Master
crafter
paper
later
compute
astute
website
ignite
laptop
giftshop
FedEx
success
jogger
blogger
clever
weber
keyboard
switchboard
email
voicemail
midnight
uptight
father
mother
good night
sleep tight
blanket
flank it
cover
lover
father
smarter
mainline
offline
loser
snoozer.
Clumsily checked for the switchboard to put on the light
whence I suddenly caught a ghost at mirror sight;
Promptly like a lizard I hugged the wall really tight
which modestly stood startled toward my right;
Fretting and sweating I counselled my might
for the sake of convincing the spirit dressed in white;
And somehow tactfully managed to flee away from any horrific bite.
Ouch, somewhere deep within my insight
embers slowly kept leaping forward to ignite;
Now while sitting down to write the experience met tonight~
I realized abruptly that it's all nothing but self- existent light! (conscience)
7 June 2023
Submitted to: Self-existent light Poetry Contest
Sponsored by unseeking seeker.
the class
of summer fifty five
left to ply
their business lives
the office partners just two
pens pencils nearly-new
clerking the lowest
of the low
daily drudgery
reality soon shone thru'
down the cellar
my steps did wend
scuttle filled fires to tend
the 'old man ' yelling
'ere lad chop chop
get me baccy
from t'corner shop
wait-on
tea-break brews'
in a stew
bellow the back-office crew
one more task
to get done
for the partner's son
another errand no time to chat
he'd forgotten the fish
for his wife's cat
then
the switchboard clicked
the doorbell chimed
skills to learn juggle prioritise
which to choose to attend
mail in the tray
still to send
whew!
nearly five knock-off time
in view
just one task still to do
fetch the 'boss's evening news
was this really
the career to choose
Birth, with stars in her eyes, exploding with mirth.
Mollycoddled, swaddled, passed off by nurses.
Aperture opens, closes - checking out earth.
The peacock calligrapher inks fair verses.
Not bad for a Penny - they sold a circ worth.
The switchboard oohs and ahhs as she converses.
Under the sagacious skies, each phonation
Recorded in babbles with their duration.
9/24/2022
the class
of summer fifty five
left to ply
their business lives
the office partners just two
pens pencils nearly-new
clerking the lowest
of the low
daily drudgery
reality soon shone thru'
down the cellar
my steps did wend
scuttle filled fires to tend
the 'old man ' yelling
'ere lad chop chop
get me baccy
from t'corner shop
wait-on
tea-break brews'
in a stew
bellow the back-office crew
one more task
to get done
for the partner's son
another errand no time to chat
he'd forgotten the fish
for his wife's cat
then
the switchboard clicked
the doorbell chimed
skills to learn juggle prioritise
which to choose to attend
mail in the tray
still to send
whew!
nearly five knock-off time
in view
just one task still to do
fetch the 'boss's evening news
was this really
the career to choose
The highlight of our week
Knock knock who’s there
A barrage of punchy one-liners
Hilarious skits to crack you up
Ruth Buzzi swinging her purse
Lily Tomlin at the switchboard
One ringy dingy…two ringy dingy
Rowan & Martin’s snide remarks
Giggles from behind doors
Goldie Hawn flashing her smile
And her infectious laughter
Unconditionally raising
Sunday night’s goofy silliness
To new lofty altitudes
Of exuberant cheerfulness
Lavishly overflowing well
Into bluesy Monday mornings
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~RANDOM MUSINGS VOL.2~ 2020
Submitted on February 6, 2020 for contest STRAND SELECT F sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
Posted on February 3, 2020
#MeToo staff are climbing the walls
Their switchboard is flooded with calls
'Tis a stalwart crew
But what can they do
When sporting equipment has balls?
Avoidance
I sleep to avoid my issues
I drink to achieve the same
I stay up all night
When no-one is around
So as not to face the next day
Every waking hour
A silent torture for me
It is dark and cold
Strangles me with despair and oppression
Trapped in a place I'd rather not be
No light at the end of the tunnel
Phone on silent so I don't have to speak
My mind jammed with troubles
Like a switchboard with wires
Everything looks so bleak
My bills are unopened
I can't bear to face
They say things will get better
But they don't they only get worse
I don't choose to feel so hopeless
I don't want to drink away my fears
The problems get worse
I am desperate to be in a better place
A place that I dream of
When my Angel allows
Walking on sand made of diamonds
Surrounded by peace
Caressed by silence not tortured
Because this silence I want to keep
My place of work they used to call ”Ma Bell”
As switchboard operator, “number please”
Became my tool of their “advanced intel”
With wires and plugs held to connect parties.
Three days a week from three to ten, my job
Was set; with school next day, I soon burned out.
My arms and back were sore, began to throb
From stretching here and there and all about
To find and reach, connect the lines between
The callers and the called through panel holes.
Soon tired and aching with this job routine
I knew this one would never meet my goals.
No doubts about my choice have haunted me…
Switchboards dissolved with new technology!
© Sandra M. Haight 2014
All Rights Reserved
~3rd Place~
Contest: Jobs
Sponsor: Sara Kendrick
Judged: 12/11/2014
she used to have skills
at a telephone switchboard
today she is scared
of cell phones and computers
my mom is one sweet antique
writing poems by hand
and reading hard cover books
I know little of
the functions of a smart phone
I’m becoming my mother
A series of lights sparkle the
switchboard , glass , jaw shatters.
Looking thru the microscope
to see a microbe settling down , quill in 'hand'
scribin' Metanarratives , MidWives and tales
of Fairie untill , at sudden a quark
shout quivers at the sight of each glass rose
rising out of The Black. Clean scrubbed of any
and all curiousity your aware of , as you
replace memory w-/ flashing imagery.
Quick ; stretch those doorhinge muscles
or you'll never live w-/ an impression
of Life. Current Events ;
Soaped imitiation.
A shadow of a family
Sits, lumping on our couch
Watching TV with mindless eyes
Occasionally letting a few words out
The lines that bind together
Lie about on the ground like jump ropes
They’re always in the way
Tripping up dreams and shorting out hopes
Every emotion results in a trip
The kitchen holds our sleeping pills
We are cannibals who ravage our own souls
Unaware of what we’ve just killed
When shadow touches skin
An unholy shiver acknowledges the split
Broken bits lie behind beauty
Our reality is a switchboard with connectors that never fit.
Written by Trudy Schrader on July 4th 2007
Note: This was a poem I wrote 3 days before I left my husband of 14 years (16 at divorce).