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Hanna C S Jul 13
So when you rang me up,
Just to scream abuse down the telephone line,
Before throwing yours against a wall,
I thought:
You should have been kinder,
If not for the sake of my bleeding ears;
Perhaps for the sake of the mobiles,
That held no fault,
Yet were forced to relay
each punch dipped in hatred,
thrown across the hurt we made.

Last time you called
Just to call me names,
I thought to say:
Don't shoot your messenger,
As you point the blame,
Think about our phones,
Before you take your aim.
But at least you called,
Could you call again?
Kai Mar 15
Life is a game of telephone
my messages mingle in my throat
the translation is lost
some where between my lips it twists

when I mean I love you
it comes up meekly as hello
when I mean do you want to get coffee
it comes up as you look nice today

Miscommunication led to friendship
games of telephone go on
I sit at your side through life

when I mean your my everything
it comes you as best friend
when I mean I can't live without you
it comes out as I'll always be here for you

Year on down the road
you're still unreachable right next to me
every conversation
a long game of telephone
Just trying a different style again. Sorry if it's weird. I really need to get these moths pretending to be butterflies out of my stomach. Love seems so unobtainable when everyone I like ends up a friend.
Paint a tree and a
telephone.
Paint a rabbit
changing its burrow.
Paint rabbit's sweet little
family.
Paint their poo strung together like a necklace.
Make it stink.
Now,
Paint your mother
trying to hide
in the same burrow.
**** the rabbit!
paint a box
&
bury the dead rabbit inside...



- Samar Charulingah Godfrey
RedD Sep 2018
My body at rest
My mind at peace
I hear the bell
That familiar tone

You reach out from afar
My senses quicken
I reach too
Stretch out my hand

To hold you close
I listen to your voice
A tone so familiar
My heart, it melts again

Just like before

And like it always will
I will never tire of hearing your voice S ❤️
Brandon Conway Aug 2018
Stream of consciousness
traveling down tin cans and a string
going on about Romulus
and ramblings, vibrating in between
half a world away
keeping each other awake
thanks again
for the company
Saki Wang May 2018
Is what I call myself.

Have you ever been afraid
of Hearing the phone
Ring, or making a phone
Call? I am. I am terrified
to feel the void, on the
other side of the world.
No space, no clue, no
Entity. The sense of
Unreality and unsettledness
when connected to a closest person through
this Cold Little Device: What should I say,
What can I say when I do not see
your face? Or maybe to a stranger, an
Outsider, who casually speaks, "I'm outside",
"Coming", "Got your order"—
the terror of being observed, exposed, examined,
Invaded, only comes down
when it is over.

Everything with Speed scares me:
When voice converts into
Electronic waves and analog signals,
the Voice, no longer our voice.
When the telephone rings, the world spins,
speeds, mechanizes, conceals, suppresses, darkens:
the momentum of transmission, the velocity of
sounds, making thoughts and moods and
emotions faster and faster, so fast that I could not afford, predict or
prepare; so hastier than I wanted, imagined, expected, than I       than I   am, that I
become no longer myself, any self. The intimidating speed of
Telephone: The Moment that you know when
I know, the Answer that you give
when I seek: they are
Insensibility.

So Please, do not ring and do not
make me call.
Look into my eyes, and I will
Look into yours.
Do not dial, do not answer,
do not lie in the dial tone.
Write me.
         Tell me.
         Speak to me.
And I will wait, for an


Answering.
I am extremely afraid of telephone, and these are the reasons.
My friend can not understand, but I hope -- perhaps some of you can.
Aa Harvey Apr 2018
Oft too a flyer.


Thrown to the wolves as lions approach,
Never just left alone.
Kicked out of the club for being too drunk,
The ghosts have stolen your phone.


In this midnight hour a traffic cone,
Is thrown through a greenhouse window, waking up the neighbourhood.
They all see you walking back home;
“He’s up to no good.”


Cans on strings as letters of complaint leap,
Along the local grapevine.
Playing the telephone game, muggle messages,
They all watch and pass a guilty verdict; eye for an eye.
You stand accused of drinking legal beer.
Social complaints against late night cheer.


Revelry is not welcome here,
At the cul-de-sac at the end of the road of fear.
So scared of youth because envy gets old.
So cold to you because you smile like a fool.
So angry!  About nothing.
The rain pours down, feel water proof.
So pointless to have a conversation,
When you are thirty five percent proof.


The drunk is a punk to conservative ways.
They would never be that drunk in their day.


They only ever drank every time they got paid
And every day is now a liquid lunch.
Do you remember an Irish coffee breakfast,
After the after hour’s club?
Now a fine brandy, a sherry or two when visiting;
Or are you so drunk you are still misremembering?


I am righteous!  Pride takes me to church!
To drink the blood and fall asleep
And because whiskey is the only thing that gets you forward,
You lurch!
And stumble over all the pews.
You end with an almighty crash!  


Make up, slapdash,
You landed at the altar and got up to say “I do.”
You got in your car and now you are so sure;
Oh so sure, that you are pure.
You are better than they are…
Really?...
You?


And later as you blow into the straw,
You realise you are not so sure,
That you can see a way out of this.
Why not arrest them!  Instead of me!
Those stupid drunken kids!
They vandalize and disturb my peace!
What about me!  I never did a thing!
I only had a glashh or six (laughs)
And there wasn’t a…er, a lasting damage.


I’m not a drunk!
I think!
I think…

I think I love you…


What place is this...?
Where am I...?
Hey!  
Who are you!  To arrest me!  For being drunk!


The following day, you wake up and say…

What time is it?

Excuse me officer…
What day is this?

It’s Tuesday.


(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Across the lines
the sound it traveled.
Unto me
your voice unraveled
an audio frequency
Miles apart
but still you feel near
a spoken
"I love you"
is as if you have whispered
into my ear.
Accepting what you can get from time to time.
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