Popular Posts
-
By Turtle Shell This is one of the November 2 meeting's First Lesson poems. ------------------------------ What I Wish I'd Le...
-
Oh hey, here's something I probably should have linked to a couple weeks ago: It's a book! That's right, the Words & Pictu...
-
by Turtle Shell "Look at this, this brilliant kid Made a masterwork, our genius did." A perfect grade, brings pride galore. Y...
-
There have been a couple more Commuter articles about us lately. Last week they published a piece called You Could Be Next Year's Poet L...
-
Chocolate tastes sweet, creamy, and rich, Slightly bitter, nutty, waxy, earthy, melty. At least, that's how it tastes in words. But t...
-
A thought An inspiration Inhale... A mad dash For pen, paper Holding... A napkin or scrap A pencil or crayon Scribble madly... Exha...
-
Ages go and history flows ever repeating and growing. Common mores get wound up and disdain, then relax, relearn to empathize with a lyr...
-
Well, we are officially on our winter break. Christmas is coming, a new year will begin, and we all get a brand new term. Poetry club will ...
-
So much of our lives we spend with an internal monologue our only company grinding at the loneliness inside. But don't worry, it'...
-
Hello all! At tonight's meeting at the Benton Center we were met with an interesting question: if you wrote a series of poems addresse...
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Telephone Repairman
by Joseph Millar
All morning in the February light
he has been mending cable,
splicing the pairs of wires together
according to their colors,
white-blue to white-blue
violet-slate to violet-slate,
in the warehouse attic by the river.
When he is finished
the messages will flow along the line:
thank you for the gift,
please come to the baptism,
the bill is now past due :
voices that flicker and gleam back and forth
across the tracer-colored wires.
We live so much of our lives
without telling anyone,
going out before dawn,
working all day by ourselves,
shaking our heads in silence
at the news on the radio.
He thinks of the many signals
flying in the air around him
the syllables fluttering,
saying please love me,
from continent to continent
over the curve of the earth.
-------------------------
The prompt for next week is: "We live so much of our lives without telling anyone".
Also, at next week's club meeting we will be viewing photos taken by students in the photography department (I think), and we will each get to choose one to write a poem on. After the club's loyal members show up to take their pick next Tuesday, I'll try to post the pictures or links to them online so that everyone else canpick at our scraps perhaps choose one to write about as well.
by Joseph Millar
All morning in the February light
he has been mending cable,
splicing the pairs of wires together
according to their colors,
white-blue to white-blue
violet-slate to violet-slate,
in the warehouse attic by the river.
When he is finished
the messages will flow along the line:
thank you for the gift,
please come to the baptism,
the bill is now past due :
voices that flicker and gleam back and forth
across the tracer-colored wires.
We live so much of our lives
without telling anyone,
going out before dawn,
working all day by ourselves,
shaking our heads in silence
at the news on the radio.
He thinks of the many signals
flying in the air around him
the syllables fluttering,
saying please love me,
from continent to continent
over the curve of the earth.
-------------------------
The prompt for next week is: "We live so much of our lives without telling anyone".
Also, at next week's club meeting we will be viewing photos taken by students in the photography department (I think), and we will each get to choose one to write a poem on. After the club's loyal members show up to take their pick next Tuesday, I'll try to post the pictures or links to them online so that everyone else can
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment