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Hillary Magee Nov 2017
You looked through me,
And I called to you.
Wrong number
Andrew Kerklaan Nov 2015
Don't expect a call this year

Or the next one or even the one that follows...

I'm hanging up

My phone is disconnected


(and I am too)


Good riddance
Sofia Chavez May 13
Sometimes I catch myself
remembering the smile you had
when my fingers traced the lines of your face
your neck
shoulders
hips.
The way the sun came in through your windows.
The noise you'd make when I'd nudge you.
A reminder to wake up,
to hold me closer.
The warmth of your thin comfter
the only thing protecting us
from the day.

I want to pick up the phone
but I can't call you.
I won't ever hear your laugh.
Sometimes I worry
that my memories won't last.
I want to call and say:
Do you remember when we kissed for real.
When you looked at me and said
"I've been waiting for this
for a long time"

Now everything that existed
is just mine.
And no one will ever remember
how we shivered
under your thin comforter
hidden from the day.
The thing I hate most about death is I have no one to help me remember my favorite memories. Im so afraid to forget.
ymmiJ Apr 26
catching a note of it always
takes me back, magically,
to young summers, younger loves,
when Tom Petty ruled
you were my American Girl
dribbling off John Cougars
Bobby Brooks in my small town
worlds away from here and now
might've been on Pink Floyd's
The Dark Side Of The Moon,
with Ziggy Stardust and
The Spider From Mars
so far a single note takes me
when turning round the dial
apologies for the edit, lost the signal the first go round
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
The world's gone mad but my mind is made up.
Time to let ya'll into the darkroom of my mind,
A place where I'm the referee of a poetic world cup.
This is where I am creative even though I'm blind
Don't get me wrong I am not leaving from town.
No more radio or TV saturated with all the sad news,
I have got enough breaking news of my very own...
Breaking to me each and every moment as it brews.
Come and meet the hard drive of my creative doom,
That contains my beautiful and liberated mind.
Welcome to my one bright side I call my darkroom,
It's a place that's so special, I reckon it's one of a kind.

You have to know that I always act blind but I see.
In my mind, I can walk stack naked and levitate.
My mind is where I remain totally black and free.
Come join me set my poetic dial and help me activate,
The code that will outshine any power on this earth.
My mind is where I live and where nobody has access,
Here I can run a poetic marathon without taking a breath,
Call it my playground and intellectual fortress.

My mind is deep, a place of absolute calm and refuge,
Somewhere I will always see as the final frontier.
It is dangerous and toxic like a nuclear centrifuge.
In there, I am all alert and vigilant like a soldier.
My mind is a darkroom where I give birth to new ideas.
It is a vessel and place in which I do magic with letters.
It is my holy land of thoughts, my own creative Judea,
Where each idea is sacred and light as bird feathers.

Welcome to the epicenter of my creative mind.
This is where I turn letters into spoken words
A front line of creativity where no one leaves behind.
Come and see where all words become useful swords.
My mind produces powerful words like some light beams...
Courageous and powerful words for extra motivation.
Spoken Words that will light up people's faded dreams.
Now you know that up in my mind are no limitation,
There exists an enormous capacity of time and space.
Welcome one, welcome all to the darkroom of my mind
Take a seat and be calm, be quiet this is my place
For this here is my personal creative post of command.



www.poemhunter.com/IvanBrookssr
#Vanguard-poetry23
#IvanBrookspoetry
twitter @ivanclappers
@Bassapoet
My mind is the final frontier..the bright side I call my darkroom where I process loose letters into spoken words.
Bella Jul 2018
I Send my words hurling into your airway like swords
I bite off your tongue with every sharp response my body conjures
I have every witty comeback on speed dial to drill into your spine
The way your **** drilled into mine Pull old pennies from my pockets and throw them into your eyes
So you may not look at me the way you have for so long
You're are barely worth my pennies anyways
Here's a donation to your sorry ***
How about I grasp your neck, at just the right spot, just hard enough, to crush your voice box
To dwindle your air pipe just a little
So you cannot throw those trash comments at anyone else
How about I crack each of your fingers
Push them deep into your pockets
So that you can't feel anything without remembering me
You look at me like a mannequin in the window of your favorite retail store
You try yo put a price on what I'm worth
Maybe you can try me on
Throw me on the floor
Grab another
How about I tattoo my name on your chest
So that you cannot take off another piece of clothing
Take off another girl
Throw them in the floor
And not remember me
You will never throw me on the floor again
For I am permanently burned into your chest
How about I burn off each hair on your body
One at a time let it Sizzle down and sear the skin
Let each tiny poor feel the pain one at a time over and over and over again
Until you are left, raw

This
Is the day I speak back when you catcall me from across the street
Joanna 2d
Change is evident to anyone who can see pieces of the puzzle come together as a key.

Stages come and go, and yet it can seem slow to the one who is unaware. Somethings that happen are just unfair.

Levels of growth appear shallow and strained, especially for one just coming in out of the rain.

Two steps forward and one step back, today has ended feeling off track.

Just the same, there is a determined climb to overcome obstacles, and find strength in the midst to go the mile.

Change is real even when there seems no real chance to move the dial.
To read more of my writings go to: http://reflectionsoflight7.wixsite.com/home
Bryce Jun 2018
Gliding deftly along the city street
rolling quick and constantly
onward to some unknown scene,
some backward park in the nighttime
smoke curling from these
parted lips, moist and inviting
calling me somewhere I've never seen.

New day, new night
new feelings, rage in delight
fill me with your hilarious entropy,
knock my quarks into the next century,
will you please?

Now you're smoking the pipe and all at once you are free
between you and me, this smoke is thicker and sticks
like glue,
wispy and dreamy and the world spins and calls Toltec
telephone company can't pay me for all those calls collected
and rendered obsolete
Sun god dead as that silly calendar meme

Amaterasu,
and Imma tell you
these ladies in the picnic table
buried alive for boxed lunch and god's brunch
Jesus ******* Christ
and a indelible roster of good guys,
to which we all must strive to live and die
behind,
never moving forward
chasing our tails like a sick dog
under the jasmine runner between the decades-old tanbark
imported from overseas
dead trees
dead canine
and oh isn't it just divine?

You see it, pretty lady.
I can see it hiding behind your eyes
the things you don't tell the others because you're afraid
if they found out,
you'd be crucified.

Well honey I hate to inform,
With KGB efficiency that these love-a-dumbs
aint Methuselah,
they'll be dead!
long before your flood of tears tears me from the land
ballistas me across the great expanse to some strange Ararat
of the eastern seaboard,
or maybe wash me deep along the 80
into the desert sands and tiles
on a leaky cell phone screen
desperately trying to dial home on low battery,
realizing all this was one big deferred dream,
baking in the sun and shriveling
oh well, back to the grindstone-- all those lies plucked your nose,
gotta cut it back to size,
'else your soul it'll outgrow

