up to talk to lost loved ones on his phone.
When word got out people form all over came to Itaur’s phone…
which today still makes him stop and grin….
as they call loved ones they have lost and send their words out on the wind.
Now…you can find wind phones all over the world…
200 in the United States alone…
and Deborah and I were happy to have happened on this phone….
to sit for a moment in solitude…sifting through memories we’ve amassed…
and to send our voices on the wind to people we love who’ve passed.
Of the 200 wind phones in this country…
how lucky were we to find one so close to home….
while walking in a nature preserve…
just a few steps from a gnome.