Busted Radio Poem by Patrick O'Reilly
Busted Radio
There is no music tonight, my darling,
This radio is busted.
You can turn the dial all you want.
But it's old, yellowed bakelite,
Worn-down wood grain
Dusty dials and needy needles.
When I turned it on
It crinkled like sheets of aluminum,
It squeeked and died,
Like a heartsick mouse.
Just then it started flickering like a candle
And I thought there was hope,
But, alas, distortions always prevail with us.
There is no music tonight, my darling,
This radio is busted
And we'll have to dance alone.
For whatever reason - maybe simply the subject matter - this reminds me of 'A Radio With Guts' by Bukowski. Yours, of course, has far more hope and eloquence, but there is something about a old radio that asks for a good poem. This one delivers. Cheers, Lori
This poem sounds like your radio really isn't busted...your using it as a metaphor for somthing deeper...but good job for hiding your true feelings about this certain situation...(i guess) Tori K.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/27/2024 6:56:31 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Great job Patrick! I love this and the title was intrigueing enough to make me want to check it out! It was funny and the imagery was great...I Thank U for sharing =Shelley=