"keypad" poems
Every blink of the screen,
she sees his affection
through pix elated font forming
into I Love You.
She can feel the radiation
keeping their relationship, alive and electrifying.
The satellites are always on their side.
Her heart beats so fast
to the ringtone of his high-tech heart.
Every keypad pressed
are thousand sweet words expressed.
The radiation won't keep us apart,
signals will bridge our undying love.
Cause, as long we have this electronic gadgets,
I know we are in love.
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 7:36 AM UTC
The world has turned into a global village
No one can deny on that...
But..remember the phone we had placed on that beautiful table mat?
Yes...it was a matter of pride to have one..
The only fastest medium of communication we had at that time
It too had models...the rotary phone, the keypad and many fancy ones
We talked, laughed and sobbed sitting at one place as we were tied with the corded set with everyone.
It was safe.....no fear of radiation or loss of eye sight .
Though it was much too costlier than what it is today....people still communicated and talked their heart out
Now...every hand has a cell phone which comes with many features overcoming the limitation of the old one
People can connect anywhere in no time
Then why...?
We are so disconnected.....!
May be we mastered the art of telepathy?...or we are blessed with a magical wand...?
We talk no more
We only make groups
We love forwarding messages
We have become mute.....
So can we again move to landline?
Come out of the virtual world by talking to our dear ones at this time?
Can we try and understand what they are hiding behind their smiling whatsapp profiles?
Let's do things one at a time...rather than multitasking with phone on one hand and laptop on the other...
Let's give them the love and respect when one needs from your side.
So ..... sit back and dial a number of your loved one...and help the world again to become one if not through landline but may be your heartline!!
Bina Mukherjee
May 24, 2020
May 24, 2020 at 2:39 PM UTC
the desperado cowboy-poet awakes
anxious, needing-ending relief,
the craving greater than great,
he begs-raggedly, with Raggedy handily Andy words,
to all and anyone in the aroused surrounded vicinity,
give please give, of something to write
the bay, soothingly plays the would-be author,
"place me, look my way,
have I not droplets endless
from which you've drunk exquisitely,
so many more to fair share"
the birds twit and flit,
raucous caucus demanding
to be seated
by the tablet's keypad
to gain entry
to one more congressional natural tribute
the sky and sun organize a
joint session, extraordinary mission;
"we are the first of your day,
thus primarily,
we win the primary,
deserving in your recording of our
nomination as the first day's
sound and light show victorious"
sorry folks,
got a better tale to tell,
natural in its way,
titillating, and quite suitable
for reputating Au Naturel humanity
and it's a quirky, say hey tale,
morning coffee fresh,
a first word report from an
untelivised convention
of a different kind of congressing
awoke to find the:
*chauffeur in bed with the cook,
the Poppy, beside the sleeping Nana,
the poet, eyeing the lying next to him, tango dancer,
the classicist eyeing the sleeping moderne,
ditty ditsy Ogden Nash astride a Shakesperian sonnet,
the thinning gray line defending his bedded half,
from an invading horde of unionizing blonde tresses,
the republican with the democrat,
the conservative with the liberal,
heated discussions, non-neutralizing negotiations
conducting and watched by
peeping tom skies, clouds, birds and waters
pretending to fly flow past*
wow
now that,
is quite interesting
deserving worthy of a
disrobing disputatious disreputation,
very newsworthy and why not,
a poem all its own?
the bay waved goodbye,
the birds disbanded in silence,
quietly disenfranchised.
the sun and the sky hung around
pretending to be UN neutrality observers
wearing cute blue and white helmets
looking every where but not,
at the line of demarcation
the beggar, by his new impoverishment, enriched,
another love poem writ,
niched and pitched
one more itch,
so very well scratched
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 8:23 AM UTC
Canvas shoes
Highschool blues
Straight hair
but nobody cares
Slim waist
I hate the taste
Sweet talk
Ticking clock
Young love
Fake hugs
Bright blue eyes
Pitch black lies
White keypad
I'm going mad!
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 5:19 PM UTC
Bagong-bago
no'ng panahon ni Nokia
Oras-oras
keypad tinitipa
Upang maabot
ang final level
Na babalik din
sa unang level
Cheat code gamitin na
para mas masaya
Everwing ni FB
ay walang panama.
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 8:40 AM UTC
Its for your own good.
Words no one ever thought was true.
6 words no one ever believed.
Even though it is the truth.
There's a simple reason,
For people to never believe
The words of assurance
that you force on them.
Even if you tell them,
"Its for your own good"
If you'll never say why
They will always live,
With the fact that the thing,
That they wanted and loved,
At that point in time,
Was never for them.
