Long Telephones Poems
Long Telephones Poems. Below are the most popular long Telephones by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Telephones poems by poem length and keyword.
Love me like you mean it without pretending smile
don't need a stroke of genius or conversation style
your presence is required, the telephones a rue
don't need you constantly but never just won't do
love me like you mean it without pretending smile
Love me like you care enough to give the very best
believe in what I say and never put me to the test
I'm always here, slow to anger quick in every turn
so share it now while I'm alive, no ashes in the urn
love me like you mean it without pretending smile
Love me like you mean it come raise me off the floor
relationships aren't easy, you can't buy one at the store
so here is your VIP, message me a signal see to see
all is good when we're together drinking Red Rose tea
love me like you mean it, without pretending smile...
December 6, 2019
Contest Name: Love Me Like You Mean It
Sponsor Name: Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
A 'Good Old Days Market' sign seen
With arrows that point to the scene;
There hidden by wall
Of stone, very tall,
I ventured and found behind screen,
Some tables with items arranged...
Such irony...somewhat deranged!
There spread out in view...
Still wanted by few...
Remains, by new tech, now estranged!
Typewriters galore, 'modern' style.
Old telephones that you must dial.
Flip cellphones that close...
Eight-track videos...
Oh, such a 'nostalgic' junk pile!
Some huge V H S movie cams,
The weight of two five-pounder hams.
Fax senders...hand fed...
Received...in hands read,
And heaps of outdated programs!
Old Apple computers, diskettes;
Recorders with lots of cassettes.
Fat TVs with tubes,
Old Kodaks, flashcubes...
Those 'good' old days? Gone! No regrets!
Sandra M. Haight
Sweet Sixteen
By Franklin Price
12/31/2016
Sweet sixteen is moving on; tonight will be its last.
Tomorrow is another year, today will be the past.
A hundred years ago tonight, World War One was on at will.
Horses drawing caissons on mostly dirt roads still
Radios were barely blaring, no television yet,
No computers in our lives, of course no internet.
Operator assisted telephones, used by the upper sect.
Birds were the ones who tweeted, not the president elect
My how times have changed since then, is it really for the best?
A whole new set of challenges to put us to the test.
The world is now much smaller with Internet and instant news;
Provided by most anyone, some lies, some truthful views
ISIS recruiting wirelessly, from the lost and searching throng
Politicians with their pockets full, asking, “Whatever could be wrong?”
The last trains that are running are about to leave the track
No respect is left for anything, “Will we ever get it back?”
The world is now a different place, most accomplished by cell phone;
Conversation, text and tweet; seldom face to face alone
We meet with friends on Facebook or some other cyber way
The expense of transportation limits traveling today.
With sixteen coming to an end, as the clock strikes twelve tonight,
As the ball drops down in Times Square, pray that things will be alright.
Seventeen will be another year, let's work together for the best.
Work with those who work with us, contend with all the rest.
Happy New Year to you; whether a stranger or a friend.
Strive with me to make you, the latter, by the end.
In the Year of seventeen, be the best that you can be.
Offer a friendly hand to all, it will be better, you will see.
Telephones are melting minds,
digital waves are cooking brains.
Facebook is our judge and jury.
An old man is eating ice cream cones,
one after an another.
He is sniffing little girls hair
unaware that anyone is watching.
I think his strange demeanor
signals that he doesn’t care
about America, just the Ukraine -
maybe we should move there,
might be safer?
Idiots shout into their cellphones
and the whole world is now a telephone booth;
global warming is a dire warning
and apparently methane is the scourge of the earth.
We more responsible citizens
are just trying hard not to fart.
In a community deep in the Southern land of feed corn and cotton,
The more basic things of life are best treasured and unforgotten.
Newspapers and Radios, Jack Rocks and Jump Ropes, Pop Whips, Hide and Seek.
In child’s play, we sang our lines, closed our eyes, and did not peep.
Checkers and Old Maid, Red Wagons and Hula Hoops, Boys with pockets of marbles. All these and more, when kids never had to be afraid of armed bandits and robbers.
Rubber Balls and Home Made Bats, having fun running and rolling rubber tires. All these treats and more, when kids watched birds land on electric wires. Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic, The Lord’s Prayer, The 23rd Psalms, and Ten Commandments; A simpler place and time, walking shoeless in the dust and avoiding hot pavements. All these and more, after the chores, were better known as “Entertainment”.
All these and more were ways that we spent our time, long before we owned TV’s or Telephones. I’ve seen the Atlantic in New York and walked the sandy beaches of the Pacific in San Francisco, but Southern memories are fresh of the unforgettable treasures in a place I once called home.
05232007PSCtest, Impress Me With An Old Poem (002), Poet Destroyer A
I miss the electric hum of a landline.
Some long nights I could hear it listening to itself
as if plugged into several minds all at once.
It was sound without daylight,
night echo’s that lingered into the day.
