Long Rotary Poems
Long Rotary Poems. Below are the most popular long Rotary by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rotary poems by poem length and keyword.
Times have changed at such a fast rate
With technology I don’t understand
I feel like an alien in my own world
Im so completely out of date!
Oh, for the simple days of little frustration
When the t.v had four channels and it was free
You had to physically turn the t.v knob
Disputing who’s turn it was to get up and change the station
When the family phone was attached to a wall
For the whole family to use
It was big ,clunky with a rotary dial
And all it could do was call
When a camera was used to take photos
That had a film roll inside
To take to the chemist to get developed
In either “matt or gloss” to pick up in a week or so
When correspondence was hand written or typed
Enclosed in an envelope with stamp then mailed
Music was played on a record player or radio
Dishes were hand washed and wiped
Now it’s all computerised
With passwords and codes
Beeping, flashing and telling you NO
Kept in clouds in the sky!!
I know technology and progress are a need
And one has to move with the times
There are so many positives and benefits
But I miss those uncomplicated , simple days indeed!
Luminescent water dweller swirling svelte
Slick slid tranquil cuddles chocolate flanks
Languish in lake's fresh flow cleanses pelt
Inveigled green murk give mammal thanks
Flip of fish bodied bristle face fierce scent
Dispersing air bubble clusters break ranks
Astonished by spine kink accomplishment
Ransack gets snack refuel on sandy banks
Sharp fang archer snares mollusc, eloquent
Velvet lips emit wet grass verdant vibe knell
Frolicking gloss body, domain of free agent
Guarantees relief, feasted minuscule morsel
Rotary manuevres engrave prey unhindered
Dagger mouth rolls marble glassy carouse
Rouge show-off swims to coldest dominion
Flagrant tail track flicks a frigid drop douse
11th February
Behemoth of depths
I am Farrah Fawcett,
Poster on the wall.
I am a rotary phone,
When I made a call.
I am, Boss,
it’s the plane, The plane.
I am Pablo Escobar,
And his cocaine.
I am Queen with
Freddy Mercury Live.
I am the Bee Gees,
Talking that Jive.
I am vinyl, 8-tracks,
cassettes and CDs.
I am, make love not war,
And Hippies.
I am where is the beef?
Don't squeeze the Charmin.
I am Cheech and Chong
and George Carlin.
I am SNL when it
Was funny.
I am Happy Days,
And a Playboy bunny.
I am M.A.S.H. and
A metal Lunch-box.
I am clackers, tang,
And a Pet-rock.
I am American Bandstand,
Peace signs, and the twist.
I am pay-phones, pagers,
and stick-shifts.
I am, conjunction junction,
What's your function?
I am Patty Hearst and
Her abduction.
Turbo1904
*PV - Proverbial Verbiage
The Old Rotary
Dialing out…zzzzip…zzzzzzzip…zzzzzzzip
and
zip…zzip…zzzip…zzzzip
and brring…
long distance was not a thing
for children. they could only
ring those within their corridor
ching…ching
money didn’t grow on trees
the grown up made sure
we were wise
or they’d wise up
our behinds
but we didn’t even try
a bit smarter back then
smarting at smaller things
like
eating Mr. McGregor’s produce
throwing
stones at cars
but
we kept our hands
off the old man’s
cookie jar (PV)
rang Grandma
once a year (PV)
It was more fun to dial out
but by then a burglar
tied you up (PV)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Its dial spins like a clock unwound,
each number a moon,
each click landline bound.
Long live that landline~
its coiled tongue, its stubborn whine,
the way it clung to the wall like a vine,
rooted deep in the plaster’s spine.
Operator, oh operator,
can you hear the hum in the wire?
The ghost of a voice, half-laugh, half-fire,
static lullabies, crackling pyre.
Long live the landline~
the weight of the receiver,
the pause before hello,
the way we listened
to breath, to silence,
to the miles between us
stretched thin as a filament.
Now the signals fly, untethered,
but the cord was a vein,
and the ring~
oh, the ring was a heartbeat
without a name.
you may read the related memoir vignette at: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/long_live_the_landline_13674
Mr. Smith sat tiredly, long hours at his desk,
by an old vacation photo, picturesque,
and a stack of papers; another twelve-hour day,
slowly, draining his lonely life away.
He looked at the picture and thought he heard
the voice of a tropical hummingbird
that lived inside that aged picture frame,
and, strangely, called him by his childhood name.
Could this be a hallucination?
Some out-of-control visualization?
He wondered, "Should I laugh out loud or scream?
I mustn't worry. It must just be a dream...
