Short Telegraph Poems
Short Telegraph Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Telegraph by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Telegraph by length and keyword.
Entrepreneur Estée Lauder.
Foundation, concealer, and powder.
Advertising worth more than toman*:
"Telephone, telegraph, tell a woman."
Like riding on the handle bars of a bike
with no brakes, going down Telegraph hill
in San Francisco,... during an earthquake…
...With a flower in your hair…If you like.
Telegraph poles
Derelict each in their own way
Watch the Forest creep around
Mountains watch them rot
Trains skitter past
The River pays no mind
Dragging their wires on the Ground
Useless
Many miss glass eyes
Many hang their arms
Some have fallen
None talk
No more dots and dashes
You see the sunlight amongst the scree
There was a man
who couldn't tell me anything
Where there was once the comfort
of the evenings telegraph line
he runs wild amongst shops turned into flatlets
Keep on a straight line
he has changed his mind
where once basson roamed
he guesses himself unfree
fortitude follows the wind
Your father was a rabbi
and for you religion was not a hobby.
Serious as business
was a belief endevour
until you converted into Christianity,
as you were concerned with eternity.
Spiritual solace you gained
from Lord but hardly.
Telegraph with news was speedy
and you were a business man
involved with money
but never too greedy.
The force, the pressure
To become something great
Is beginning to penetrate
Agitate my complacency & prepare for war.
I am a complex photograph
Telegraph a message & maybe I'll respond
Bless you with my awkward silence.
Forget the violins & pay attention to my sobbing
Robbing myself time & time again
Never knowing love
I find myself crippled, broken & undone.
An Andaree Form (Unrhymed)
Swaying to the swishing of an ice-cold wind
Wooden fingers belonging stout limbs
While Telegraph wires wail
Fear impending storm,
Wilful oak
Guards
Though naked
In winter’s shackles,
Rides in natures carousel
Where the end begins the beginning
Swaying to the swishing of an ice-cold wind.
© Harry J Horsman 2021
Resting on the water's edge
of a stone birdbath,
its orange feelers curl
outward like tiny
telegraph coils - transmit schisms
I witness the microscopic
lapping of an insect
Not a dragonfly
perhaps a wasp,
abdomen pumping
like a heart beat between
clear shining wings
A seed falls, a flash of light
it disappears upon a
nearby twig leaving
reflections of ripples.
- Underway
Batten down hatches,
Engine order telegraph...
Clangs full steam ahead.
- Crossing The Bar
Gray sky’s foreboding,
Waves crashing over the bow...
The steal womb shudders.
- Making Way
The days grow longer,
As gulls climb on the fresh breeze...
Betwixt and between.
- Arrival
Red, right, returning,
Tugs hasten our arrival...
Heaving lines are thrown.
...(fall, winter, spring, summer)
The grass waved hello
the birds called back.
Telegraph poles stood still
like tall slender trees.
the birds liked that.
the crickets a constant tickle in the ear,
swathes of brown grass bouncing back after drought,
three troughs haphazard on a patch without
any grass. Bare dark earth.
the raven makes its cry
under a bright grey sky,
on a swampy, sweaty day .
my dog companion at my feet
"Come on then, let's go home."
So I'll burst forth like a seismographic telegraph,
Churning forward verbs and nouns,
Begrudging the kind of adult looks you get
From people who are too scared to be honest.
The ones who yearn for the wild,
But are to rooted in the towing of the line.
To them I say: rip yourself out of your chair.
Breathe unknown air.
Lift your soul towards the simmering clouds
And feels how it is to burn yourself through
In cool, slow tempos.