"telephonic" poems
banana skin salad in
artificial lemonade
peacocks salivating
mushy rooms belly aching
Oreos are okie dokie
ocean breezes open up me
analyzing any eyes
evaluating coffee grinds
a manifesting apple in me
apple in the Snapple leaking
sticky salamander fingers
static on a broken speaker
attics over broken theaters
salmon eating taco teachers
teaching choco taco preachers
preaching at Chicago creatures
opal rings and oval things
are focusing on yodeling
a social need for opening
in total global offerings
and in a soup or telephonic
happiness in playing sonic
gently speaking thick Ebonics
sickly tonic
Let's be honest, boys
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 1:26 AM UTC
Warning: This is not a nursery rhyme for the fainthearted.
The promise lit by life,
Was actually lit by your lies.
Owwwww!
My forehead is mine I am made to realize,
Realization comes painfully when I bang the wall.
Sssssssssss!
****** I am hurting myself but that's all,
Never stupidly brave enough to actually finish it.
FREE ME!
I request that entity to let me live my life,
Cursed wasn't how I wanted to survive.
Ouch!!
The misgivings are just that bit too much,
As though a beehive fell on my head as much.
BANG-BANG-BANG!!!
I bang my head to the tune which I play,
And I am unable to bang it on a wall.
Peace is what I get finally
Cursed is how I live my life every day,
Talking to walls like concentrated prisoners.
I dare you to swap it with me!
Yes! Swap your life with me right now,
If you can't walk with me for the mile.
Whispers
The mile I dreamt with you,
The smile you promised,
The mile of my life.
Forget about it
I'm just joking about the swap,
I'm no Devil,
You can't live how I live because,
It's my life,
And I'm happy with as much I got,
I've to breath alone,
There must be some serious curse on me,
I accept that curse.
Loving people and then losing them is a ritual,
I must live alone like a hermit.
But you can live on talking only with the darker,
Idol-worshiping him only.
Enjoy with his pictorial representations & idols,
Only one darker idol can you find.
This is why I averse myself from idol-worshiping,
Because it destroys relations.
I lost not only my telephonic-best friend,
But also my real life best friends started avoiding me.
Not an idol-worshiper is a blasphemous term,
In her religion, in Hinduism.
It destroys relations if you start loving your idols,
And if you even start living like your idols.
You never did quite understand what Ishwar/Bhagwan/Rabb/God actually meant.
All the best with your Kanhaiya,
I wish you all the happiness,
And hope that He gives you what I couldn't,
Let your imagination work wonders for you.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 2:08 AM UTC
The world is so connected and indeed, it is not in many ways,
From newspapers to the internet, social networking sites to video calling and last but not the least telephonic calls.
We are so absorbed in the world that exists not as a tangible reality,
that we forget the ones seated next to us,
to smile at our friends we forget or we don't realise
but find time in all the world to smile at a WhatsApp message or a Facebook chat.
We miss the chances to care and help others in real world
while we make panels and help groups on social sites,
And work hard on promoting stressing and straining to make things work.
We forget our loved ones while trying to find new loved ones
through distant chords and invisible strings of a virtual world.
It is indeed right we learn of cultures and diversity
and acknowledge most kinds and varieties
forgetting the very near and very much wanted.
It is a difficult question as we are still gestating in a world of virtual reality
far fetched from the perceivable reality
if we still wanted to continue as such.
But the truth is that we are more connected by this umbilical cord of illusionary virtual global connectedness that we block real realities in the dawn of it.
We are not ready to be reborn with more sensitive capabilities,
to transform and reunite and catch hold of our lost sensibilities and sensitivities
to save our world from being so disconnected.
Is not it time that we did redesign a new world
Where love and care
Warmth and tenderness reign.
Is it not time that we stop and stoop to hold our old world and yet conceive of a new world integrated
With technology and live side by side
And weave a wonderful life for us.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 2:35 AM UTC
Electronic tears and pain
Via the telephone line
Depression and open wounds
Bleeding into a strangers listening ear
Pooling as it gathers
And drains into his brain
Telephonic transmission
Of a soul
That flies by wire
Just looking for another soul
To touch with
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 4:40 PM UTC
This is about the frustration of being a father, after a divorce
In between
In-between
These alternating saturdaze
my children whirr . . .
Some telephonic conversation point
They, hazy fantasy . . Half Imagined lives
Now . . Mummy and daddy
Don't play husbands and wives
Anymore . . Each has
Like carrion for seagulls
Stashed Respective Legal beagles
To one side
as incisive as their fickle knives
And Baying for partition
Crave To slice the final pieces
From this pies remaining lives
So . . This is here
where we are now
No more catch up at the days end
Not tucked to bed
Not kissed goodnight
No stories nor
No prayers to send
There's nothing not
Nor can I do
To make this feeling mend . . . .
Since Each has their part
in this narrative marked,
Queued slots in time
All's written down, agreed
Is for the benefit of all
Is legislated for, defined
so . . . . we wait . . . .
Each flicks their counter stick
days become hours as
Slow minutes tick
by and by . .
