"speakerphone" poems - Hello Poetry

His money isn't free. On the first date, He picked you up in a Phantom which haunted your inner gold-digger Digging to harvest stardom, but His money isn't free. He's wearing a Rolex You're wearing a Swatch wrist Hoping to switch wrists. It's much too sad that His money isn't free. He's harvested his cotton And you're ready to rob him But his ex keeps calling Little Miss Lee Kaching! She can sense your scheming; she screams through the speakerphone, "His money isn't free!" Now he's seen your blades, your spades, your grenades hidden in the dark of your shade. He's grabbing those keys Leaving his seat saying, "My money isn't free!" Now you're left alone With your flip phone, Not even an iPhone. And the waiter comes by, Drops the bill and says, "This meal isn't free."

0

Apr 17, 2015

Apr 17, 2015 at 1:11 PM UTC

bunmiagusto

His Money isn't Free (A Slam Poem)

His money isn't free. On the first date, He picked you up in a Phantom which haunted your inner gold-digger Digging to harvest stardom, but His money isn't free. He's wearing a Rolex You're wearing a Swatch wrist Hoping to switch wrists. It's much too sad that His money isn't free. He's harvested his cotton And you're ready to rob him But his ex keeps calling Little Miss Lee Kaching! She can sense your scheming; she screams through the speakerphone, "His money isn't free!" Now he's seen your blades, your spades, your grenades hidden in the dark of your shade. He's grabbing those keys Leaving his seat saying, "My money isn't free!" Now you're left alone With your flip phone, Not even an iPhone. And the waiter comes by, Drops the bill and says, "This meal isn't free."

30

I remember sitting On the tiny porch Of my dad’s home Offended by the sun That continued to sink and set Without pausing to acknowledge My dad’s passing. Offended by the cars That continued on the highway; Callous indifference, it seemed to me. Even the birds at their feeder Greedily fed and failed to look up To mark the loss of their benefactor. I found myself Silently demanding condolences In every encounter. Not for the sympathy, Or worse, pity, But for the acknowledgement That he was here And now he’s gone, And something, However infinitesimally small In the scopeless universe, Has changed. I have two cousins. The first called my dad Every month. His regular call came During the last days. The decline surprised him. He took a deep breath And asked for speakerphone Near my dad. He told my dad How much my dad had Influenced his life; How as a child, he anticipated a visit from my dad Like kids stay up to see Santa; How my dad made my cousin feel Like he was the most important kid In the wide world; How my dad gave my cousin The otherwise unavailable Sustenance of heart Young boys need; How my cousin had strived to be Like my dad And how he hoped His own children see in him What he saw in my dad. That was acknowledgement, Profound acknowledgement. My second cousin called Shortly after the first. He had heard That my dad was dying. He did not ask To speak with my dad. He wanted to tell me To call him As soon as memorial Arrangements were made So that he could purchase Discounted airline tickets, To include a subsequent visit To his son who lives In the southern part of the state. My dad was still living. That, too, acknowledged something, And served to impel my pending decision. So I opted for A less conventional Memorial ritual That required neither Plane tickets nor attendance Nor a frozen smile reception. I would not suffer Insincere acknowledgement. I am sure I scandalized Many acquaintances of my dad Who enjoyed the social conventions of The anticipated gathering If only to point out the deficiencies Of the event and the host. I am sure I offended And frustrated And embittered One of my cousins. The other cousin thought My dad would have preferred Sincerity Over a pantomime. I would suffer The disfavor and distaste Of the discontented With no difficulty.

