"telemarketer" poems
In your house a broken face is the same as a broken plate,
it happens all the time.
In your house a cry for help is the same as a telemarketer call,
unanswered.
In your house you have learned to blame your bruises on falling,
in your house you have been told to lie about what goes on inside.
In your house is where you went insane,
in your house is where you left the bullet in his brain.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 12:51 AM UTC
have a nice day sir/ma'am
Translates tooo.......
**** you you douchbag!*
How dare you treat me like
I'm a total idiot
How dare you call me
all those names
I'm Not as stupid as you think
**** YOU*
**** YOU*
**** YOU*
Yeah buddy well
I dont want to be talking to you
Anymore then you want to be talking to me
I hope you have a great day!
Translates too.........
I sincerely really truly mean it when I say have a nice day!
Thank you so much
*FOr not being a ******* *****
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 1:00 PM UTC
I awoke from pseudo-sleep to frigid sweats and an unhealthy heartbeat
my mind snowy as the television opposite me, morning, half past three.
I dreamt up a personal narrative, reflecting on dreams forgone
time deferred, potential memories collecting dust on a suburban lawn.
Similar to that of books gifted to me, never read, and currently locked,
Vonnegut converses with Hemingway within a cavernous box.
Tucked neatly beside the dehumidifier, bottom level of my fortress
My once-manicured front yard so overgrown, you'd expect wild horses
galloping about like I once did before my femur weathered like sea glass,
leaving me like my alabaster figurines, just more stationary mass.
I've grown accustomed to drawn curtains and opening them at nightfall,
my eyeballs have grown to love staring contests with my blankest wall.
Not-quite-yet-discarded alcohol bottles have become my closest fellows,
kind enough to let me grasp them as action figures between my yellowed fingertips. We'd make dates to watch Local on the 8's together,
humming along blissfully to the muzak without regard to the weather.
Since my everyday life now remains a comfy 72 degrees, accompanied
by a soundtrack of leaky faucets and turning pages of AARP magazines.
Now completely alone I float, clinging to life in a sea of unknown
Clawing a barely buoyant lifevest filled with styrofoam and rhinestones
If I were still as spry as a spring chicken, I'd walk ten paces in the kitchen,
I'd draw my nine and snipe a mirror for displaying an unpleasant image.
If my eyes had less cataracts I'd be in the process of shredding them to bits
because I never wanted to peer through lenses so dull and spiritless.
If my ears were better, I'd hear fewer phantom telephone rings,
answer every telemarketer, hear more synthetic voices advertising things.
I'd never touch my college sweaters for the regrets they would conjure,
But now I'm finally grown up, wasn't that what I always wanted?
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 6:57 PM UTC
The Devil is everywhere
He's the telemarketer who calls during dinner
He's hiding in your untuned guitar string
Hell last I heard good ole beelzebub was down in Georgia
But where's God been lately?
We used to talk everyday
Now I can't even get a one worded text
I've been to his many houses but no one was home
Just more like me hoping to catch a glimpse of him hiding in the shadows
I call and act like he's listening but I know I'm just getting his voicemail
And I broke the machine by leaving one to many messages
Maybe he's behind on his phone bill
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 11:45 PM UTC
Dear Grandma,
How do I remember you?
You left a challenge, a challenge that has been running through my mind for the past 6 months.
Do I remember you for your Movie star looks,
or your most valued picture? (The one with ****** you, your father, and Jesse Owens.)
Do I remember you for your love of expensive things,
and your love of the Olympics?
Do I remember for you athletic ability, or for your distain of the Irish blood that runs in my veins?
Do I remember you for cutting flowers together in the garden, or for cutting me out of family pictures?
Do I remember you for your blue eyes?
Or the extensive **** memorabilia that you collected?
Do I remember you for your love of red lipstick,
or for your classist view of the world?
Do I remember you for your modeling career, or the way that my father took all your money before you were dead and put you in the cheapest nursing home he could find, and then left you there to be sedated into oblivion until you died? (A fate I would not wish on anyone).
I guess only time will tell.
Although you did not teach me the lesson that most grandmothers teach their grandchildren, you taught me some life lessons that have changed who I am and how I act for the better.
Seeing you, when I was just 7, malnourished because of your inability to cook, instilled in me the absolute necessity to know how to cook for myself and those around me.
Seeing your apartment choked to the ceiling with everything from newspaper clippings, and designer coats, to mayonnaise jars and mold, made me see the point of cleaning my room, and not having to many belongings.
When I was 8, seeing you be cruel to the cleaning lady because of the color of her skin, made me feel sick, and resolve to try and treat everyone I met and knew with equality and fairness.
