"rolodex" poems
Are you listening to the whispers? are you feeling scandalised?
Harbouring ***** little feelings that you wanna sanitise?
Walk through the swinging doors of a catholic franchise
Ask em for that sailors knot a black-n-white man-ties
To the pairs of prying eyes his practical rebuke
Is a marital disguise and a tactical puke
Throw the garter ‘mongst the pigeons, the voluntary victims...
Whose single minds are filled with matrimonial conviction
Paired up poets pool their miseries; the price of art
Each miserable synergy - the sum of its parts
Did he swear that he’d hold you ever dear to his heart?
To love and to cherish til your knees did part?
If she wants you like her father and you want her like your mother
What the hell are you gonna do when you’re bored of one another?
There she stands on ceremony all silk and sinew
While the vow evicted from his Adam’s apple continues
To stutter as the panic builds like stifled farts
Til it splutters its devotions on her lady parts
Her eyes sentence you to sit though your neck-hairs stand
She’s the ****** ****** written in the lines on your palm
Old scores squeeze sideways through her gritted teeth
And he takes on the debt of every promise she believed
Hide the love-bites in a polo-neck, your love life in a Rolodex
When the ***** hand of happen-stance runs its evil down your keks
Cos like the indelible digits on your bathroom mirror
Love is for life until you dress it with liquor
If she wants you like her father and you want her like your mother
What the hell are you gonna do when you’re bored of one another?
We are but experiments, seven billion shades of wrong
The clever ones stay celibate, the others pass it on
That’s an easy line to settle-on in present company
Single-riders in the peloton to pick up the debris
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 5:44 PM UTC
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Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 6:24 PM UTC
[page 1] I already regret writing this to you. I already regret sharing this with you. I've already told you, before, but I'm bursting---I'm skidding, like my brakes are busted--- bottling-it-all, inside. And, a wise man once told me, "If it's eating you up, you should ink it, all-out." I just wish I could remember whose words those were.
Sometimes, when I'm searching the Rolodex, for the right-scene, you've been around, to remind me. [Almost-like, you'd read along.] You tell me, you assume "I'm always awake," and, I would only elaborate: with-fear, my dear, for falling asleep would draw you back, to my dreams.
See, and I've said this (to much poorer souls than yours), [page 2] before I allow my ambitions the axiom, certainty must surround the word "love" like an aura. My so-flawed system of authentication, of authority, in my own-hearted matters, starts and ends with my dreaming. Only three romances have recurred. Randomness is much more regular. Rarely do my dreams speak with structure, or in-a-story. That real random. [The reason I'm a poet?] Flying symbols, from "seven hells," heavens, or highways. If you left the top-down, or had a bad-day.
[Relax, Flagstaff]
sighs
[Ready, again?]
Ready.
...
Jul 25, 2015
Jul 25, 2015 at 4:19 AM UTC
***
Cabin Boy
-------------------------------------
Wondering memories of wild adolescence,
Flash before me like a mental Rolodex
Reverberating daze,
Time cannot take away.
A fifteen–year–old,
Broken neck calypso.
Gazing through the jungle-o window
Unequipped to fathom what was about to happen.
I saw the moon in your eyes,
And knew;
You smile in the way that islands do,
And the zephyrs planned to bring your love back to me, too.
You were everything I imagined.
Sunlight on a dismal day,
The lone palm in the tropic heat,
A boyish grin that made my flowers bloom;
You were the Cabin Boy.
Realizing, all you can be at 23
is yourself.
And I am the wanderer's wandering daughter.
The pretty little minor that come hell or high water,
You broke California law for.
I waited at your f i n g e r
t
i
p
s
Just his little Pisces ********
Who didn't exist till 1996.
An inevitable source of panic that would rise in his eyes
Every time he kissed,
Her Kona lips.
Until deciding he had to leave,
Claiming island fever, on his way out the back door.
Lost as a half-gone waning moon.
With only the ocean’s waves continuous roar
Sun burnt, white foam, salt spray,
Condemned - to an inevitable end
Unable to prevail past the break at your soul's cliff edge.
I grab a raft to float;
In the deep waters of the heart.
Somewhere in between the no -
longer & the still -
to-come
Washed upon my soul’s sand.
Reaching out with new green shoots -
Resurrecting the chthonic biome
From deep within the molten core
Till the blocky incline fell away,
And I found myself;
On the surface of a lake of solidified lava.
