Pantoum Part 1
A stranger calls me everyday,
Makes me nervous to get the phone.
She keeps on calling anyways
When I am---or I am not---at home.
Makes me nervous to get the phone.
At times, he or she's a robot.
Calling me when I'm all alone.
And I've told them they must not.
At times, he or she's a robot.
And I do not say a word.
But they want me to sign the dot.
Saying yes to contracts unheard of.
And I do not say a word.
To them when I haven't much to say.
Giving them money is absurd.
These strangers call me everyday.
Rhyme Part 2
Spamela is her name.
With me she plays a game.
Morning, noon, and night.
Any hour is alright.
Her voice is very sweet.
'Cause she's a goal to meet.
She needs to hear me say yes.
To verbal contracts and the rest.
She sells electricity.
And phone plans for liberty.
She will sell me gas.
With friendly sales math.
And seek to earn my cash!
Without her, my day would be lonely.
She's my one and only!
My love on the telephone line.
Spamela uses mobile data all the time!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Its dial spins like a clock unwound,
each number a moon,
each click landline bound.
Long live that landline~
its coiled tongue, its stubborn whine,
the way it clung to the wall like a vine,
rooted deep in the plaster’s spine.
Operator, oh operator,
can you hear the hum in the wire?
The ghost of a voice, half-laugh, half-fire,
static lullabies, crackling pyre.
Long live the landline~
the weight of the receiver,
the pause before hello,
the way we listened
to breath, to silence,
to the miles between us
stretched thin as a filament.
Now the signals fly, untethered,
but the cord was a vein,
and the ring~
oh, the ring was a heartbeat
without a name.
you may read the related memoir vignette at: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/long_live_the_landline_13674
It was Father's Day Sunday ~
We knew it might be his last.
Still the phone never rang.
Did our best to hide the hurt.
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
**Cleaners**
~ O.P.E.N ~
Mon-Fri: 7 a.m. to 7 p.m.
Sat: 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.
Sun: Closed
- 7a.m. 7°C -
The key scratches
alongside the knob,
cobwebs capture
every corner of the door.
The cold air thumps
against the windows,
as the lightbulb flickers
morning and night
in the gaps of the ceiling
outside the barely
shut door.
Underneath,
reddish pigment cover
the bricks and the cracked
mortar spews out moss,
releasing all creatures
from its remnants.
Squirming around,
tossing about surrounding
the cigarette bud left
from last winter.
The distant air smells
of cheap store bought coffee
mixed with gasoline.
Above rests a pair of shoes,
tarnished from all the weather,
tangled since last year.
The shoes aged
along with the time
whereas the boy,
since last winter,
dissipated
with the once lit
cigarette,
As white blankets
the grounds,
the embers sparks
rises with the ashes
up the telephone wire,
I barely remember
the time,
that boy
never came back.
Edited (7.18.26):
1.18.17 ~ 2.19.18
Good old shared party line
The triple ring is ours ~ ignore others
Country living at its best
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
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 I know 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
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