Long Telephone Poems
Long Telephone Poems. Below are the most popular long Telephone by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Telephone poems by poem length and keyword.
The Poet's Condition
by Michael R. Burch
(for my mother, Christine Ena Burch)
The poet's condition
(bother tradition)
is whining contrition.
Supposedly sage,
his editor knows
his brain's in his toes
though he would suppose
to soon be the rage.
His readers are sure
his work's premature
or merely manure,
insipidly trite.
His mother alone
will answer the phone
(perhaps with a moan)
to hear him recite.
Alternate Title: "Poetry Slam: The Hangup"
Keywords/Tags: poet, poets, poems, poetry, poetic expression, rhyme, editor, publisher, mother, readers, recite, recitation, reciting, performance, writing, reading, rap, slam, phone, telephone
Five Fake Calls Koutas
every time the phone rings
every time the phone rings
I answer the phone with dread
no one calls me anymore
nothing but fake calls
My Love Loves to Play a Joke
My wife loves to play a joke
with all the fake call people
talking to them playing them
Until they don’t call
I yell, curse and scream at them
I yell, curse and scream and more
hoping that they will leave all alone
I get so lonely waiting here
for a call from a friend
Fake calls nothing but more fake calls
fake calls nothing but more fake calls
while watching fake news on TV
reading the fake newspapers
Everything is Fake
I wake up to all the fake calls
I wake up all to the fake calls
happy to talk to my fake friends
listening to their great scams
no more fake calls please
Earnings
help wanted
long evenings
a service toil of trays
which exhausted smile
the tip
Earnings
high cut mini
her service
always the management's eye
for sex
The table shines
coins in ashtrays
ashes in plates
faces crowded with food
Her service
"Are you finished?"
always the managements eye
for neatness
Earnings
nightly telephone music
always the same
always the management's ear
for music
Rude
they were loud
and their tip was conservative
Earnings
final tally
her husband walked out
her child to clothe
a decent respectable living
her service
always the management's eye
for atmosphere
Published Black Buzzard Press - 1982
got what he wanted at my expense.
Said crack fast talking
hacker and scammer
pulled figurative wool over my eyes
going incognito and speaking a clipped
English mien his disguise.
He appeared (rather sounded) genuine
after yours truly experienced computer snafu
(the Macbook Pro essentially hogtied
courtesy virus that disabled any activity)
even turning the laptop off then on
only wrought frustration to boot.
An out of state Apple computer
technical support person impersonator
(imposter invariably linkedin
to aforementioned fraudster -
most likely brother in arms)
answered telephone number
provided on the screen.
Admonitions against sharing details
about case in point, whereby cyberpunk
donned many hats to convince me
serious computer virus,
malware, trojan horse, et cetera
counterbalanced with voice on other end
affecting sedulousness to "listen carefully"
and carry forth the following commands.
Yours truly trustingly,
passively, meekly, et cetera
(though feeling jittery)
carried out the repeated instructions,
which charlatan inveighed against
speaking softly (in retrospect,
I ought to have carried a big stick),
indicating (as if held at gunpoint)
to headout off to the Trappe branch
of Citizens Banks and withdraw cash
all the while recording verbal dialogue
with small, medium at large criminal
(the scam artist(s) in question).
Upon retrieving legal tender
(quite a wad), thee next entrapment
entailed driving to closest ATM machine,
an MP gas station/convenience store
in Collegeville to convert
high denomination bills
(a considerable number
of money crisp Benjamins)
into bitcoin cryptocurrency
then hightailing back to where I live,
an assisted living facility
named Highland Manor.
Finally, the schmegegge script
(incorporating ejaculations that
questionable hacker convinced me
to swallow hook, line and sinker)
alluded to strong likelihood
scam artist lurked in close proximity
to above named banking institution,
which divine comedy bumbling
Ace of spades, an inept card shark
anagram name (Meg Found)
left as crypto clue told.
A curly corded telephone rings in a distant room,
its black Bakelite bulk vibrates behind closed eyes.
An old-time fire-engine parks its flame and brass chassis
inside a cavernous skull, though no conflagration
sets the dark alight.
It is that shallow pit of night when faceless clocks
expose themselves to be landmines.
A far past is calling; disembodied tongues drum loud
in an echoing ear.
A cumbersome receiver tumbles off its cradle
an accumulated dust of misappropriated yesterday’s
softens its fall.
Nothing has grasped at nothing.
A line is dead and buried; there's no resurrection,
the call however lingers, as a voice dissolve's
deep within the combustible light
of another day.