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 9:59 PM UTC
Once I feel a little comfort
I'll start blabbering about my dreams in progress
She's so supportive
thinks I'm a renaissance man
for all I find important
all the albums and paintings I've planned
Young da Vinci to a T
Little she know I don't dot my eyes
So I'm just sitting there
looking at a bland pole
with blurry vision
She's too great
so my childish totem's fade
cause all I want is you babe
Streaming binges on the couch
I sense the boredom bubbling up
So I start sifting through that rolodex
of perfect dates in my head
Walking through the naval museum
I still sense things are out of step
'cause a flawless Connery impression
just fell flat
I double down
beat the dead horse
of course, of course
So we sat down on the bench
across from the U.S.S. She don't give a ****
We talk about us
and I'm hit with a brick
"You used to wanna be a rock star
write books, teach college
and travel far
What ever happened to the "Will to Power"
you never used to shut up about
You're just content to be a hobbyist simp
that talks big and likes to hold my hand
I fear I'm holding you back
You've gotten so lazy since we met"
I wipe the brick from my face
and explain that my mind
is the only chains
that stopped me from doing those things
I was never even happy with those lofty dreams
She got me outta a dark place
and I'm content with just
strumming chords on my front porch
and exploring Western New York
So long as it's with someone more gorges than Ithaca
And you'll be my Penelope
She says she doesn't deserve me
but as she stares at Lake Erie
I know she means that I'm not the man she hoped I was
I used to rap about snatching power and holding gold
while beating myself like an opus dei catholic
just for being too lazy and not doing enough
I'm sorry you made me comfortable and happy enough
to live a modest life
(Oh good tidings of comfort and joy
comfort and joy)
Now I'm alone again
and it's opening day
Wreck myself with unachievable goals
just to reel them in
Get secure and balanced 'till
they'll throw me back into the mercury waves
I'm an ancient treasure in the making
don't excavate me.
Aug 16, 2020
Aug 16, 2020 at 6:55 PM UTC
2178. Pluto has since made its full rotation. The moon is like the inside of a blood orange, and the stars are so close they seem fake. A dusty blanket of pink fog seems to be pinned over this place and last for miles ahead and behind. Caught in the middle; no parallel road lines; just black earth and rocks that creep up the sides of my boots, wet, despite the dry air—perhaps, (we are heavier, here, now…); bodies float in crystalline ovals, feeding each other fruit, dancing, sleeping, making love. There used to be stocky solar powered homes there and every other driveway cradled a Subaru and bikes laid out like bodies after war on patches of manufactured grass, cut to fit neurotic lawns, and it always smelled like the mist that escaped the first crack of a bucket of crab...Where is that ocean, now? Always, the same song of cicadas versus house crickets; the gentle lull of a garbage can on wheels being pushed down gravel; the soles of shoes massaging concrete sidewalks, back and forth; the man who always left his porch lights on for his dead wife to find. I touch my belly; a tiny foot tries to pierce my thin skin; 2016. All of the planets are where they should be; the rolodex of trains to Philly and Boston and Greenwich and D.C. flips furiously. There are no flying cars, Frank.
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 3:32 PM UTC
No ******* just killer heels,
Raincoat covering my gifts.
You loosen your tie and slip off your shoes,
Anticipation all over your face.
Computer chair swiveled towards me,
Grind on you slow,
Your big soldier salutes.
Mounting your desk, swish my hair.
Jackets on the ground now,
My legs spread and in the air,
Your hungry for me Sir,
I will hold all your calls.
Tongue punching my lily,
Slick and ready,
Your starving for me now,
I will cancel your 3 o clock.
Door locked, you are naked bar
the tie and maroon dress socks.
Long day at the office dear,
Gonna have to work overtime.
Pounding me now, your Rolodex fallen
I take the minutes of my moans,
Been wanting this for ages,
CEO was always my favorite position.
Dripping, your package filling my ******
Corporate stress meets carnal greed,
Desk and I taking a pounding,
I now know what goes on underneath your suit.
Braced against the filling cabinet,
"I will get right on that, Boss,"
Your hand on my *** thumb in my mouth,
Always the best at securing raises.
The little secretary that could,
My name in the past,
I take minutes as you nut,
Dictated, but not signed, Lyla
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 12:35 AM UTC
Basil leaves and cigar smoke,
touch my olfactory bulb,
Harvey Danger's Sitta plays,
explaining I'm not sick, just unwell.
Pool chlorine fragrances,
trigger spinning Rolodex cards,
ejecting a memory of parties past,
I shake the ice in my empty glass.
Sweet and sticky simple syrup,
muddled basil, a pinch of salt,
lemon juice waters the mouth,
the piney taste of Bombay gin.
Shaking now, the sound of ice,
an avalanche of sound and flavor,
now ready to slide into my cup,
refilled, to the night and my chair.
The warp and wrap of leaves,
feel familiar in my hand,
as does the clip of the end,
the flick of a lighter flame.
Couple of Puffs and I enjoy,
Earth and spice notes,
I blow out a cloud of smoke,
quickly carried on the desert breeze.
I lean back in my chair,
another puff or two,
a long sip of basil smash,
and reflect on yesterday and today.
Sep 6, 2017
Sep 6, 2017 at 8:02 AM UTC
It isn’t Paris but it is.
As the light washes
over late afternoon
walls full of us and
other people’s lives.
As the music charms
our old bones we can
add context to our list
of rolodex happenings.
As the shadows hint at
mystery beneath every
shining moment we can
justifiably glint and smile.
