60 episodes

poetry via voicemail / missed calls you need to hear

VOICEMAIL POEM‪S‬ VOICEMAIL POEMS

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    • 5.0 • 9 Ratings

poetry via voicemail / missed calls you need to hear

    "Moon" by Zach Goldberg

    "Moon" by Zach Goldberg

    as silent and holy as an empty church.
    a polished row of pews. you, moon
    in the sky, how do you do it?
    your one-handed gravity
    holding still the earth. astral magic trick,
    you newly christened old god.
    every family’s forgotten dance is a scar
    on your surface. memory like a bear trap.
    worldfodder magnet. wise old sledgehammer
    once smashed through our orbit longways. we were just a pie cooling on the galactic
    windowsill. now we say Light &
    mean your face, stretched our whole lives
    and once reached your shadow. pockmarked
    queen of all ships. all flags. can’t sing
    a note of worship if it doesn’t include
    a word of pain. the night sky’s
    opening bell and serene last call,
    nursing your craters like old wounds
    nursing your craters like children.
    your face held high and regal
    through eons of the same steady bruise
    and somehow you arrive to us with a bouquet
    of escape of routes. i have so much
    to learn from you, and not just about physics.
    how long did it take you to learn
    such luminescent confidence? your brilliant
    backlit halo, the way you just float and move
    everything, shine your own ligaments to dust.
    when people say they love each other
    to the You and back, is it about distance
    or about damage? about some man’s
    lonely footprint? and what do we know
    about damage next to you, anyway?
    all our blood clots thick with time
    but you have no winds to whisper
    your name. sometimes the healing
    does not rush through you. prehistoric ocean
    or otherwise. there are no channels
    you didn’t cut yourself. no way to say Over
    in the dead space. no one there to hear it
    but a silent star.
    and a billion other stars.


    ————————————–

    Zachary Goldberg called us from Oakland, CA.

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    • 2 min
    "Whero" by Stacey Teague

    "Whero" by Stacey Teague

    remember bodies at night

    how they glow

    how they bend into us

    like refracted light


    the memory of where a body was

    after it has left its phosphorescence


    you cocoon into

    the spaces around things


    find yourself

    in auburn eyes and hazel skin

    the red that flows from you


    you learn that aloneness is a softness

    a sky that pulls you through


    you see bodies as they are

    things that love you and then stop


    when you wake up it’s heavy water

    write down the deep green blue feelings

    like paua shells


    there is a pale existing in your head

    a light moving in your hair

    behind a colour


    in the lunar month you return home

    the whenua moves its arms up to greet you

    climb up the hill to see the faraway beach

    feel lonely like mislaid keys


    it’s good to be there in the quiet

    saying to yourself i’m real i’m real

    as the feelings inside shrink red into shape


    ————————————–

    Stacey Teague called us from Clonakilty, Ireland.

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    • 1 min
    "Manic Pixie POV" by Taylor Jaczin

    "Manic Pixie POV" by Taylor Jaczin

    yeah i’ve got a lighter. can fix your filter. give you honey stick secrets and light tight roll laughter when you call me blue dream like your favorite strain like your favorite character ramona you know the blue of your dreams? yeah they’re both pierced. few things hurt so good like a needle. addict in a cute way. smoker with a toothbrush. dreamer with insomnia. liar and a poet. dream girl without problems. will ignore your worst for a sprinkle of the same. won’t shut the cartoon off till you ask for the remote or a shaved head. will lay alone with you and all of the dirty dishes. or i can wake up pretty if you want me to. i can be your party now and your home in the morning. feed you jewels of deep red pomegranates and suck the stains from the bed sheets. let you call me by any name you want when you f**k me. lick your wounds so you don’t have to. pretend you don’t have them until you don’t. and i will say goodbye before the jump so you don’t have to see me splatter. or if you want, i could rewrite the closing scene. i could change this to a happy ending. i can make you everything you want. i will make me anything if you ask me to.

    ————————————–

    Taylor Jaczin called us from St. Petersburg, FL.


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    • 1 min
    "Never Trust A Snowglobe" by Caroljean Gavin

    "Never Trust A Snowglobe" by Caroljean Gavin

    In the palm of my hand I harbor
    Fault lines, one-way streets,
    A famous bridge half-crossed and
    Another I steered from the passenger’s seat
    While the driver smoked weed
    Such honking dreams in the patchouli,
    Of frolicking unhindered, of
    Slapping my feet in my Sunday shoes
    Down my aunt’s hardwood hallway.
    The earthquakes always come.
    I’ve cracked off into the ocean.
    Every day’s dawn yawns a
    Salty horizon, and the fog rises off the water
    And the fog rides into town, and the fog bowls me down,
    And sits on my chest, reading off a checklist of regrets
    I am so thirsty
    And my irises are turning gray and
    It never snows in San Francisco no matter what
    The souvenirs say.


    ————————————–

    Caroljean Gavin called us from Winston-Salem, NC.

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    • 1 min
    "Reading Lines" by Mariah Bosch

    "Reading Lines" by Mariah Bosch

    A man in a powder blue suit
    offered to tell me my future
    on Olive Avenue. When I tried
    to say no, he said Baby, please,
    in a way that told me that he
    might know something that
    I didn’t, so I held out my palm.

    I used to hold out the same palm
    on the playground for other girls
    to read. They would tell me that
    I was destined to have five kids
    and a loving husband. Maybe a
    mini van. They told me my future
    with such certainty that it was
    difficult not to see some truth,
    some sincerity, some genuine
    desire to wish a happy future
    upon each other. So I believed them.

    The man on Olive said he could see
    Los Angeles and its sprawl. He
    could see me there, too, but he
    wouldn’t tell me what I was doing
    without another five dollars.
    I looked happy, though, he said.
    Happy in Los Angeles and
    laughing in the sun. There,
    in Fresno, I sought to find
    an intersection of these futures.


    ————————————–

    Mariah Bosch called us from Fresno, CA.


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    • 1 min
    "On Sundays" by Sara Hutchinson

    "On Sundays" by Sara Hutchinson

    I stay in bed til 2 then get up
    and open all the windows.
    Make coffee and walk around
    the 5 x 10 space I call my living room.
    Turn my attention to the postcards
    and photographs on the fridge.
    Stare hard at all that evidence.
    Whisper: See, there’s no reason to be lonely.
    Smoke one cigarette and then another
    on the steps out front.
    Begin to cry over my own good luck.
    I never told you this but the truth is
    I would follow you to the edges of any map.
    I never told you this
    but that’s what scares me.
    And it’s not just that I love you.
    More often it’s a mixed melody
    of the same idea,
    which sounds quite a lot like: thank you.
    Forgive me one last time. Come back.
    This time I mean it.


    ————————————–

    Sara Hutchinson called us from Santa Cruz, CA.

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    • 1 min

Customer Reviews

5.0 out of 5
9 Ratings

9 Ratings

The Kid Rauhls ,

This has most definitely become the greatest part of my poetry life

I have to call in! Love you guys!!!!

-Jasmin Nicole

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