Saki Wang May 20
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 14
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.
Star BG Jan 31
A voice vaguely familiar
echoed on phone line.
The kind of line
filled with black birds
ready to take flight and paint skies
with their bodies black to hide sun.

The voice that trampled
on dreams long gone.
Stabbing knife in heart
where love once grew.
Heart-dreams
that floated away
when their voice
severed our relationship.

A voice now out of blue,
coming back to haunt.
Silence encourage him
to continue his sorry song.

And when he concluded,
I simply said "No."
And hung up the phone.
Got an annoying  telemarketing call but it sparked this.
xuans Oct 2017
two cans, held together with strings
a common thread in ways we think
like telepathy
but better

the way our eyes would meet
and suddenly your mind i read
how your words echoed itself on the insides of my mind
even as we sat together, silent

you lay your hands on me, gently
getting to know me
and in doing so, entangling
the red thread between us, binding

the connection, complicated
strings tied up against each other
words once warm, now lost in translation
muffled, and audible no longer

i see you, no distance between us
yet your words...unintelligible
"do i know you?"
perhaps...only in the past

all these words I want to place lightly on your skin
like cold raindrops skimming your chin
a warm embrace,
a beautiful face.

i guess i got too caught in my mind,
realisation came too late
a broken connection
was all i find

two cans, each other repelling
in many ways saddening.
a mystery
left open-ended forever.
haven’t been writing poetry for a really long time now, I’m finally back! :)
timestopper Jul 2017
I wore my three piece suit
combed my hair back
after wearing my wrist watch.
I had my phone book ready
to go to the neighborhood telephone,
500 meters away.
In 5 minutes I shall reach.
Here I am, at the phone booth.
Phone book opened,
quarters and dimes ready
spinning the dial, number by number.*
Ringing...

No answer.
All you had to do is swipe your finger on a screen.

Maybe it's I who's selfish
because I never stayed, to find out if you ever called back
Em Sep 2016
phone lines connect to phone wires
and birds sit on telephone wires
Together.
we don't sit Together
but I can't fly away
I Wait -
like mothers wait up at night for their teenage daughters,
like the Moon waits for the Sun to set,
but they never meet each other's peaks
and neither do we.
we drive our lives on Parallel lines,
and you have tinted windows
that only allow your rear-view mirror to know your eyes
as well as I wish I did.
and Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
but your lips have never called Beauty in my presence
and nothing of yours has held anything of mine -
I want to make a connection between these polar opposite poles
where birds sing Love songs
and flock Together.
beneath their feet there is
Nothing
coming through.
but I'm waiting for your call.
a random ramble for a slow friday afternoon
Sean Tierney Jun 2016
you've figured
it out
my single minded
frequency

and
I raise
my arms
in protest
*or to best catch
your accurate
call
another re-write. the book is coming together fast!!
And I waited;
Waited, and waited.
Waited for the telephone to ring,
Waited for the silence to subside.
Trust me, the silence was deadly.
Trust me, it gave me goosebumps,
On these forearms.
Remember, how you used to hold my hand tight?
Remember, how I used to embrace you proudly?
Do you even remember the days,
When you used to luxuriate on my shoulders?
Trust me, I really want those days back.
Notwithstanding the best of memories made,
The telephone remained silent.
Life turned hostile.
But I waited.
Waited, and waited.
Waited for long,
Waited, for at least an explanation.
Waited by the side of the window,
From where the old tree could be seen.
Do you remember that old tree,
Where we used to rest after tiring bicycle rides?
Do you even remember the autumn evenings,
When we used to burn the dry leaves for some warmth?
And now, the tree, has shed all its leaves.
It was dressed as a beautiful bride some days ago,
But now, she has left all her ornaments.
Whatever it is, summer is on its way again,
One more autumn passed by.
But the telephone did not ring.
It was dead silent.
Trust me, I could not sleep all this while,
Not even did I doze for a minute.
Still I waited.
Waited for long.
And now, I'm tired,
Tired of waiting,
Waiting, for at least an explanation.
And hence, I'm sleepy.
And hence, I'm drowsy.
I kept my senses active,
As long as my bodily system could permit,
But, trust me,
Now I'm tired;
Tired of waiting.
Hence, I shall sleep;
Sleep, the deepest of slumbers.
And maybe, the telephone will ring then.
Sean Tierney Feb 2016
like a quickly sinking
telephone
(through schools
of painted eye
mermaids
in gold lace)
ringing
all the way
to Heracleion
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