A kid wanted a toy,
It wasn't bought.
Instead he got words that said,
"Its for your own good"
Not knowing that in time,
A new toy would come out,
That would be his,
In a lifetime than an instant.
A candy he wanted,
His mouth watering for desire
Again he never got it,
"Its for your own good"
Not knowing he'd get,
a fresh batch of cookies.
That would satisfy not only his mouth
But his stomach as well.
Wanting a smartphone today?
don't get it,
"Its for your own good" they told him
With envy of others he lived with his keypad phone.
Not knowing,
That, in a few days
A new, better, improved, and sexier. Smartphone would be released
That's why,
As I walk away from everything,
That we've built with our wounded hands.
I will tell you,
"Its for your own good"
But I will not leave without saying why.
No, I won't, I've been living with the question,
"Why" for a very long time,
So much so, That I don't want another.
"This is for your own good,
Because I know when I leave,
Someone will take my place,
By your side,
Not a boy, But a man.
Someone whose Arms would make you feel safe.
Someone whose eyes would let you see his soul.
Someone whose hearbeat would make you stop,
To stop asking why. Because for once, you'd think, that this is good.
That this is right, that everything in this messed up world,
Where everyone wants to hurt someone,
where everyone yearns for something else but you.
You've found a place that would make you feel,
That everything is as it should be.
So believe me when I say "This is for you own good'"
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 5:06 AM UTC
Night bus
And the pug nosed guy in the suit over there
Staring me down
Is a thousand broken dreams
And the young girl down there
Who looks weird
But my kind of weird
Is a thousand unexplored
And the ***** with the cap trying to finish off his crossword
Is Gil Scott-Heron
And no one sits next to me as I spill my poison through the keypad into a cracked screen
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 6:49 PM UTC
I open my eyes from another restless sleep
I realize it's you I think of down deep.
They say what matters most is where your mind wanders.
This leaves me wondering, why on you I do ponder?
Is this love, or is this lust?
I'm not even sure if in you I can trust.
I barely know you, we've only met a few times.
But I know towards you I am inclined.
I love your smile, I love your face.
When I see you my heart starts to race.
I love your humour, you break the mould.
Oh those eyes they bore into my soul.
You're witty, clever and look great in leather!
Always a smile, whatever the weather.
This was my secret I kept hidden away
Until my thumbs they began to play.
Upon the keypad of my phone
And now my feelings you do know.
Do I regret this?
No I do not, as life is too short to keep things locked.
I'll be open and honest about how I feel.
It's all just about keeping it real.
I am me that is that.
So I am glad we had that chat.
I know how I'll react though next time we meet.
I'll look away and shuffle my feet.
I'll try to avoid any eye contact.
Because I can be coy like that.
It's all about confidence and self esteem.
It's growing more and more though it would seem.
So when I do see you, I will try.
To keep my head up, and not go all shy.
I cannot believe I told you those things.
And when I look back my mind it spins.
I'm never that forward to someone I fancy.
I always think of it too chancy.
Scared of rejection I guess you could say.
Or I find it too risque.
Well this is it, I can't take it back.
I've said what I said, I was open and frank.
What's done is done and I feel more alive.
My brains just gone into overdrive!
So I like you that's it, I've let it be heard.
I relish the fact you're a bit of a nerd.
You love science and nature, and you're creative.
Not at all unappreciative.
You dance to trance and you swing from the trees.
All of this makes me weak at the knees.
Now I must stop or I'll go on all night.
But how I feel I just had to recite.
I delight in you that's it, you're one of a kind.
I can't wait for the day our bodies entwine.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
Hunting easter eggs in December,
and yet they seek me out instead.
i never find them at my pace;
standing, drunk, outside familiar
bars in the cold, randomly
dialing number combinations
to hear whispers or silences.
Radio wave transmigrations
they are, a look to the
past, a nod to the future,
a moment in stasis
where the keypad blurs,
doubles, focuses, blurs,
and i am lost one more time.
Crackling...
clearly static, the white noise
of separation, the
(hidden)
message
bro ke n
a
p
a
r
t,
perfectly human, but alone.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 9:14 PM UTC
NOTE TO POET, RAT ALUMUGUM:
Dear Sir
I saw your profile
on this site
I love your
profile
and methinks
I fall in love with you
you can send me
email
my email address is:
[email protected]
Write 2 mee
and I slew you my **** **** pix…
and maybe we can live happily ever after
DEAR REALHOTSEXBOMB:
I want to write to you
and give you all I got
but since the last time I gave all I got
I think it was to dirtybombgirl
my wife sits beside me
at the computer
and makes me read aloud every note
and every item on the screen I see
and she forces my fingers on the keypad
and she says –
her words, not mine
and her misspelling, not mine
and her opinion of me, not mine:
"Get off my idiotic man
u beach!