The words were fragmented, but not garbled,
they were just degrading through space and time,
but all seemed so urgent to be heard
above the droning silence.
Smart phones, those handheld headstones,
so pockmarked with an un-nuanced gossip
that floats away from any precocity;
they lack the twilit conveyance of language,
the sense of passage and auditory peregrination.
Those old telephones had something else,
a kind of life beyond any address - a journeying
of oral acoustics.
There were always voices speaking
in a far background,
from a distant planet or from the past or the future?
I could hear them
as if they were communing through the conduits
of some invisible travelling machinery.
Sometimes it seemed that they were in my ears,
my mind, like a dead vocabulary
that only I could read upon the air,
words wanting to enter me, make me hear
the nearness of them,
on those occasions
I wondered if it was actually
my voice answering my onw thoughts,
calling me,
demanding I bear witness
to everything I was ignoring -
including myself.
Just Like It Was Yesterday
When I was but a child
I remember games we played
Hide and seek and kick the can
Oh, to think of the memories we made
We walked on stilts we fashioned
Out of old lumber pieces we found
And telephones with copper and old cans
Our imaginations completely free, unbound
We climbed trees without any fear
To reach the top was pure delight
For we could see the whole world
In those days we only stopped for night
When the sun came up the next day
We could be found playing ball
We played tether ball and keep away
Very seldom did anyone get hurt or fall
But all good things come to an end
As childhood things get put on a shelf
And grownup realities take its place
But I had such fond memories for myself
I close my eyes and go back in time
To those wondrous days of summer play
I would love to go there again just once
I remember… just like it was yesterday.
Connie Moore
3/16/14
Alive, yet shaken to the
core of her lovely bones
youngest offspring unexpectedly
lost control of vehicle and groans
papa unable to comfort her,
she inconsolable sobbing tears
muffling thru telephones
safe and sound nonetheless
shook up like rolling stones.
Though dwelling bajillion miles away
in Bend Oregon beloved daughter
endearing supportive words
I tried to say
aware sullen mood
fifty plus shades of gray
impossible mission
to assuage grievous
state, especially cuz
accompanying passengers
namely my sister,
and Dunning family did display
anger at recklessness,
though harsh words
merely exacerbated upset
lass - earlier today
August seventh two
thousand nineteen flay
grant over cockiness
best appeased with je
nais sais quois gentle
kindness versus reprobation,
yet quite aware
castigating shrieks nee,
livid rage reflexive from
kid sister otherwise mellow
nonetheless hardpressed
regarding this fellow
to envision ordinarily
calm, cool and collected
sibling to rage and soulfully bellow,
yet informed charming product begat
courtesy mine biological
flesh and blood no
benefit arises to chastise
i.e. figurative flagellation
pinging hither and yon to and fro
but eternally thankful no loss of life...
whew, this dada would never know
reason nor rhyme
to continue livingsocial
purposefulness would heighten grow
wing suicidal ideation - I haint joe
king absolute zero
willpower to write poe
whit tree and/or flash fiction
decidedly, essentially, fervently toe
tilly tubular lee mein
kampf spirit bro
kin, analogous to falling off
skyhigh wall apropos
bailing out hatch of airplane
minus parachute gratefully dead
upon impact resembling red jello
splattered, the closest
aye attain tubby jiggle oh.
In a community deep in the Southern land of feed corn and cotton,
The more basic things of life are best treasured and unforgotten.
Newspapers and Radios, Jack Rocks and Jump Ropes, Pop Whips, Hide and Seek. In child’s play, we sang our lines; closed our eyes and did not peep.
Checkers and Old Maid, Red Wagons and Hula Hoops; Boys with pockets of marbles. Kids never had to be afraid of armed bandits and robbers.
Rubber Balls and Home Made Bats; having fun running and rolling rubber tires. All these treats when kids watched birds lite on electric wires.
Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic; The Lord’s Prayer, The 23rd Psalms, and The Ten Commandments. Ours was A simpler place and time, where we
walked shoe less in the heated dust, avoiding hot pavements. All these and more, after the chores, were better known as “Entertainment”.
These were ways we spent our time, long before we owned TV’s or Telephones. Unforgettable treasures! In a place I once called home.
05232007 PS Contest 207, Brain Strain.
Featured poem of the week(111520)
In the early 80's,
Before the internet
And before the mass usage
Of hand held telephones;
On a clear and sunny day;
On a southwest bound freeway,
Not far from the Golden Gate Bridge,
One motorist angrily shouted to another
Motorist, "That's crazy!" The other motorist
Was quick to reply by saying, "You're right!"
Such verbal interaction occurred because
One driver became irate as he observed
Another driver reading a book while driving.
It should be noted that not all highway rages
Are created equally. Some end peacefully.
The reading motorist immediately complied
With the angry driver's suggestion and changed
His reading habits.