Don't worry honey bee
It hasn't happened to me,
and We know with calcuable mathematical truth
that it'll never happen to you.
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
And so the Pu'erh and Jasmine Lily
pearls are covered, my attention on
the Phoenix Eye pearls, and I peel back
the foil of a small handful. Ainhana had
carefully remove the infuser and I pour
in the pearls, listening as they gently
hit the glass.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
As soon as Ainhana places the infuser
back in the tea ***, I turn the sand-dial
and watch the cream sands run, and the
pearls steep. I dare not let it run for the
full five minutes - I find the perfect brew is
made in three. The pearls now unfurl, the
green leaves now floating. The clear water
turns into the colour of the finest champagne.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
After three minutes, Ainhara pours me a cup,
the aroma itself puts me more at ease.
'Do not waste it,' I tell her, holding the
handle and saucer. 'Such fine pearls can
be steeped twice, and I will make sure that
I treasure every single cup.'
'Yes, My Lady,' She says with a curtsy.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
With my eyes closed, I blow away some
steam and proceed to sip short and brief.
It is a pleasure that is most welcome, indeed!
Teeming with the fires of the Phoenix itself
and caressing my tongue with floral sweetness.
A delicious moan escapes me as I relax in
my Summer Throne.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
My breathing is calmed as I look at
the horizon with redolent eyes.
The choirs sing as I drink such fine
ambrosia! By a cup of Pearls, mine
own eyes feel inspired, as I think of
the lovely vision that is the Phoenix
that is born of the lotus.
Adieu, stresses of Court!
Adieu, plagues of doubt and anger!
Thy Queen is now jocund dove.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
'Truly the finest Jasmine Pearls I've
had in years!' I beam. 'Be sure to share
this with my fellow Kings and Queens.
Especially Queen Kim. In such a golden
hour, we shall become Dream Children,
to be lost in gardens of distant China.'
'Yes, My Queen.' Ainhara waves her hand,
Semui and Ilazi now resume play.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
As I sip once again, the summer
showers come. Lo! My gazebo
glistens! Cleansed by the light,
and life for my fields of my
fair gardens.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
This blend cleanses the fire of my heart.
This blend casts out sorrows for me to
drink beauty.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
A  liquor the shade of champagne with
the flames of life budding from a
delicate flavour.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
The Phoenix merges with me, for I
am the star of the morn that graces
my Aurelinaea!

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Such a blend of elegance in my tongue,
a heavenly euphony. How I'm forever in
awe of the power of
my Jasmine Pearls.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Final part of my Jasmine Pearls free verse!
Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed it! ^-^
Lyn ***
karin naude Mar 2013
peoples mouth's open and close
i see there lips moving and expressions on the face
I don't hear anything?
blah blah blah never real words
no, i am not deaf
sounds fill space but nothing worthwhile connects
wireless communication. instant messaging. one button dial
things are loved people are purposely overlooked and used
money wasted on motivational speaking
hours convincing the self: "i am right they need a lesson"
make believe bandages running with harness

love exchanged for Pandoras box
if I only knew then what I knew now, would have chosen....
wishes are well intended feathers on the wind
God catches them at the end of the world
he reads them with water filled eyes
original sin we all followed loud and proud
foolish Independence
we all assume to want the same, mostly love, how come?
we give up in a whimper, lack of endurance?
how colder the storm greater the harvest - grandpa

a soul desperate for salvation and peace
yet, motivated to strive
follow the curve in the walls,
feel it, listen ,it speaks
breath breath breath
you will touch light eventually or die trying
Dogfood Williams Aug 2013
a short bald man with
a big belly lives nearby
and from out of his furflesh cave
he peeks out once or twice a night
to remind me that he
is the only company I have any more
and he is the worst company to keep
he'll come over at the worst possible hours
while I am working
while I am crying
we'll party til he pukes
right in my lap

I want him out, I want him gone
I want to think.
He is the ghost that will light a fire
in someone's yard, spit in a face
and dash to leave me with the mess
I want to cut him out of my life, this
parasitic twin that drains all creation from
me

I was a good person until I
met him late on the computer screen
dial up noise, legs hoisted high
I was only looking for a magician
he crawled in to bed with me and
my green nightshirt went dark
and the wolf in my room
crusted over with rot and oil
Lewis Hyden Nov 2018
Some decades back, in actual fact,
Being heard was feared.
Corded phones and dial tones
Were oft routinely cleared;

The worry was a 'wire-tap',
Domestic speech taboo.
The rumor was, in essence, that
If said, the White House knew.

Nowadays, this fear we lack,
And cheerfully obey.
Now we ask, "Hey, wire-tap,
What's the weather like today?"
A poem about technology.
#3 in the Distant Dystopia anthology.

