Extinct
Things die, let's face it. Even things we wish would hang around, go out of fashion, become obsolete, or are superseded by something bigger, better, badder, stronger, faster, or cooler.
Fins on cars, drive-in movies, tight sweaters and automobiles made of all metal, things of the past. Dinosaurs. Extinct.
Well, they may be gone, but they do not have to be forgotten, and they do not have to exist only in museums.
They can live in poetry as well.
EXTINCT
Rotary dial telephones
holed up in abandoned houses
like shut-ins or fugitives.
Music captured on vinyl grooves or magnetic tape,
Saturday morning cartoons,
victims of bloodless coups by round-tables of politicians,
cameo brooches worn by ladies to be.
How I would love to explore the mysteries of UHF and VHF,
ghosted forms defying static to entertain me,
the last throes of their death more fun than not.
These are creatures who leave no fossils,
no trace that they were once with us
a part of us, like the dodo,
digested and consumed;
gone the way of the plays of Sophocles,
or the cursive Q,
the identity of Prussia;
whispers from history books
riding on telegraph wires.
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This poem shared with those ancient historical figures over at DVerse
©2009 Christopher Reilley
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Hi Christopher. This was both thoughtful and fun. Well, I am old enough that many of the things you mentioned I had. We still had a rotary phone when are kids were little. I love those last couple lines.
ReplyDeleteI actually feel a bit like a fossil myself... (and I have had an app on my Iphone mimicking a rotary dial
ReplyDeleteGreat poem Christopher -- "ghosted forms defying static" reminded me of scanning the dial on the 1980s, looking for Radio Moscow and that weird repeating signal that nobody could work out .
ReplyDeleteI had just raised the needle and put away the (vinyl) Stones album I was listening to only moments before reading this. Thanks.
ReplyDeleteThe things that don't leave a trace. Once we've moved on, we forget; once they cease to be of use, they're binned. Not as impressive as the Valley of the Kings anyway.
ReplyDeleteLeave no trace behind. Quite difficult to do in reality. I recognize and have lived with many of the items you mention now....I once saw a youtube video of three probably teenage boys, asked to make a phone call on a rotary phone. It was hilarious. They had no idea what to do or how to work it.
ReplyDeleteBravo. Very jnterestkng Christopher
ReplyDeleteMuch💜love
One advantage to old age is that we are living museums for the past. Dime comic books, shoe skates, glass milk bottles delivered to your porch, gearless bicycles, no helmets for anything, three in a tree stick shifts, and so on. Your thoughtful poem stirred memories long lost but not entirely forgotten.
ReplyDeleteOoh I love this!
ReplyDeleteI love the way you've presented these more modern relics of history, which have faded during living memory, leaving hardly a trace for the next generation to pick up on! I did spin some vinyl yesterday: I love the static crackle :-)
ReplyDeleteyou weaved those relic with such lilt and grace. beautiful!
ReplyDeleteThis really made me feel nostalgic, Chris!
ReplyDelete-David
I love it. Very nostalgic. Much can and should live on in poetry.
ReplyDeleteYou made me think of the archive of old computers I had in my basement for years, with all the data locked inside because there was no longer any way to get it out.
ReplyDeletedial telephones took me back to the red phone boxes of my teenage years. great poem
ReplyDeleteThe effervescent of life leave no shadows, leave no survivor. Its a short and violent life!
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed reading this poem. Well done, Christopher.
ReplyDeleteSo enjoyed it! Brought back some memories.
ReplyDelete