0

Nov 10, 2018

Nov 10, 2018 at 9:59 PM UTC

j-r-cramer

Acknowledgment

I remember sitting On the tiny porch Of my dad’s home Offended by the sun That continued to sink and set Without pausing to acknowledge My dad’s passing. Offended by the cars That continued on the highway; Callous indifference, it seemed to me. Even the birds at their feeder Greedily fed and failed to look up To mark the loss of their benefactor. I found myself Silently demanding condolences In every encounter. Not for the sympathy, Or worse, pity, But for the acknowledgement That he was here And now he’s gone, And something, However infinitesimally small In the scopeless universe, Has changed. I have two cousins. The first called my dad Every month. His regular call came During the last days. The decline surprised him. He took a deep breath And asked for speakerphone Near my dad. He told my dad How much my dad had Influenced his life; How as a child, he anticipated a visit from my dad Like kids stay up to see Santa; How my dad made my cousin feel Like he was the most important kid In the wide world; How my dad gave my cousin The otherwise unavailable Sustenance of heart Young boys need; How my cousin had strived to be Like my dad And how he hoped His own children see in him What he saw in my dad. That was acknowledgement, Profound acknowledgement. My second cousin called Shortly after the first. He had heard That my dad was dying. He did not ask To speak with my dad. He wanted to tell me To call him As soon as memorial Arrangements were made So that he could purchase Discounted airline tickets, To include a subsequent visit To his son who lives In the southern part of the state. My dad was still living. That, too, acknowledged something, And served to impel my pending decision. So I opted for A less conventional Memorial ritual That required neither Plane tickets nor attendance Nor a frozen smile reception. I would not suffer Insincere acknowledgement. I am sure I scandalized Many acquaintances of my dad Who enjoyed the social conventions of The anticipated gathering If only to point out the deficiencies Of the event and the host. I am sure I offended And frustrated And embittered One of my cousins. The other cousin thought My dad would have preferred Sincerity Over a pantomime. I would suffer The disfavor and distaste Of the discontented With no difficulty.

98

One must believe in something be he misanthrope or gambler In tomorrows omnicience or the future proof of God The penance in a drunk's decay sets self destruct's imposer Wether speakerphone's on disconnect or cellphone's in the bog. Conveyance of a threat to adherants of St Selfwise Show athiest's are proof here, in belief of disbelief, Haunted by the images painting painfull retribution Picture sympathetic **** star's allocated hand relief. A moments allocation of a syllogist abstraction Shows perspective of the calibre we now reserve for Saints A paradox regarded as autistic fascination In a one act play of living disregarding all restraints. Deliberately indicative of fraternal heat's expression Notebook at the ready and deep frowning at the brow, Question definition's collage of confusion's contribution Do we sit it out pretending or just catch the late bus now? Marshalg 13 February 2014 © 2014 Marshal Gebbie

0

Feb 12, 2014

Feb 12, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC

marshal-gebbie

Scoot the Streak

One must believe in something be he misanthrope or gambler In tomorrows omnicience or the future proof of God The penance in a drunk's decay sets self destruct's imposer Wether speakerphone's on disconnect or cellphone's in the bog. Conveyance of a threat to adherants of St Selfwise Show athiest's are proof here, in belief of disbelief, Haunted by the images painting painfull retribution Picture sympathetic **** star's allocated hand relief. A moments allocation of a syllogist abstraction Shows perspective of the calibre we now reserve for Saints A paradox regarded as autistic fascination In a one act play of living disregarding all restraints. Deliberately indicative of fraternal heat's expression Notebook at the ready and deep frowning at the brow, Question definition's collage of confusion's contribution Do we sit it out pretending or just catch the late bus now? Marshalg 13 February 2014 © 2014 Marshal Gebbie

19

Eve's on Highway 70. Been on it for some four hours. After dialing the ten digits on the cracked cell screen, she turns it on speakerphone. It rings once. To the side of the road, a sign reads, World's Tallest Prairie Dog. It rings twice. She wonders how long the wind has been red; how long until the red sun gives up. It rings three times. There are birds flying up ahead. She wants to call them by name. But what good would it do? It rings four times. He picks up. Her lips are chapped. I'm fine, Jay. Thanks. Just calling to tell you that I'm in the state. What state? Your state? What do you mean? I'm in Colorado. What? What are you doing here? Am I not welcome? No, no. It's not that. Why didn't you tell me? I wanted it to be a surprise. I hate surprises. Nobody hates surprises. I do. She's silent for a beat. The birds are still ahead; she races toward them but never gains. Why didn't you tell me? he asks. I just told you. I think something's wrong with my phone. I can hear an echo. I have you on speaker. Why? My internal mic is broken. Internal mic? What does that mean? I don't know. Where are you going? Fort Collins. I have family out there, I guess. Some cousins. Are you on the way? Am I on the way to Fort Collins? Yes. No. That's not what I want you to say. What do you want me to say? Just try again. Eve, I don't think this is a good idea. Try again. What? Try again. I can hardly hear you. There's wind or something. With her index finger she nudges the volume **** to no effect. She puts her knee on the steering wheel. She rolls up her window. Say what I want you to say, she says. I'm on the way, Jay says, if you take the long way. I'll be there by six. What should we do? You could start by apologizing. So could you, Jay. What should we do? Say that one more time--the phone. What should we do when I get there? We'll figure something out. I hope, she says.

