Today it's Monday, Poetry Monday.
Diane has set the theme, but dear Diane, Phones ... ? what a theme. Phones are prosaic means of communication - not at all the stuff poems are made of.
Oh, well, a theme is a theme; and old MotherOwl just rambles along.
Also participating are: Jenny, Mimi, and Merry Mae. They are all sure to do better than I.
I've been improving the poem a bit, corrected some typos (that kind you notice after hitting publish), and added a line or two.
Of course I have a phone,
an old-fashioned one of my own.
Whenever I grasp the bone*
and hear the dial tone,
I'm out of my comfort zone.
I'm known to moan and groan
whenever I pick up the phone.
And the seller, offering loan ...
I'll just put the handset down
With a slam to show off my scone (erm scorn).
Now MotherOwl has flown.
She's leaving computer and phone.
For the crazy winds have blown
Wilted leaves over driveway and stone.
* Danish slang for using a phone, as the old handset looked somewhat like a bone.
Next Monday we'll have Time, courtesy of Jenny.
Blogger putter stadig tilfældige kommentarer i spamfængsel. Jeg lover at slippe dem ud hurtigst muligt.
Blogger is still randomly putting comments in spam-jail. I promise to free them as fast as possible.
Phones definitely fall into the necessary evil category here. They are useful, but...
SvarSletAnd yes, the old handsets were definitely bone shaped.
I'd rather walk through the windy weather than either make or receive calls, too, MotherOwl :) Well done on a topic that you found hard.
SvarSletYou did very well indeed. When it's an emergency, i wouldn't be without one. Other times, how i wish my phone would only accept calls from people i know. Does Susan have some such magic up her sleeve?
SvarSletI think you captured it perfectly! Phones. That modern 'convenience' that is anything but convenient!
SvarSlet