It isn’t Paris…but it is.
Tony Noon
Jun 30, 2025
Jun 30, 2025 at 5:22 AM UTC
On my desk...
I have this very special Rolodex
I keep it filled with poems and ideas
When I'm in need, I crack the lid
It's no surprise...
I find them easily cause they're alphabetized
From A to Z...I have been saving
Pull one out for most any occasion
Wedding day...
Called to give a toast, I know what to say
I've done my best on this several times
I've even done it in the form of a rhyme
If there's a birth...
I look under B for rhyme and verse
So I have the right words I need to say
On this special day of all days
If I find a girl...
And want to give her and I a whirl
I flip over to L for the things I like
Or even love if given the time
So you can see...
Why I keep my Rolodex under lock and key
If it ended up lost or in the wrong hands
It would certainly throw off all that I am
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 8:20 AM UTC
its the impact
and the implant
that survive this stance
this attraction
I want it to last
between us that we could advance
into another level
of human being
one that obey rules of action
to behave in
and stay that way
we then trickle into separate rooms
choose our future
I know its cocooned either way
and then cached into the files
in that steel frame
when we then return
rolling out like a rolodex of information
waving it in front of each others face
like a roll of hundred dollar bills
and we undo the band
hand out a few
in either direction
to which their rolls others will add
I sincerely appreciate it.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
The kind of day that urges you to observe.
Learn what time-kissed Victorian bricks exist,
drink and reminisce above the high street.
Soar for a while, before hooked back to ground.
Our Member of Parliament is storming down
that beloved stretch of patterned cement.
Stand fully charged, a magnet waiting for contact.
Lenses in my sockets analyse wicked entourage,
while my options flick through a rolodex of responses.
An influx of questions, injustice and inquiries. Like
all those stories stuck in permanent sun dawn,
meaning there's always hope but never warmth.
Polished black shoes now by the ironic news-
agents. I contemplate resorting to expletives
but fear the irrelevance of a rampaging elephant.
Among the fantasy fireworks, my sparkler drowns.
A rebellious town resident repelled without glance.
Reduced to the blue rosette on that expensive lapel.
Sep 24, 2020
Sep 24, 2020 at 2:26 PM UTC
Halt, stop in the name of...
nothing, really
metaphysically speaking
Who am I to say go?
who am I to say I
who am I
Waiting on a light change
electricity, right?
determining my fate
Look at these people
a Rolodex of souls
faster than a flip
Reflective frames on my face
mirroring their souls
projecting mine
Are they moving slow or fast?
trans-dimensional spy glass
warped speed
Oh, look it's green
game over.
goodbye.
please insert more tokens.
please insert more tokens.
please insert more tokens.
please insert more tokens.
please insert more tokens.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 7:06 PM UTC
never contented
a library of coupon clippings and browser tabs
oh, scrolling esoteric rolodex
just because I like some numbers
more than others
doesn't mean I want to be
one
one
one
daily passing thru a filter
for vibes instead of size
sorted with the others of your kind
and each of us categorically
empty
outside of anywhere
might be a mirror
but it's still clearer
than the receiver static
send me that message
your ellipsis tickles me
magenta
Nov 7, 2024
Nov 7, 2024 at 11:35 PM UTC
Just let me dwell
In this old rolodex
Dark circles along
With unkempt hair
Trying hard to hold
To never let it go
Despite me knowing
That it's been gone
For so awfully long
Nostalgia of wholeness
Prior to the cracks
And dispersed pieces
Of young wild smiles
Cigarette smoke
Empty city streets
Running mascara
Childish promises
Childish dreaming
Clouds drifting
Storm brewing
Dreams dying
Just let me dwell
In that old rolodex
Carousel spinning
Tangled in the tangible
Midnight embrace
Twilight kisses
Starlit wishes
Feb 16, 2022
Feb 16, 2022 at 3:57 AM UTC
I tried to tally each flicker of your eyes towards me
for they were numbered.
One night means everything
in a world where everything is not enough.
Your limbs danced over me like a tree caught in a breeze
and I miss your shade.
Though you know nothing yet
that I am a rolodex of excuses.
Once card for each scar carved into my chest.
Will you read them to me?
I need to feel the sting
for I can no longer tell if I am awake.
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 10:04 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]
Garage-Sale Rolodex® for Seventy-Five Cents
I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed,
debriefed, or numbered. My life is my own.
-Patrick McGoohan as Number Six in The Prisoner
The Rolodex was once a symbol of power
Of knowledge marshalled into sequences
Orderly sequences alphabetized by names
By names and cross indices of subjects and dates
Of enemies or allies or contacts, rarely friends
Condensed in ink on smoothly finished cards
Restrained in place by colored plastic tabs
Awaiting the stroke of an office tyrant’s hand
The Rolodex was subsumed within The ‘Phone
Thus still your life cannot be called your own
Jan 12, 2024
Jan 12, 2024 at 10:08 PM UTC