Don’t you steel him
and his money;
God knows
I've waited long enough
for him to die!
Go find some other sucker;
this sucker is mine!"
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 4:01 AM UTC
Ink flowed from the pen with such ferocity. He often was lost for words but not today. No today was different. The pen couldn't keep up with the words tumbling out of his headspace. The pen was thrown and the keypad assaulted. This was war. A war with himself. A war of lost words.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 12:02 PM UTC
#28 | 31 Poems for August 2016
The battle with cancer is won but unfortunately the war is not over.
White sheets and peaceful dreams, this hospital is starting to feel like home but you feel all alone.
You’ve been here for two whole weeks now and the doctor won’t tell us what’s really going on.
Your organs are slowly giving up on you, you feel like something is bound to go wrong.
White sheets and peaceful dreams, sometimes reality is not as clear as it always seems.
I pray to God that He cures you and I pray to God that He hears you, if only cancer was just a star sign.
I hope your family gets here in time, I heard the nurses say that your operation starts at eight.
I’ve been drifting in and out of sleep, I guess you’ll be in the ICU before I see you.
The battle with cancer is won but unfortunately the war is not over.
This whole thing hurts but I try my best not to let my emotions show.
It’s sad to see you drifting away like autumn leaves on a windy street.
I don’t know if heaven will patiently wait for you but I pray that you recuperate.
As soon as your family got here I inevitably cried with the rest of them.
Your days are numbered like a numerical keypad and that’s why you’ve been asking for heaven’s telephone number.
But I pray that you pull through with immense alacrity because the war is not over.
This whole thing hurts but I try my best not to let my emotions show.
White sheets and peaceful dreams, sometimes reality is not as bad as it always seems.
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 8:51 AM UTC
Clicking and clacking, keypad strums,
Shouting every word it conjures,
From the mind of the insane,
To visions quite humane;
*Unsettling *********** of words.*
I serve not to your entertainment;
Sovereignty still reigns,
It is yours to spend a tad of time, or not,
I merely am placing my thoughts with words;
For it might explode if I bottle it in my brain.
Masterpiece would be an overstatement;
Nonsense would, truly, be an understatement,
Mediocrity seems to fit my anecdotes,
For what one sees in front of them,
May hide something much more hideous.
Wrap your thoughts in my words,
I implore you in your attention,
Yet, who am I to fend off nobody?
I may speak highly for myself,
But, honey, I try to sound like everybody else.
My ears buzz with white noises,
Words seem to fly off my head,
Like a flock of birds startled briskly,
Quite a description, I know, I've tried,
But I just seem to be a distasteful poet.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 1:31 AM UTC
Swipe left, swipe right
Swipe left again.
The familiar heart shape of a match pings a new life into the shimmering screen.
As I press letters into my keypad,
Forming words that my friends and I have constructed
As if the words on the buzzing screen
Were a fine art only we had mastered.
And that was how our story began
Swipes, typing, buzz.
Laughter and scrutiny from my friends and I to your reply.
Adds, follows, likes...
Then the little read icon
Had been left idle and blue for days,
No double text, or vaguely targeted picture could tempt him.
Then back again,
Swipe left, swipe right...
Followed by more typing and blue ticks.
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 6:25 PM UTC
Relentless buzzing,
Eagerness to make contact,
The thrill of the chase.
Mushy sweet nothings
Hugs and kisses, I love you.
Honeymoon period
Fingers hovering,
keypad ready and waiting-
"Read with no reply"
Three successive beeps
One minute of hanging on,
Calls never returned.
Desperate beeping,
Threats of violence and suicide,
Curtain call for love.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 11:36 PM UTC
It has been 20 something years.
And on a single day within layers of hours.
I've felt a shrug for the first time.
Like pins on the pillow you have
left behind when all the dust have settled.
The ball has dropped. A million times.
And then some.
And on a slope slippery and distinctly
overwhelmed.
I've felt a beat within my rib-cage
slightly loud that it has shaken me
in sleep.
The dust you have left to shrivel
still dances around my plethora
of emotions, unsettled.
And, I'm standing here, surrounded by
what could have been
but should have never been.
Saved by frantic clicks
on a keypad. Typing into the existential
delusions of your listless memories.
I have stood here, unshaken, by the mistakes
we have accumulated down the polarizing roads.
And the dainty trickling down the drain.
I am standing and withstanding
a shootout of the most frivolous nature.
Like the pins striking this pillow
in a poetic wave of dissonance.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 5:04 PM UTC
Quivering lip under my teeth,
wide eyed I stared into the blank.
