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Pea Oct 2016

that sweet husky voice of yours
while i come undone on the sheets
washing machine, detergent
i'm all gone
Kai Mar 15
Life is a game of telephone
my messages mingle in my throat
the translation is lost
some where between my lips it twists

when I mean I love you
it comes up meekly as hello
when I mean do you want to get coffee
it comes up as you look nice today

Miscommunication led to friendship
games of telephone go on
I sit at your side through life

when I mean your my everything
it comes you as best friend
when I mean I can't live without you
it comes out as I'll always be here for you

Year on down the road
you're still unreachable right next to me
every conversation
a long game of telephone
Just trying a different style again. Sorry if it's weird. I really need to get these moths pretending to be butterflies out of my stomach. Love seems so unobtainable when everyone I like ends up a friend.

her dead mother calls
leaves a message
"Do something with your life!"

her dead mother
still smiling her
"I'm so disappointed in you!" smile

her dead mother
more real now
than in real life

"I'm sorry Mama..!"
she tells the dream
"I'm so sorry. . !"
Tint Oct 2018
The devices are now altered
and then you know your worth
for the small time you were remembered
and then the next you are unheard

You were never to be flaterred
when the sweet words arrive
you hold a pen and a paper
and write your songs from heart

A basket in the corner
there is no paper crumbs
for you give each piece importance
the mistakes, a part of art

The songs heard in speaker
of undying love of past
the words guided by rhythm
you, the artist of the month

Let us hear the voice that struggled
to tell nothing of lies
a story with honest trembles
of things that always hunt

No, anger is fed with madness
for the understanding is compelled
that people won't give significance
when now, your relevance ends
Helena Aug 2018
I'm a shameless liar
lost in translation
consumed by the fire
Trying to see through the haze
exhaling is dire
I was counting on you to find
My Telephone wire

But don't worry, love
Any words I could have said have been said (before)
So sorry if I seem quiet tonight, love
the trembling in my voice
Shaking lips and broken words
Are worth the itching in my tongue
RedD Sep 2018
My body at rest
My mind at peace
I hear the bell
That familiar tone

You reach out from afar
My senses quicken
I reach too
Stretch out my hand

To hold you close
I listen to your voice
A tone so familiar
My heart, it melts again

Just like before

And like it always will
I will never tire of hearing your voice S ❤️
King Panda Sep 2015
my love has 1000x
the energy of a
dead corpse


singing telephone


my heart beats
like a rabbit’s

the prey
crouching in
tall grass
ears flat
legs ready
to spring
with dusk’s

I will continue
to shake
with this
Cora Mar 18
you should appreciate your little victories
i do

for example today,
i conquered my telephone-phobia

if only you could see
my hands
valiantly reaching
Jordan Rowan Apr 2016
I took apart the clock and set it on the floor
Where I'll be going I won't need it anymore
I'm going out
I'm going down
You'll find me in the sun with no one else around

I sang a little tune and tried to write it down
Doesn't matter if it slips it'll find its way around
I'm going out
I'm going down
You'll find me where only nature makes a sound

I've got a ringing telephone in the palm of my hand
I threw it in the water so I could truly breathe again
I'm going out
I'm going down
You'll find me with a smile somewhere out of town
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

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
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.
BR Dragos Apr 26
when I was a kid I'd always ask
myself how would
life be if I were a
telephone pole
or a spirit trapped inside
a telephone pole
sitting there day and night,
winter and summer
and autumn and spring
just sitting
and watching
and perhaps hearing the
conversations of people
over the telephone, because their
words pass through me
and I communicate with the other
telephone poles and have our
network where we share
stuff we hear and see
while remaining totally indifferent
to emergency calls and people's
drama and tragedy and all of life

that's how life would be if
I were a telephone pole
pretty **** nice
with no school or work to do
and no people to deal with

So when I was a kid I wished
I were a telephone pole
but then I remembered...