SAFELINK TracFone unanimously synonymous...
not only as my lifeline,
and connectivity insurance
with family, friends and strangers,
whereby yours truly
experiences virtual safety net
as would be true
for many purple people eaters,
when havoc unexpectedly strikes
triggering an emergency situation,
where life and death
as very uncomfortable truth
teeters in the balance
necessitate immediate intervention,
hence survival
of one mediocre bipedal hominid
within twenty first century,
not only requires
allocated government funding
for unlimited talk and text,
to brook intervention
allowing, enabling, and providing help
while I channel urgent plea
via telephonic wireless portal
or surfing the cyber sea
if in need of an
up to date telephone number
until that one day in the near future,
when logical integrated circuits,
albeit miniscule or near invisible bots
to the naked eye,
said telecommunication trappings
ideally, easily, and admirably
embedded within body electric
batteries not necessary
when capacity to energize lovely bones
emulates, jump/kickstarts,
and powers an uninterrupted
self sustaining feedback loop
courtesy subcutaneous
nearly microscopic solar cells
(similar in principle
to intrauterine devices)
generates ample electricity
with resistance from subjects
to communicate wirelessly,
which means every waking
and sleeping movement
grudgingly monitored,
thus surreptitious antics
possibly flagged for:
accusation of plagiarization,
barbarization of mine mien,
cannibalization of pet peeves,
demonization of politicization,
elation of short lived beneficence,
fictionalization of embedded chip insertion,
glorification qua state of art communication,
humanization of artificial intelligence,
idolization of electronic engineering,
jollification of electrons
kation of covalent bond.
adieu from,
matthew scott harris
May Fifth, 2019, A Personal Tribute
Known as Bubba and,
she hapt tubby renown
to savor livingsocial
to five grandchildren, (now grown),
my late mother fourteen
journeys around nearest star died,
nonetheless fought tooth, nail and bone
years presence christened and known
since November 13th, 1935,
though last few years transformed
her into a crone,
yes Harriet Harris chose cremation,
versus purchasing costly plot,
plus an inert headstone
departed realm of the living, her ashes
long since scattered,
linkedin, determined, foregone
within conclave among wind deities,
analogous to mourning doves doleful drone
whipped urning's contents, sans cyclone,
where remains got blown
dispersed along favorite hiking trail
adjacent to Revolutionary War Cider Mill
ghosts of militia long since flown
(situated within Arcola, Pennsylvania),
this sole son January 13 mcmlix,
whom ye birthed, forever alone
within my emotional wilderness
puberty, yours truly tried to postpone
belated gratuity maternal nursing skills
deployed to thwart anorexia,
yet these latter days getting older prone
to reckon eyes, how deathly frightened
ye and papa felt, where grim reaper
got called from me on his telephone
mother intervened ghastly stentorian tone
now, reminiscing tender loving care qualities,
proffered, while warmed by hearthstone,
though I always remained a stranger to thee
as this Norwegian bachelor
signs off from Lake Woebegone.
I had hoped there would be a 50th class reunion for my class of 67.
Instead, I got word the other day that Aggie High is closing its doors.
For four years, I was taught by some of the finest teachers in America.
For four long years, I filled your library, classrooms, and walked your hallways.
I was challenged and succeeded in math and was greatly inspired by my Biology Classes. I was arrested and captured, moved and mesmerized, by my charismatic History teacher. I even listed on your honor roll and sang in your very respected and talented choir.
I moved away 50 years ago and unfortunately, I have visited you only two or three times since. Just a few months ago, I was privileged to dialogue via telephone with my Art teacher's wife. Perhaps he knew of your coming closure, but he wasn't home to inform me.
O Aggie, I am sadden by the news, but I have come to understand such matters. O Aggie, it's interesting that you have joined a long list of changes and closures in my life. It's also interesting that things I once thought would be history, instead are now current events. Furthermore, it's interesting that, like many of my past acquaintances, I always get little warning.
O Aggie, all things have beginnings and endings, but know this: you have been a launching pad and a gallant educator, rocketing many of us to the stars. What you have instilled in us is forever credited to your account. You have fought a good fight, and your course is near the finish.
My eyes are getting watery Now. So I must cease and desist, lest my proud and tender memories of you get the best of me.
04082017 PS Contest, Paschal Premier, Brian Strand
I am the war of
1812.
I am Standard Oil
Dripping with wealth.
I am Edgar Allen Poe
And Beethoven.
I am the first time the
Kentucky Derby opens.
I am the battle at
Wounded knee.
I am giving of the Statue
Of Liberty.
I am the sewing machine
Gets a Patent.
I am Darwin and Uncle
Tom's cabin.
I am Abe Lincoln and the
Gettysburg Address.
I am they place Geronimo
Under arrest.
I am Jack the ripper and
Sherlock Holmes.
I am Alexander Graham Bell
Inventing the telephone.
I am the book Alice in
Wonderland.
I am the inventor
Thomas Edison.
I am the Lewis and Clark
Expedition.
I am the first Olympic game
Competition.
I am the opium war and the
Louisiana Purchase.
I am Florence Nightingale
At your service.
I am the Kodak camera
Box.
I am Moby Dick and
Karl Marx.
Turbo1904
When you cry with those who weep
And share the pain of those who suffer
When you give out of your need
To help a hurting child or homeless brother
When you welcome strangers into your home
And prepare hearty meals for growing boys and girls
When you sit alone beside a quiet telephone
Hoping to talk to distant family and friends
When you forgive all who hurt you
And confess your faults with sincere love inside
When you bask in today’s showers of blessings
Knowing God’s eraser removed all your past mistakes
When you have known sickness and discouragement
And those times that break the human heart
When it seems like nobody understands your needs
Remember your friend Jesus sees, he knows,
He loves you, he really cares, and
When you least expect it, that’s when he blesses you!