0

Oct 24, 2013

Oct 24, 2013 at 11:51 AM UTC

jj-hutton

The Pleading Hands of Women

Eve's on Highway 70. Been on it for some four hours. After dialing the ten digits on the cracked cell screen, she turns it on speakerphone. It rings once. To the side of the road, a sign reads, World's Tallest Prairie Dog. It rings twice. She wonders how long the wind has been red; how long until the red sun gives up. It rings three times. There are birds flying up ahead. She wants to call them by name. But what good would it do? It rings four times. He picks up. Her lips are chapped. I'm fine, Jay. Thanks. Just calling to tell you that I'm in the state. What state? Your state? What do you mean? I'm in Colorado. What? What are you doing here? Am I not welcome? No, no. It's not that. Why didn't you tell me? I wanted it to be a surprise. I hate surprises. Nobody hates surprises. I do. She's silent for a beat. The birds are still ahead; she races toward them but never gains. Why didn't you tell me? he asks. I just told you. I think something's wrong with my phone. I can hear an echo. I have you on speaker. Why? My internal mic is broken. Internal mic? What does that mean? I don't know. Where are you going? Fort Collins. I have family out there, I guess. Some cousins. Are you on the way? Am I on the way to Fort Collins? Yes. No. That's not what I want you to say. What do you want me to say? Just try again. Eve, I don't think this is a good idea. Try again. What? Try again. I can hardly hear you. There's wind or something. With her index finger she nudges the volume **** to no effect. She puts her knee on the steering wheel. She rolls up her window. Say what I want you to say, she says. I'm on the way, Jay says, if you take the long way. I'll be there by six. What should we do? You could start by apologizing. So could you, Jay. What should we do? Say that one more time--the phone. What should we do when I get there? We'll figure something out. I hope, she says.

71

Please fall asleep so I can take pictures of you and hang them in my room. You’re laying in between my legs, your back against my chest. I’m afraid you can feel my heart trying to escape my ribcage. Your fingers are interlaced through mine and I feel like I might throw up because they’re sweaty and I’m terrified you’ll be grossed out and let go. We’ve been in this position for hours watching movies and playing video games I want to freeze this moment in time. So when I wake up I’ll feel like yeah everything’s alright. You say you have to go and I swallow the bile in my throat. This is love in the worst way. You pull yourself away from me and gather your things. I want to grab your hand and pull you back down to me. Hide in this bed, under these covers and never come out. You are still here, you are still happy, you are still smiling and laughing. You are still the only thing and everything I need in my life. You say that I won’t give you space. I suffocate you with my hugs and the way I hold your hands and the way I always call and the way I yell. You say maybe we’re not a right fit and that you’re sorry. And it goes in in out through the mouth breathing exercises I will never figure out til I am running in circles You only ever call now to tell me to stop driving by your house. You said we ended weeks ago. That this space was necessary. But how could being away from the person you need more than you need air be necessary ? *or walking in circles, or crawling in circles, or laying on the ground * I’m laying in your backyard looking up at the same sky we would draw figures in with our fingers. Your father comes out and yells, he was never fond of me. And I can hear your dog whistle from my bedroom I’m icing the bruise on my face. You’re on the speakerphone apologizing for your dad. You say I can't come by anymore. The only sound between us is the static of the phone and the sound of your dog whistling.