Watching you squander your money on anything the telemarketer had to offer makes me think twice before I buy anything I think I might need.
You have given me many valuable lessons weather you intended to, or not.
I have heard that the line between good and evil runs in every human heart. This is something I believe. I truly believe, that there was good in you.
The last time I saw you, you were barley conscious.
You said three words to me. "I'm glad you came" and smiled. I will remember you for that smile, and I will remember you for the things you taught me.
I wish you well wherever you choose to go next.
I promise to you that, you will be remembered.
Sincerely, your Granddaughter
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 1:04 PM UTC
You know those oh so annoying calls?
telemarketers
They **** you off so much right?
Wells heres tips on how to deal with them
THE RIGHT WAY
1. Don't be rude to them
its not their fault your number popped up on their call list
2. Don't be mad when their information is wrong
again ITS NOT THIER FAULT that the lists they were given were never updated
3. DO NOT MOCK THEM!!!
They are Smart people annd know when you are, They have feelings to you know!
4. DO NOT UNDER ANY CUIRCUMSTANCES CALL THEM NAMES OF ENDERMENT
baby, sweetheart, hunny, sweety. Its creepy, uncomfortable, and makes you look like a disrespectful creep
5. DO NOT CALL THEM DEGRADING NAMES
***** The C word, ***** ect ect, all it does is make you look like a complete and utter disrespectful Douchbag*
6. the most improtant one of all!!!
If you are fed up completely then just NICELY ask them to put you on thier do not call list
It takes 30 days for that request to go through after that you wont be bugged by them again
THERE YOU GO PEOPLE.
NOW COME ON
LETS ALL PLAY NICE
SHALL WE???
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
We live in a town with an Indian name
An Indian name from a language that's no longer spoken
An Indian name from a people who may no longer exist
Sometimes someone will say what the name of our town means in the Indian language
And we'll marvel at that
More likely we'll just laugh
Because our town is nothing like the way the Indians said it is
It's a place with a lot of fast-food restaurants
And it's a place with a lot of sit-down restaurants where you can't buy anything that costs less than $40
If we leave this town
Sometimes we'll talk about how we're from this town
Or how we're going back to this town
And then when we get back there maybe
We'll get a call from a telemarketer who can't pronounce the name of our town
That's not how you say it we'll say
It's...
And that will be one of the only times that a word from this Indian language is ever said
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 7:00 AM UTC
i fell in love with you today
the way you kind of rolled your r's
trying to sound more sophisticated
i think thats what did it
your voice was soft as my most favorite blanket
your laugh was sudden and mirthful
i could see your eyes
i could feel you curves
even when i told you about the 49.99
you just smiled with your words
making my fluttering heart drift slowly
to where it belongs
and then you said
"honey do we want to get dvr"
....
i know he isn't good enough for you
Sep 2, 2010
Sep 2, 2010 at 5:42 PM UTC
to whom it may concern
i was given a rude remark by one of your door door people
as he approached my house in hawker, on saturday 13 june 2015
he made a ******** coment saying, don’t worry we are not going to rob you
it’s like he was put there to tease me or something, i found it very insulting
and if i knew his name, i would make sure he was sacked, i realise that it is
his word against mine, but he will never get anyone supporting unicef with that
attitude, i know it’s stupid to think he’ll get the sack, but he was terribly rude
you see, i am not an old stick in the mud, i love life, probably more than him
he shouldn’t be working for unicef, because when i said i ain’t interested in a normal way
he said oh buddy, settle down, i know that this was uncalled for, ok, i think you should
tell this man by looking in your book to see who was in hawker on 13 june 2015 and
let him know that, i hate him, i am not offended i am just concerned of your business
HE WAS RUDE
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 2:09 AM UTC
We left the front light on last night,
Hoping you'll find your way home,
Through the fog and the beasts,
We didn't sleep last night,
We couldn't bare the thought,
We couldn't think,
Where did you go?
You didn't come home,
And we still don't know,
Like insomnia infested zombies,
We paced into the early hours,
All these worried tears,
Never, never scared us so much,
Then the phone rang...
Only to be a false alarm,
A telemarketer,
Who couldn't quite speak our language,
Once a bright home,
Now so dark and soulless,
A Tap. Tap. Tap.
In the early hours,
"Hello Officer..."
I've never collapsed before,
I've never screamed so much I've choked,
And I've never thrown up swallowed tears,
But they found you,
The police man said they found you,
Mutilated in a ditch,
By the park.
Jun 5, 2012
Jun 5, 2012 at 8:47 AM UTC
At the door, random severance:
Like a telemarketer on steroids,
This quasi-divine contrivance
Not any substance or fleeing could quell:
Here we dance, zomboid grievance,
Mere mortals could not work around.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 8:40 PM UTC
Confronting the cold caller is a testing fact of life
An inconvenient intrusion to your day,
In juggling the impulse to immediately hang up
Or persuade him to, (so nicely), go away.
But if ensnared by the silky trap of honeyed words so soothing
You delay, for an instant, your retort,
You’ll be caught by good manners and politeness opportune
To indulge this telemarketer’s report.
*“An Investment in a heath care plan, (I’d never seen before),
Or Insurance that’s so good it looks unreal,
Or the fund for At Risk Children and the Sunset Cruise to Spain
Combined make a fantastic package deal.
And it may have slipped your memory but I definately recall,
That special Charity you donated to last year…..”*
All creating guilt reaction and a surety of knowledge
That the Credit Card demand is drawing near.
Reaction is important, to stave off being plundered
An irate confrontation could ensue,
But the neatest fun way option is to play them by their rules
When you capture the initiative to you….
Pedantically you question every point the caller makes
Every aspect, every nuance of his speill
Or You hear a different version of what’s actually been said
Frustrating this intruder to reveal….
Reveal the actual nature of the message true intent
By forcing him to deviate from script
Or better still, create a massive barrier of bricks
Which culminates in disconnected click!
M.
9 August 2014
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
My brain is suddenly alight like fireworks,
A thousand ideas spawning from thin air,
Things I've forgotten ten times over come back in a flash,
Birthday dates,
Phone numbers of old coworkers,
Names of films.
I need to find paper,
Need to write this down before I forget.
My phone rings,
I answer it,
It's a Telemarketer,
CLICK!
The paper before me lies mostly blank,
The only words written are as follows:
---------------------------------------------------------------
Glass stopper
Canada!
Pe
Colin Hay black garlic
()**()
/l l/
----------------------------------------------------------------
^ Above is my best text translation of a doodled elephant head.
I'm about to scream,
Because I can't remember for the life for me as to why I wrote them,
It's all dialogue with no context.
A paper of hieroglyphs and me without a Rosetta Stone.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 11:42 PM UTC
hung up like the stiff dress shirt in the closet
the one's that's too tight around the collar
not quite forgotten, but out of the way
not quite useless enough for goodwill
hung up like the phone when the telemarketer
asks if your dead father is there
quickly, don't let them hear what happened to your breath
(but how dare they not now)
(how dare they test me like this i know i am weak)
see also:
a tugging on your shirt sleeve from behind
(i dreamed you were carried away)
it is a fragile movement because so am i
(on the crest of a wave)
you are so close to being so far away
(baby, don't go away, come here)
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 2:10 PM UTC
It’s the telemarketer’s day off
he often calls customer service on the weekends as a hobby
he feels like a loaded rifle when they ask
“what can I help you with today?”
a jitterbug with a contemplative stutter
the jilted staleness of his apartment is suddenly
a garden of words
images of violence appear while he rips a hangnail
loneliness is a grown man’s burden, he thinks
“I don’t want you to listen but I do need to be heard”
he waits for silence and he’s spoon fed this attention
“I work with people and yet I do not know people
my mind waters for intimacy not in the sensual term of the word but in the
way hands accidentally touch on a crowded train”
2,000 miles away there is a woman with a headset
a chronic consoler at the tender age of 19
her hand trembles as she hears this man speak
she’s reminded of her grandmother dying in her tiny home
back in Kansas City, desolate like her location
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 4:36 PM UTC
I got home
And checked my phone
It'd been off all day
And a bunch of notifications naturally
Headed my way
But I started simple
and checked my voice mail
After hearing the robotic telemarketer drone
On and on
My exhausted brain was more fried than a salt covered snail
So I took a second to regroup
And listen to the next message
I sat down and absorbed the shock
Hearing this felt like suffering a hemorrhage
I was so taken aback I could hardly stand
Now what the voice-mail said?
I'll leave that up to your imagination to plan
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 9:30 PM UTC
you are the water spot
after the car has been sitting out
for too long
once the rain has ceased
and no matter how hard i try
you won't go away
you just keep fading
and then coming back
you are the telemarketer
the one who keeps calling
even when i hang up
every time
it's this love
the kind that makes my chest ache
and travels all the way
d
o
w
n
to my fingers
so i'll continue
leaving my car out in the rain
picking up the phone
because i never want you to leave
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 6:17 PM UTC