Or maybe it's a reverie, not a dream?"
The voice said, "I am His Majesty Supreme,
by needle beak, and by rotary wing,
I am the hummingbird fantasy king.
Smith felt his grip was growing flimsy,
when the bird said, "I also deal in whimsy".
"No! bird", you are my imagination!"
he screamed at the bird who forgot his station.
Mr. Smith disappeared, some say lost his mind.
Others say he left the world behind,
and he's living in a tropical dream
with a hummingbird, His Majesty Supreme.
Beethoven smashes one piano after another.
He shears through keyboards,
a peasant scything hay.
The composer's fingers don't grow deaf,
they become deeper, more blunted,
like mallets.
His apartment is disorderly,
tools and equipment
are hidden in Dresden figurines,
in elderly Delftware,
ball-peen hammers crammed
into the whittled stems of goose quills.
Augers, grinders and rotary tillers
are rendered into themes and motifs.
Wrecking crews hum and stamp,
tables thump out allegro dissonance.
Into this din and demolition
plows a heavy sonata
the hard-nosed 'Hammerklavier'
bulldozing its trenchant path
into the cramped streets;
where in the absence of safety barriers,
a defiant deconstruction
has begun.
i once was a jobless man,
then i prayed to God for a job,
with all my engineering education,
i couldn't find a job,
all the women i had,
fate called them away from me;
life became meanless to me,
day and night i reminded my God
about His promises to me,
all i got was His silence and a still voice in my heart,
be faithful to me and wait upon me,
i questioned,God is that you?
No one answered that part,
dreams of my success started hunting me in my sleep,
i grew worried and depression kicked in,
where do i seek help?
is there a true man of God who can interpret dreams?
i asked, but none answered that part,
i grew more hopeless and Couldn't believe my life,
all my friends were married and had stable jobs,
some had gone ahead to invest for there future,
all this made me isolate myself,
but God lifted my public image with an appointment,
it was time to serve my community,
rotary opened its arms and gave me a shoulder to cry on,
investment they showed me how to do it,
i became a poet and poems like this i wrote,
some cried when i read them poems in public,
joy was in all places i went,
the once depressed me,
learnt how to find peace in doing good.
i have sent many job application letters,
have gotten interviews but not the job.
i feel like giving up:
then from nowhere God comes and says to me,
i am giving you a job,
am sending you to an engineering firm as a messenger,
from there all will see my power,
i answer,let God's will be done,
educated i leave home without any academic papers
after all its a messenger job,
the Holy Spirit calms me down with an assurance
you will be the owner of the firm,
i nod and wonder;how can this be?
i'm the Lord who fed my people Israel in the desert with meat,
God reminds me of that,
i will wait and see how that will happen,
at last as a messenger, i start rebuilding my life,
am not living my dream;
but its God realising His purpose in me.
a month later one engineer does quit,
its time for me to become the boss,
i hesitate at first but later present my papers,
with amazement all wonder
without even an interview the job is mine,
from a messenger to an engineer,
my God has remembered me.
may HIS name be praised forever.
MAY ALL SAY
AMEN
Beethoven smashes one piano after another.
He shears through keyboards,
a peasant scything hay.
The composer's fingers listen
through touch,
they become deeper, more blunted,
a vibration of mallets.
Frown the brow,
push the plow
make music drive a steamroller.
His apartment is disorderly,
tools and equipment
are hidden in Dresden figurines,
in elderly Delftware,
ball-peen hammers crammed
into the whittled stems of goose quills.
Augers, grinders, and rotary tillers
are rendered into themes and motifs.
Wrecking crews hum and stamp,
tables thump out allegro dissonance.
Into this din and demolition
comes a heavy sonata
the hard-nosed 'Hammerklavier'
bulldozing a blunt pathway
into cramped 19th century streets,
where in the absence of safety barriers,
all but one turns a deaf ear.
Scream out mom or mommy if you prefer
Dad or daddy is already longer than gone
Dragged between the walls by the creature
A hideous mechanical many armed thing
Breathing acid through razor sharp teeth
The slimy cold tongue licks the floors
Sensing out humans because it wants more
Mom or mommy can't help you now
She screams your name one last time
As you dial 911 on the rotary phone
Which takes forever for one rotation
This is not the stone ages for crying out loud
A digital or Iphone is required for survival
Monsters can not be placed on hold
The insidious one finishes off the last parent
A mechanical voice is sounding down the hall
“If you would like to make a call please hang up”
“Try your call again later”
A dial tone accompanies the next one devoured
Music to the ears of the skinless thing feeding
It is later than you think