0

Mar 23, 2014

Mar 23, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC

kimberly-santana

A Poem A Sad Boy Once Wrote For Me

Please fall asleep so I can take pictures of you and hang them in my room. You’re laying in between my legs, your back against my chest. I’m afraid you can feel my heart trying to escape my ribcage. Your fingers are interlaced through mine and I feel like I might throw up because they’re sweaty and I’m terrified you’ll be grossed out and let go. We’ve been in this position for hours watching movies and playing video games I want to freeze this moment in time. So when I wake up I’ll feel like yeah everything’s alright. You say you have to go and I swallow the bile in my throat. This is love in the worst way. You pull yourself away from me and gather your things. I want to grab your hand and pull you back down to me. Hide in this bed, under these covers and never come out. You are still here, you are still happy, you are still smiling and laughing. You are still the only thing and everything I need in my life. You say that I won’t give you space. I suffocate you with my hugs and the way I hold your hands and the way I always call and the way I yell. You say maybe we’re not a right fit and that you’re sorry. And it goes in in out through the mouth breathing exercises I will never figure out til I am running in circles You only ever call now to tell me to stop driving by your house. You said we ended weeks ago. That this space was necessary. But how could being away from the person you need more than you need air be necessary ? *or walking in circles, or crawling in circles, or laying on the ground * I’m laying in your backyard looking up at the same sky we would draw figures in with our fingers. Your father comes out and yells, he was never fond of me. And I can hear your dog whistle from my bedroom I’m icing the bruise on my face. You’re on the speakerphone apologizing for your dad. You say I can't come by anymore. The only sound between us is the static of the phone and the sound of your dog whistling.

12

Sitting in the Executive boardroom The CEO on speakerphone It's all fun and games Until someone loosens a tie Down at the Local watering hole Enjoying a round of darts It's all fun and games Until someone Loses an eye

0

Feb 6, 2015

Feb 6, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC

irving-macpherson

Fun And Games

Sitting in the Executive boardroom The CEO on speakerphone It's all fun and games Until someone loosens a tie Down at the Local watering hole Enjoying a round of darts It's all fun and games Until someone Loses an eye

11

(Heated, Fiery trials,) by meself.. The time will come When our beloved planet will feel the suns quench, No breakfast or lunch to soothe that sweaty emotion..All time and devotion unravelling childhood memories, Where winters freeze, and you are still left by yourself...Kept, Wept, and melt out, Drawn to a pad of papery apprentice.. Such a menace when others think they know you, to show you such devious inventions..Of evil intention , they live to watch you die. To watch you cry and spill out all inners, Where your platters not entered into win any prizes..Miracles are few these days, The dark has infiltraded, the glooms turned to haze....Soo many Live in materialism and dreameries Lodge, where their cabin of themself is god , for they forgot who they are...phantom masks, fast cars..How a coverup to hide scarred innocence, where childplay rememberance Hits all at once...Who we really are...The cold empty bars are now lovers best friends...What a sad combination...We only have today to do our made out wills, For the numbings soo skilled this time of Infestations...Tretchery is Now the new..ALL HOT DAYS TO COME , none cool, For the furnaces will feel the excite..Days and nights will be mans worst enemy...The moon climbs the cosmic wave to show us all whats to be bound...Speakerphone sounds can no longer show humanity the reality of themselves..When will they see all belonging is there...Will they find it? or forever be Wanderers?

