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The radio never listens to me
My dog never calls my name
Though the floors never walk on me
So I guess I can’t complain
Demi Apr 14
Tune in to clouds
Between thunder static,
devastating news
white cotton noise,
you’ll find soothing hymn.

Find the station
lift your head high
enough, just for now.
When I was a mere child
I would wake up as soon as the
Sun broke out in rays
A radio would be placed on a table in our little porch
And its songs always brought me joy
Oh, what nostalgia
The Carpenters would sing their
comforting music
Bread would sing their heartfelt songs
Whenever Perhaps Love would come, I would close my eyes and wander about my future life
Radio Poem
by Bertolt Brecht
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You, little box, held tightly
to me,
while escaping,
so that your delicate tubes do not break;
carried from house to house, from ship to train,
so that my enemies may continue communicating with me
on land and at sea
and even in my bed, to my pain;
the last thing I hear at night, the first thing when I awake,
recounting their many conquests and my cares,
promise me not to go silent all of a sudden,

Keywords/Tags: Bertolt Brecht, German, translation, Holocaust, poem, radio, tubes, valves, transmission, communicate, communication, communicating, land, sea, bed, night, sleep, dawn, morning, awake, awakening, conquests, victories, triumphs, cares, losses, silence, silent
I play chicken with the radio.
My crop suddenly stung
clucking in my
high throat no longer
stretched taught by laughter,
Or kisses bent back over shoulders.
No parting tongue

You're not coming back.

I should be glad (should)
but instead,
I play chicken with the radio.

Every love song now a car,
                            Speeding through,
My right of way.
My green light.

Beep beep.
Grey Dec 2019
The first time I heard you,
I already knew.
A good beat, nice melody
You were too catchy.

The first time I heard you,
my breath caught in my throat
As you were pronounced
my new favorite song.

The first time I heard you,
you were already stuck in my head
Playing on repeat as I stared out the window,
thinking of you instead of leaving my den.

The first time I heard you,
I tried to change the station
But you were playing on every one.

The first time I heard you,
I was already too deep in love
to let you go.
Nard Wolfe Nov 2019
Sometimes I wish there’ll be someone stay on my frequency
While everyone else keeps changing channels and pass by mine
Where we could sing harmoniously in the same genre
And start to sway as my feet listen to the beat as if it was a great dancer.
Chandra S Nov 2019
It took years for the physicist
and the meta-physicist
to reluctantly agree.

They took opposing alleys:
One looked into matter
and arrived at its intrinsic energy.
The other looked at energy
and saw matter as incidental analogy;
just a random criss-cross
of cosmic puissance.

They made much ado
in arriving where my good old
three-band radio
catapulted me years ago.

Since my teens;
she had faithfully been
my worthy companion.
With sweet melodies,
thoughtful talks,
rousing commentaries....
she kept me company
through thick and thin.
For a scanty eternity,
she was the only tie with humanity
in my plain, flat life;
lonesome, sickly and solitary.

We knew each other closely;
fondly and dearly
and I would talk to her,
some would say foolishly,
and though strangely,
she always responded readily.

For years sixteen
that Philips machine
was with me
and I saw
into her inherent energy
that underlies every material entity.


When she died suddenly
without warning....abruptly,
I knew a friend had gone
but the essence lived on.

We had perfect camaraderie:
She was all intricacy;
body, battery and circuitry,
and the spark that came from me;
ah!!! my art of tuning adeptly.

Though I got newer models and makes,
the heart still beats with a dull ache
for the one who began as mortal matter
and bonded timelessly with my being;
...merged and mingled...
as an undying memory,
in what they call
my imperishable, impregnable spirit.
Inspired by: Loneliness, sickness, contemplation, nostalgia, longing and a Philips radio set.

The radio set was purchased by my father when I was a year old. It was a 3-band radio and came with a leather case that had a shoulder string. My parents would take a walk after supper and I would be perched on one of their arms while the radio would be slung on the other shoulder. I grew up with it. It kept me company for as long as it lasted and remained a true companion in my varyingly solitary moments.
Anya Nov 2019
Smile my dear!
You’re never fully dressed without one
In here we’re all a little queer
but otherwise it wont be much fun
In this house of rotting sin
Full of violence and ***** gin
And that psychos lovely grin
What should I say but,

“let’s begin”

With all our thrills collecting dust
And our smiles dirt and rust
We must bring cheer to the sinners here

What else is there left to do?

See the smiles turn to ashes
and their speckles turn to rashes

Is that not fun for you?

Entertainment is my being
and my show is one worth seeing
With all the actors playing part
Full of greed and loss of heart
Like the cretins in these walls
And drudges through the halls
For me this place is paradise
It’d take all holy to **** me twice
And since my deaths grown rather bored
I thought to use you and cause discord
To see each devil loose their mind
Is entertainment of the purest kind
And might I say your silly way
May liven up my day

And while all Hell may not yet see it
Here I must say “so be it”
Though this charity work you see me do
Is just for me not you
For I wish a fire to your desire
To me that’s fun and new

And though no need to ask “why”
I still reply:
“Sheer boredom my dear
For every dreams run dry”
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