Short Callers Poems
Short Callers Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Callers by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Callers by length and keyword.
In a Poe abode was a butler named Gore.
His assignment was to tend the door.
But he made one error,
His breath was a terror.
Causing callers to exclaim "Nevermore!"
She’s a flying lioness
can comb phone calls
as hair-comb, combs hair
searching for broken hair
and parasites in hiding
The moment she gets
traces of unknown calls
suspicions she develops
she flies there as lioness
to chop ribs of the callers
with her metallic tongue
to protect her relationship
and embarrass the fiance
Hello
Goodbye
IRS you say
Goodbye
We are suspending your Social Security
Goodbye
I WON PUBLISHERS CLEARING HOUSE
I know this is a lie, Goodbye
Your calling me on a recorded line then record this
GOODBYE
This is Linda from your doctor’s office reminding you.............
Goodbye, Crap this one was real
It's the new crank call
A bridgeless troll
A keyboard warrior
In private euphoria
It's a disconnection
On-screen reflection
On enters press
Eternal numbness
It's a devil's advocate
A spineless strut
A hit-and-run
Of thoughtless fun
It's the new crank call
The death of soul
A bridgeless troll
The blackest hole
Alotta Was a girl with plenty;
Plenty of callers;
Foolish lusting fellows;
Most of which, just wanted sex;
ALOTTA pride don't want none of it;
You see she was beautiful;
Yet, above all Alotta
A child of God
And she tells her suitors
She's waiting till marriage
5/8/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr ©
A lady I know goes to bingo
She’s expert at all the fun lingo
Like Theresa’s den
Which really means ten
Sue loves to win bingo by jingo!
The callers shown a coloured ball
Their numbers she’ll then loudly call
Folk are quiet as a mouse
Until someone shouts HOUSE
The losing cards they get sod all!
4/14/19
He left her on the dance floor.
Her Ceasar on the blend.
Her jubilee of laughter
she danced to heights on end.
As chirping on her cell phone
alerted her to laughter.
and all the unknown callers
were hers for chasing after.
When something interrupted
she couldn't understand.
Her friends were yelling at her
come here; you're still unmanned.
One bird didn't head south.
It found a wee crack under the mailbox and is riding out winter.
It gets two callers a day.
Startled-it explodes from its plastic nest.
On Sunday we all take a rest.
For three straight days there were no signs of life.
Maybe it grew lonesome and caught up to the flock.
Feathers and brown grass dangle from that icy winter box.
guitar in your arms
taken to heart
troubadour tempest of free form poetics
playing your part
talk in your sleep
dreams come untrue
mastering mystery-charm for the masses
acting on cue
mistrust in your eyes
callers on hold
awaiting without a clue at the reason
centuries old
guitar in your arms
turn and depart
maverick songs in the voice of a martyr
playing your part
From undertaker to conversation maker
The callers were now all alone
The clickerty - clack
Of the Strowger exchange
No operators needed to answer the phone
~GG~
An Undertaker called Strowger invented the Strowger Telephone Exchange making the need of an Operator to connect calls unnecessary. The mechanism made a clicking noise as it selected the dialled number. He then returned to being an undertaker.
You can’t visit during working hours
And along take exposed sweets and flowers!
Why do we meet plain virulent showers
On persons who’d hurt the working hours?
Heads would at rule-breaking callers glower,
Red anger permit to reach its tower.
Lover of cake you can’t calm with flour;
He might not leave you long in his bower.
If the price to pay was famished lion
Would you visits pay your will iron?
To hear the song that’s sung through wind,
And pray that it would never end.
To feel the suns’ kiss upon my face,
A blessing for the human race.
Could be a smile or a sigh,
That makes all turn toward the sky.
A soft murmur from the air,
A feel of peace from everywhere.
The roar of the ocean,
The surge of such motion.
The eagles scream,
A callers’ love and a lovers’ dream.
The sunlight fades and turns to night,
All I can say is good-night.
Writing is a way to express my feelings
It is considered a healthy way to vent
Until or unless it makes someone uncomfortable
Then you are crazy, or a troll, or a werewolf’s tongue or something
When you are too honest, things can go awry,
haywire, you can land head down, feet first.
Do it anyway
Spill your truth.
Throw it out there onto the page.
Lay it out.
It can help you find your tribe
and also show you who the name-callers are
so you can avoid them
"No small money" she barked at me; seeing my bill was ripped.
But it was bent and soon unraveled; Sally had had it gripped.
Shocked and relieved that it was good; my meal could be paid.
I smiled at her and sighed relief then took my food in trade.
She handed back the little change I'd get from my five dollars.
while knowing she would get it back from one of several callers.
Then sitting fast to eat my meal I thanked and praised my God.
Not forgetting Sally's humour with each bite that I knawed.