0

May 9, 2015

May 9, 2015 at 4:52 PM UTC

brandon-nagley

heated fiery trials

(Heated, Fiery trials,) by meself.. The time will come When our beloved planet will feel the suns quench, No breakfast or lunch to soothe that sweaty emotion..All time and devotion unravelling childhood memories, Where winters freeze, and you are still left by yourself...Kept, Wept, and melt out, Drawn to a pad of papery apprentice.. Such a menace when others think they know you, to show you such devious inventions..Of evil intention , they live to watch you die. To watch you cry and spill out all inners, Where your platters not entered into win any prizes..Miracles are few these days, The dark has infiltraded, the glooms turned to haze....Soo many Live in materialism and dreameries Lodge, where their cabin of themself is god , for they forgot who they are...phantom masks, fast cars..How a coverup to hide scarred innocence, where childplay rememberance Hits all at once...Who we really are...The cold empty bars are now lovers best friends...What a sad combination...We only have today to do our made out wills, For the numbings soo skilled this time of Infestations...Tretchery is Now the new..ALL HOT DAYS TO COME , none cool, For the furnaces will feel the excite..Days and nights will be mans worst enemy...The moon climbs the cosmic wave to show us all whats to be bound...Speakerphone sounds can no longer show humanity the reality of themselves..When will they see all belonging is there...Will they find it? or forever be Wanderers?

1

(Heated, Fiery trials,) by meself.. The time will come When our beloved planet will feel the suns quench, No breakfast or lunch to soothe that sweaty emotion..All time and devotion unravelling childhood memories, Where winters freeze, and you are still left by yourself...Kept, Wept, and melt out, Drawn to a pad of papery apprentice.. Such a menace when others think they know you, to show you such devious inventions..Of evil intention , they live to watch you die. To watch you cry and spill out all inners, Where your platters not entered into win any prizes..Miracles are few these days, The dark has infiltraded, the glooms turned to haze....Soo many Live in materialism and dreameries Lodge, where their cabin of themself is god , for they forgot who they are...phantom masks, fast cars..How a coverup to hide scarred innocence, where childplay rememberance Hits all at once...Who we really are...The cold empty bars are now lovers best friends...What a sad combination...We only have today to do our made out wills, For the numbings soo skilled this time of Infestations...Tretchery is Now the new..ALL HOT DAYS TO COME , none cool, For the furnaces will feel the excite..Days and nights will be mans worst enemy...The moon climbs the cosmic wave to show us all whats to be bound...Speakerphone sounds can no longer show humanity the reality of themselves..When will they see all belonging is there...Will they find it? or forever be Wanderers?

0

May 9, 2015

May 9, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC

brandon-nagley

heated fiery trials

(Heated, Fiery trials,) by meself.. The time will come When our beloved planet will feel the suns quench, No breakfast or lunch to soothe that sweaty emotion..All time and devotion unravelling childhood memories, Where winters freeze, and you are still left by yourself...Kept, Wept, and melt out, Drawn to a pad of papery apprentice.. Such a menace when others think they know you, to show you such devious inventions..Of evil intention , they live to watch you die. To watch you cry and spill out all inners, Where your platters not entered into win any prizes..Miracles are few these days, The dark has infiltraded, the glooms turned to haze....Soo many Live in materialism and dreameries Lodge, where their cabin of themself is god , for they forgot who they are...phantom masks, fast cars..How a coverup to hide scarred innocence, where childplay rememberance Hits all at once...Who we really are...The cold empty bars are now lovers best friends...What a sad combination...We only have today to do our made out wills, For the numbings soo skilled this time of Infestations...Tretchery is Now the new..ALL HOT DAYS TO COME , none cool, For the furnaces will feel the excite..Days and nights will be mans worst enemy...The moon climbs the cosmic wave to show us all whats to be bound...Speakerphone sounds can no longer show humanity the reality of themselves..When will they see all belonging is there...Will they find it? or forever be Wanderers?

1

My neighbor likes to call *** lines on speakerphone. It's kinda like reality just without the TV.

0

Apr 6, 2015

Apr 6, 2015 at 10:13 PM UTC

Listerineyedrops

nextdoor

My neighbor likes to call *** lines on speakerphone. It's kinda like reality just without the TV.

4

since last we placed his madness on speakerphone he has observed over half the population observing the lesser half… he includes that he swims alone that his lover works for someone in the gag order department that the act of naming a son is scarce

0

Aug 21, 2013

Aug 21, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC

barton-d-smock

simulcast

since last we placed his madness on speakerphone he has observed over half the population observing the lesser half… he includes that he swims alone that his lover works for someone in the gag order department that the act of naming a son is scarce

13