Phone Pole

May 4, 2009
By Cibelle Levi BRONZE, Los Angeles, California
Cibelle Levi BRONZE, Los Angeles, California
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Some are short, some are tall,
Some are thin, and some are stout.
Universally all are shockingly rounded.

Pincushions of mind-boggling conversation lines,
With perfect dialogues traveling in thousands of languages,
From vast children and to the thousands of human beings.

Climb without gloves,
Bursts open your skin,
And drown in your own blood bath,
From stacks of excruciating staples,
Which bear themselves crying inseparable splints.

Indifferent selection of tedious prints,
Rare intellectual events,
Wind vulnerable, eye catchy pages of missing
Two and four legged family members
Pictured in black and white,
And in color if they are loved more.

Chaos of emergencies
Exceed the dried out hollow brained wood,
With rumors of gut wrenching rapes experienced around.

Heart attacks of panicking lonesome people
– No mercy to the young or old -
If on time they reach that near distant phone.
Again will travel perfect dialogues in thousands of languages.

Receive news of a precious new born,
To substitute a soul of another who died.

Pry on the juicy conversations
Of weak next-door relationships.
Or potent long distant marriages
Sheltered with only one solid gold ring.

A lot is revealed of which is not known to the human
That’s enough of what’s not revealing to the eye,
From these pin cushions
Of mind boggling conversation lines.

The weather beaten metal or wooden bars
Which cross the top of the phone poles,
Some of them hold one line,
And some of them hold more.

They are anxiously ugly,
Out of shape and proportion,
With enormous nuts and bolts,
Holding everything with caution,
And they devastate the view of the blue skies above.

You will feel helpless and sad
If you were to see,
The runaway misplaced teens,

Days come and go,
And the desperate rushed people
Are too busy to know,
There remains a bright side
To these sturdy phone poles.

They house the worn-out,
Nonchalant winged creatures’ feet,
And support the squirming squirrel’s leaps
Between two flimsy chunky twigs.

View the vibrant rooftops
In flats, heaps, blocks, and tiles.
Absorb the flawless colors
With their naked eye.

Head spinning,
Hair raising skyscrapers
Of Manhattan,
And other distinguished cities of the world.

Sometimes just relax,
If the frisky bomb shelled fog,
Cloaks the view.

Other times,
Paint the canvas of your mind in awe,
Of the assorted sunrises,
And fire burning horizon,
Throughout an alluring sunset.

Only by climbing a phone pole near by.

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