If I'm a telephone pole I
can't pet dogs anymore

it's not worth it
Antino Art Apr 2018
We wear this city on our feet
Planting our roots with each step
Our shadows

cast shapes of ancient oak trees stretching out over Nash Square at daybreak
We grow here

with the spirit of buildings past,
present and rising like a staircase to heaven in the distance,
the plumes of white smoke from their rooftops as burnt offerings for incense,
spires for steeples,
the bundled masses of people moving beneath as the calloused soles
of our feet pounding the pavement,
Our congregation

seated in reverant silence on the R-Line hissing to a stop
Their hushed prayers filing out from within to bring the reclaimed sidewalks of Fayetville Street back to life to join this pilgramage
They march

downtown toward Capitol
holding signs for disarmament
They bar-hop through Glenwood toasting to deliverance
They sprint toward their cars on work week mornings in a blur of faces that become us,
Rush at all hours through our veins
Cross our hearts and keep us breathing
On the shoulders of this giant collective, we hold our heads high

to see that this is home now.
We cross into the unfamiliar
at the walk signal's cue,
breaking new ground, gazes meeting one another
as their counter-culture
coffee kicks in
to add this defiant bounce to each step
this rhythm to hop over puddles as they appear

We don't mind the way rain lands here
and its baptismal effect
We like how its capable of reinventing itself mid-fall into weightless snowflakes, then taking flight
We walk without umbrellas to see it

wearing the greyest pieces of their winter sky the way it caps the peaks of Mount PNC, BB&T and Wells Fargo like hoodies over our heads
We assume monk-like appearances
in robes color-coded by season- from blue collar sweaters to cold hard sweat
We'll wear their city until we're worn out and wet, mumbling last-mimute prayers for our salvation under our breath
We'll wear their dreams

at night, the moment the streetlights flicker on beneath wired telephone poles carrying conversations about each one as far south as Florida, fears unspoken, made visible
on iron park benches too cold to sit on at this hour
We'll keep walking

and wear this city like backpacks over our shoulders

under the shadow of their heavens,
the skyline
a glowing testament
of every step taken
toward someplace higher.
Angel of Plymouth, your Winged Heart's inflame
Un-Grate this Laurel which merits your frown
At last you found her; Then enrich your name
So why wear the Shirt if it keeps you down?
Tarry me, please, to your Toried Reason
Which Pure Faith crippled to un-hook your Wings
Fill your Hour's Due; And renew your Season
Then know full well that her Telephone rings
And Live you considered to Sky's Content
Happily blessed by Hellen's Burning Brow
She caused your Curls; Which many Intent
Thus winning her Fortress Time did endow.
Remember this always with all Support
Those Frightened Moments need no more rapport.
Lawrence Hall Jun 22
Hello, you have reached your longtime downhome hometown Saint Swithin’s Family Medical Clinic now an outreach ministry of Consolidated #Jesus Industries Inc. where nobody knows you anymore and wouldn’t care if they did your health care is very important to us you are a valued customer our office hours are from 8 to 12 and 2 to 5 on alternate Mondays and 9-12 and 2 to 5 on Tuesdays and Thursday after Woodchuck Endangerment Awareness Day but before Greenpeace Day except when the latter falls on a Wednesday in which case our office hours are 2 to 5 only and on Saturday 8 to 12 if this is an outside pharmacy please dial X and follow the menu if this is a prescription refill please dial Y and follow the menu if this is to schedule an appointment please dial Z and remain on the line if this to reschedule an appointment dial A cubed and speak slowly when prompted to do so I’m sorry I didn’t quite get that would you like to try again I’m sorry I still didn’t get that if you would like to speak to an operator dial oh, I am sorry your time is expired please hang up and redial if you would like to speak with Dr. Name’s secretary please dial 3 if you would like to speak with Dr. Other Name’s secretary please dial 4 if you would like to talk with Nurse Practitioner Yet Another Name’s secretary please dial 5 if this is an emergency then please hang up and dial 911…
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:

It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.

Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
remington carter Oct 2016
cold skin; feet underwater, turned
inward and i fall forward. cold feet, cold
feet and blue skin, straight lines and
blurry vision, clear skin
red water

(inertia is a property of

why did i fall towards you?)

i think i saw god today, i saw god today and
his eyes stuck to me the way the telephone lines
stick to the sky, i gouged them out
and hung the pieces to dry
on heaven’s door, his blood
was all over me, i wish the
look in his eyes was as
warm as his veins, i asked for
forgiveness, you promised me
forgiveness but your pulse counted
my sins—

i thought believing in you was all i had
to do but there’s a whole book about you.
verses after verses, my mother killed
me because i burned the pages, and now
there is only the cover left with the
seams undone

heaven was a bit cold anyway
okkk woow this is a hard one. ill be ****** if anyone actually makes it to the bottom
Andrew May 2017
I could've sworn I saw a younger version of you
going in the opposite direction on High Street
I wanted to stop and say something
But I had to die a gruesome death
It's just that you looked like the edition of you
I'm ashamed to have tainted
And we've been down this road before...

Like the time we saw that guy hit that telephone pole
I knelt in the muck with a stranger in my arms
His fleeting life transfixed me to his world
But once life returned
My interest was gone

Similar to the time I saw that fox dying in the street
I left the solitude of my car to gaze into it's primal eyes
Without communication
All we could do was cry together
I couldn't decide whether to **** it or care for it
So I did neither
And just drove off
I understand it may seem cowardly
But the thought of it living and continuing
to suffer and survive was too beautiful
And the thought of responsibly nurturing it was too repellent
Not to mention those things can be dangerous
no matter how small they appear
I guess what I'm saying is bad things happen when I leave my car
Usually, I drive with the windows up and the doors locked
Loneliness fills the cabin
I opened my doors but nobody entered
Only tears filled the cabin
They cascaded out onto the road
Forming ice in the subzero winds
I lost all control
And just before I crashed
I could've sworn I saw a younger version of you
going in the opposite direction on High Street
Jordan Rowan Jan 2016
As the sun lit up the streams and the sky
It broke up the dreams in Mona's eyes
And she woke to a day of lazing around
As a boy she never met came blazing through town

She got up and fixed herself a coffee and book
She glanced out the window and had to take a second look
A little boy came running with blood on his jeans
She realized that her father was nowhere to be seen

She opened the door and waiting for him to speak
His breath was harsh and his words were weak
"Your father lost and he's set to hang"
He said as the telephone rang

She wiped the dust off the saddle and a tear from her face
As she rode away towards the hangman's place
When she arrived and saw her father in chains
She felt the sting of a loved one in pain

The hangman pointed to her and asked her name
She replied "I'm his daughter, you should be ashamed"
"There is nothing now that you can do,
Unless you'd like me to hang you."

As her father shouted out and cried
She trembled and knew she couldn't watch him die
Before the hangman put her in binds
He said "There's one more thing I have in mind."

And as the night howled and grounds froze
What happened in that room, no one knows
But when sun rose in the morning
There was no family left to do the mourning
Evan Stephens Nov 2017
It flickered in the air,
sagged branch to branch,
pushed against the windows:
a death was pulsing.

It spilled into the streets
of my hometown.
I opened an old phonebook,
the names were humming.

I was cut to pieces by it.
I knew her as a little girl,  
she knew my sister
in her hippie period.

The telephone lines cowered
beneath the gray massing of moon.
The faces of houses screamed
ceaselessly at me as I drove.

It is so insistent,
her sixth-grade smile
in my old class photo.
It hovers inside me.
Joanna Jul 23
A squirrel found passage on a telephone wire
a bird lost a feather and did not grow tired. 

While the sky found a kaleidoscope of color,
another, lost the blues this summer night, 

and then found joy in hidden delight. 

For just beyond the horizon where mysteries 
unfold, and there are adventures to behold. 

The eagle as he soars, the butterfly on his way,
it's all in the process that forms a new day.
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