Let's play a game of telephone...
crepitant tongues converse
overly dramatic tendencies
incoherently concrete
awakening preoccupation
a train flying off the tracks
chaotic clumps crust up
dissonance distended
indecorous reception
viral instigator
I dont want to sift
sterilize rhetoric
abrasive to the ear.
A game of telephone...let's play.
Whatever happened to the telephone book
enquiring minds need to know
there hasn't been one here for years
so wherever did it go
and what about the telephone box
or the answer machine
I haven't seen either near it's clear
they're few and far between
they went the way of the dodo
long before their time
as not everyone owns a mobile phone
and no you may not use mine
we used to flip the pages
let our fingers do the walking
but now with not a lot to say
there's way too far much talking
Whatever happened to the telephone book
enquiring minds need to know
there hasn't been one here for years
so wherever did it go
and what about the telephone box
or the answer machine
I haven't seen either near it's clear
they're few and far between
they went the way of the dodo
long before their time
as not everyone owns a mobile phone
and no you may not use mine
we used to flip the pages
let our fingers do the walking
but now with not a lot to say
there's way too far much talking
An old gaunt lady
With feeble steps
Walked to the red telephone booth
On the roadside pavement
Every day she dialed a number
And spoke inaudibly into the receiver
As tears streamed down her crinkly face
This continued for an hour
Until she resigned for the day
Hoping for another heartfelt conversation
A baffling mystery unsettled us
Spectators to this daily drama.
Sighing, she watches the phone,
wishing someone would call her -
once, it hardly stopped ringing
and she would answer, sighing -
but the silence is worse...
Inspired by Picture Four
In your vintage gold design
you lay in brilliant elegance-
a memory of our yesteryear
held in the highest esteem;
words flew through the air.
Image 4
Someones watching me
stands out among other birds
beautiful cardinal
I get a tiny text from you.
I do remember emails.
Before those, phone conversations.
And prior to those we'd meet.
Sit for hours with coffee, tea, wine, chat.
Chats appeared to go on and on and on.
Remember those times,
the chat, wine, tea, coffee?
Then the phone calls we shared?
And then some emails,
before the occasional text?
Texts may not go on.
(23 Oct 2023)
good old dead Rutherford B Haves
most do not know he was president
his name is not famous like Lincoln or Kennedy
because he was not assassinated probably
But he could be famous for one thing
He was the first president to allow a phone into the White House
His phone number is so easy, you may be able to remember it.
It was 1.
Like telephone poles on a country road
the years stretch endlessly before him
One no different than the other
an 'only family,' no sisters, no brothers
The first stretch he calls 'office poles'
pencil-sharpening, paper-shuffling
toggling between screens
The next stretch he dubs 'lunch hour'
long lines at Mickey D's, Burger King, KFC
The last stretch he calls 'clock-watching'
and it drags on all afternoon, as in forever
at 3:15 p.m. he blacks out
I say words
my friend says words
neither of us responds to the other words
we are always waiting for a pause
so we can say more words
the other is not hearing
it is our usual phone call
I say more words
she says something
no one is listening
it is okay
we do not seem to care
I wait for a pause
I say more words
she interrupts me
not waiting her turn
I don’t care
understanding because I do it too
no one is listening
both of us waiting for the next pause
I'm hearing that same telephone
from a neighbouring flat,
each day at that same time,
labouring with its ring-ding, ring-ding.
This is no neighbour whom I know
except that I glimpse that face, and hear that bell
each day at that same window
as she turns away from that ring-ding, ring-ding.
Does she love to hear it,
so then can turn her back to it?
How she gazes from that window!
Does she enjoy its ring, and can sing, sing?
Who calls from far or near?
Does that caller use this call
to sing, sing with a dial or buttons?
Is this the way to give a loving ring?
(13 May 2003)
And once again I whisper, "Wrong number."
Twisting the cold cord around my finger,
Sitting there, as cool as a cucumber
Still knowing why I will always linger
It's you, it's you, I know that haunting voice
Somewhere on the other end of the line,
I'm listening, as if I had a choice ...
To the same ghost in this tired ear of mine
You're truly making a long distance call
And just who's to argue, when it's your dime,
Ringing my old number, to tell me all ...
Showing up yet again on borrowed time
While my teary eyes close, nearing slumber
And once again I whisper, "Wrong number."
He stands silently on the telephone pole
Not caring if we see him or not
Most of us miss him
Those who do see, smile,
Knowing his sense of humor and his mother
Who will be furious about it
Even as I speak you are asleep,
The telephone.
As weary as you are, yet you still listen
To my voice,
And I can hear the women down the hall,
Where the music that she plays is soft and
Pleasant to the ear, the moon and stars.
I can hear your eyes begin to droop, a lullaby.
A monotone my voice, your dreams are mine
About yourself.
The telephone is used because in love, were
Far apart.
Halley's comet will pass by, but we're asleep
In our soft bed,
And many mile's apart in time untill you have
To wait, on the telephone.
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