It lured me a moment earlier
now it just disappeared.
So I peeked into my subconscious
unbounded by the passing time
Waiting to be struck by that perfect rhyme.
Jun 18, 2020
Jun 18, 2020 at 8:14 AM UTC
The sheep are shorn.
The lambs have flown.
The rams are caged.
The ewes left alone.
The fleece now woven on foreign shores,
And the toilets are flushed,
Filling sewers strewn with rebel nails.
Near embers of tri-coloured blazes
We hear yarns of ancient wages,
Now spinning in their graves.
Our heirs have no airs of their own.
No promises kept for mothers weeping.
There is no wool on the wheel at home.
The keypad is the abattoir,
The counter a barred cage.
John Barry faces East,
The Rebel faces West:
One for reliance,
One for defiance.
All wait in requiem silence.
The Dailys wrap the Dail
Stained with lamb's blood.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
Whenever I am done with
LEAVE
My keypad auto-correct and makes it
LEARN.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 12:37 PM UTC
the poetic soul
screams love!
there can be
no greater poem
than one written
with a broken heart
passion oozes
from fingers
typing words
encased in agony
a being
wallowing in self pity
makes oh, such embraceable poetry
blood soaked keypad
from overworked fingers
desperate to convey
the pain held within
give me a spirit
crushed by love
and i will give you
a kick *** poem!
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 10:22 PM UTC
A reminder of a boy i once liked—
He used to slip me love letters before class,
Sketched in shaky handwriting,
Decorated with crayons I had once given him.
At the bottom, two ducks floated side by side.
Back then, I thought it was the sweetest thing.
Now I roll my eyes and smile—
How silly it seems.
He picked wildflowers,
From the schoolyard fence,
Told me they were as pretty as me,
And tucked them into my hair
My cheeks burned hotter
Than the blazing afternoon sun.
At night, I would stay up too late,
Texting him on my old flip phone,
Pretending to snore
Whenever my parent peeked in.
I swear my heart was pounding louder
Than the phone's plastic keypad.
Back then,
I swore he was the only boy
Who could ever exist in my world—
A match made in heaven, I thought.
Though low-key,
I was too shy to say it out loud.
Sep 1, 2025
Sep 1, 2025 at 12:57 PM UTC
20yrs, 5 free.
Nokia keypad.
Isolation free.
A smart user ?
Freaked out by early morning alarm calls. This life we create - symbols on monopoly boards, roll the dice, wait ya turn, play your part.
May 18, 2019
May 18, 2019 at 2:53 PM UTC
I'm a person in whom you see;
a friend, a lover and a compeer,
The letters you type late night
on keypad comes to me,
And when the power cuts and
your mind starts making phantoms
you dial my number,
Late-night cravings, scholarly discussion,
A video call in the morning,
And on a certain day, a certain moment
I bend on my knee and ask you to be mine
forever. And you, nod in YESSSS!!!!!!
Ah! Love, thou unruly dictator!
I sat to read for exams
instead started dreaming a dream
of some other world.
I'm mad, hopeless, pathetic,
and sometimes sounds creepy too,
But how can I comfort
the sad, deluding, and longing heart?
Is there any medicine or herb?
How can I love and hide the flame of it
from you?
I'm doomed like a moth
flinging myself deliberately into fire.
Dec 21, 2020
Dec 21, 2020 at 2:18 PM UTC
Kisses,
sweet fake kisses
on the keypad.
Kisses that
could be on his cheek.
Give it a year,
or a month or
maybe even a week.
I read a small quote
that said it's not love
if you only want them at night;
it's lust.
The quote said
something like that;
it's not love if it doesn't feel
right.
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 5:48 PM UTC
I wander through primordial moments
when the tapping of a keypad
becomes the substance of
standing on the floor naked.
****** is truth.
It is when the fabrics bought
from corporate stores no longer
disguise your carcass truth.
I find myself yelling like a
wounded animal dying.
Pretending that the icicles
shoved into my veins
are only secret encounters.
Nobody notices the contradiction
of white flesh dripping blood.
I hug the eggshells of words
that will not be silenced anymore.
They are my words. My truth.
Unlike the falsehoods that will
be contained in my obituary.
Vacant phrases that shall inform
of the dates and people connected
to my worldview. I shall not be
allowed to edit the content. Exposed
like a rock left on the grass.
Pick me up. Digest me. Tell
stories of things I did, embellished
as stories told tend to be.
In my coffin, I shall be naked
underneath the clothing. My
truth will be not be set free.
We are all **** bodies
fearful
of
confronting
our
truth.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 5:40 PM UTC