Saturday, 30 April 2016

The Sadness of Telegraph Poles

I read a modern poem on
the sadness of telegraph poles.
It moved me greatly, and I wept
   – insert a simile here, please.

Not enough people dwell upon
the sadness of telegraph poles,
for if they did, I feel that we
   – insert a metaphor here, now.

If you don’t like the concept of
the sadness of telegraph poles,
don’t blame the poem or the poet
   – insert deficient feelings here.

2 comments:

  1. Telegraph poles are a sign that [no matter how remote. or desolate your actual location is] there is a 'place' ahead of you. I learnt that on holidays in Ireland. My father was bent on visiting ancient monuments. Not the ones with any recorded history to them. more of the pre-history table jobs, three upright stones with a basalt slab tilted at a fierce angle on top. No plans were hatched or discussion offered, he would just get into the Triumph Vitesse and drive. Barreling down wee boreens snaking up the S bend mountain roads, he would offer no reassurance that knew where he was going, if we took a wrong turn he refused to turn round. My mother's objections had fallen on cloth ears. Which looked pretty hairy like Donegal tweed, in the hazy atmosphere of the car where Embassy cigarettes were smoked like the chain of telegraph poles stretching out ahead. Those telegraph were my only hope of return to normal people, and I have yet to thank them.

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  2. I like your comment, shadkin, espesh. cloth/tweed ears and fags are like telegraph poles. Thanks. It's a very silly poem, though, and probably not deserving of such a considered response.

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