© Lewis Hyden, 2018
Always walking that line
Always tempting fate
All these temptations calling me
I attempt to numb pain

Got the temperature rising
Know I can be temperamental
My temper’s ‘bout to unleash
Doing something regretful

A temporary escape
From two to ten on the dial
The temper-tantrum and screams
Like a tempestuous child

Perhaps a temporal shift
Like Anty Em’ on the farm
The tempest carries away
Ship wrecked alone I am gone

My template shows me the way
Temptress I can not escape
Contemptuously I have temperance
Finding tempo ‘til break

A temple shrine I pay tribute
Silently contemplate
Lord please grant me forgiveness
For my wrongs and mistakes
Written - December 25, 2017

All rights reserved.
Andrew Oct 2017
I have raised hackles
And wear grey shackles
They're distractions in my brain
They kind of sound like chains
They hold me still
Until I get my fill
And secure myself
To endure this hell

You tighten the screws
I'm beaten and bruised
Please don't stop
You're like the cops
I depended on your aggression
Then shocked by your secession
I wanted to be shot through the palms of my hands
That was the most pathetic part of my plan
You called my bluff
And put me in cuffs
You took away my agency
And then exited hastily
You're just part of the chain of rain
That will eventually stain my brain

I wear shackles
I hear cackles
There's amusement they find
In the fact that I'm blind
In the fact that I'm crying
In the fact that I'm trying
My miserable life is a joke to them
They think I have a broken stem
They callously disconnect my links
So they can crawl through my fence
Trying to change what I think
Making me constantly feel tense
So I can be what they hate
That'll make them feel great
I have to restrain reactions
Throughout our interaction
They're looking for reasons to hate me
And ways to grate me
And deflate me
I must dial my love back
Before they attack
My mind must be restrained
In this life I'm engrained
Umi Mar 13
A disconnected future,
Beholds a world of dying embers,
Of a passion burning only so strong,
The pocket watch of blood, eversince dried up,
Time has come to an absolute standstill,
Yet, our precious memories are timeless,
As we move on from that past.

~ Umi
Losing your passion for something is not necessarily a bad thing, as long as the bittersweet memories of that time remain
L B Sep 2018
My friend and I talk about it
Neighborhood got decimated this year
One after another the corners of community are gone
We touch the elder memories
as one might touch a head in blessing
as loved ones pass

We linger longest over John

Found dead after ten hot days
by other-worldly hazmat crew
flanked by cruisers
with their special, yellow truck
and zipper bags

...found 'im
glasses folded neatly on the night stand
in his jammies
all tucked into bed

No one thought it strange
that strange young guy would die
already decomposing in his head
Lost
among his personal effects
his fleet of rusting cars
and half-assed projects
Deck tacked to garage
his herds of “pets”

Easy to pretend he wasn't really there
between jail stints or some imagined threat or theft
of crap
haunted by the shadows of his persecutors
caught in motion lights
and cameras' blinding evidence of
jungle-jumble and malfunctioning car alarms
going off in the wind
Everyone's out to get his stuff
We could dismiss him--

mostly
sorta

...except for times
he mowed his grass at night
or hand-built “the lunatic tower”
just for mom
from scavenged scraps and
hammered hours
power-sawed
through the housing codes
and horror of the neighbors...
...Such a special spectacle...

******* crazy-- John!

He was enough for one day at a time
like when

he flung that threatening bolder
on his bilco doors
for percussive effect

Get off my ******' property!”
(not using his “inside voice”)
“Next time, that'll be your head!!

He announces his intent
to not get mad, behave himself
to call the cops on me instead
Fake-dialing
While his mother screams in dread
“John is off his meds!”

My phone is set to speed dial
911
__

“How did we miss this?
How did we not miss him those quiet days?”

How we miss him now
How quiet
Every neighborhood has one,  and I do miss him.  John provided endless daily entertainment and angst.  Sometimes he was a truly friendly neighbor; sometimes, truly scary.  We had many long conversations.  My beloved cat, Bailey adored him.  I took that as a good sign.  John cried when Bailey was found dead.  I have entrusted them to each other's care in heaven.

Jesus, forgive John his failures and his torments.  I take his place dutifully as the local crazy.  :)
aura Jan 15
picked up the phone after one too many years
after "i'll do it later," and never "now."

missed hellos, goodbyes, how are yous,
i love yous and me toos.

wished i got another chance to dial your tone
to tell you everything i always meant to.
call your mom.
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