Then when I see them at the weekend
I tell myself the biggest lie
That some piece of the pie
Is better
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC
Stories of the pranks we'd done
Moved quickly round the table:
Eric's water balloon story:
Teen boys driving around water bombing cars
Running red lights to escape an enraged convertible driver...
Wide-eyed son hearing his father's indiscretions for the first time
(Father and Grandfather trying to spin the story to teach a lesson).
Dad's vinegar breakfast drink:
The visiting preacher ******* down a breakfast gulp
Of cider vinegar that drained his face to pale,
Sent him running for the toilet,
Made him ill enough to whisper from the pulpit
(No good explanations, only gasping laughter).
Then came my story of "the stolen VCR":
Staging a robbery in our mall-parked car,
Frightening my wife and her mother into tears,
Bringing telephonic anger to my withering ears;
Laughter turned to silence as the table turned to see
My sweetheart's mother glaring hard at me....
And words revealed the anger fresh again
From thirty years' brooding....
(At loss for words, I asked forgiveness once again).
The fact that father and grandfather and great-grandfather
Had done stupid things accentuated the heat of
Great grandmother's rage.
Children and adults sat fidgeting...
Awkward stillness brought the evening down....
My attempt to teach and bring to rest by looking at the failure
Of 30 years' consequence for a foolish prank that I had done
May serve as worthy instruction for a grandson who has
Mischief in his eyes.
"Before you do a thing, look ahead to see
What consequences there may be!"
(My feeble sermon to a wide-eyed grandson).
I left the table reflecting on the meaninglessness
Of empty words,
Felt again the hopelessness of meeting standards,
Realized that forgiveness hadn't happened,
Reveled in the glow of knowing my wife was standing
Beside me in the heat of the moment,
Reflected that consequences
Follow every foolish thing,
Every action that we take.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 3:47 PM UTC
Getting to a 4
After the dinner of rising losses,
in the bedroom, where open finds shut, shut
finds open, a sprawled business shirt crosses
the flowered spread. Its armless sleeve in the rut
between two pillow with matching bolsters.
A sole cufflink, like a dignified mourner,
ignored the calls of a telephonic pollster.
Its brother is abandoned in the corner,
by the shoe boxes arrayed in columns
of flats, high heels and sneakers for the gym;
sneakers worn down by her vow given solemnly:
“If I lose weight, I won’t mind losing him.”
In her closet, pantsuits size 8, size 6 size 4
And tiny cut-offs hanging from the door.
Marc Tretin
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
Hotel ***
shortly after we arrive, eye call the front desk and ask them
when was the first time we stayed at the hotel?
2010, five years, usually once, sometimes twice de a year was
the answer.
in their computer, the management records our modest likes, preferred newspapers, the firmness of our pillows and that
we require telephonic advisories to adjacent rooms,
code worded Kilimanjaro,
*when we engage in Grade A, FDA approved hotel ***
noisy, twisted, sheet messed, bubble bathed, wall climbing, chandelier swinging, room device only, do not disturb, full on, *hotel ***
but times change us and this time eye reach repeatedly for her bare arms, and one in ten, one in ten, I dare to gentle, to caress... lest eye awaken her...nothing changes, everything changes, the satisfactions express themselves differently...time zone changes, alter body clocks and needs are not auto-instinctual, more cerebral, and yet eye tend to her both like my woman and beloved child, anticipating her almost every need...and wonder where that
*hotel *** drive got misplaced...
them glory days...*
when they ask if our stay was satisfying,
my verbal reply is both invisibly straight and di-visibly crooked...
"holey satisfactory, holy satisfactory"
and ever eye am the pun, the jokester par excellent,
hugging nuggets of previous journeys...
retrieved from cold storage, recollections of
*ah, hot hotel ***
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
You speak a language which i don't fully understand
And i speak one which you don't get completely either
But that has never been a problem in our relationship
'Coz our hearts have always communicated perfectly
We don't meet that often
We both live in different countries
We mostly meet via the internet and telephonic conversations
But that has never been a problem in our relationship
'Coz our hearts keep meeting every second
Distance doesn't matter
'Coz our love is forever
With every passing day
It just keeps getting stronger
Even though i'm not with you all the time
I have lived every moment with you
I can feel your illuminating presence all around me
The flowers...they remind me of you
I see you in the moon
The constellations
In the smile of a kid
In the open sky
And every night in my dreams
If two people truly love each other...then no barrier can come in between.
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 2:36 PM UTC
Dial tone.
Cell phone or land land telephonic
Ring a ding / fax machine singing
Digital data lines
Most during this time of the day
Lagging behind just enough hours
To have them at dinner
Tucking in the kids
Most during this time of mine
Pacific western sunsets
Around six ish
"It's not a good time"
Most declare, if they dared pick up
But 8 out of over a hundred calls
Succeed
The rest are answering machines
Hanging up
My computer's got your number
Disconnected no longer in use
Learn by repetition
"Can you spare any time?
To answer some questions"
Customer satisfactions
Answering machines never had
The answers for this survey
In front of me
I recite verbatim
To fill the quota
Just need one every thirty
Or oneself to
"Feel"
Opinions opinionate
"Leave something brief after the beep..."
Hello can you hear me?
Are you complete?
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 12:56 AM UTC