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Created on: April 09, 2008
I have a sinful obsession with the hard click of the keys
Each pause in the air fills my creative heart with glee
From a thrift store or an old tool shed
My friend the typewriter is far from dead
It has followed me through childhood
Through puberty and on even still
I have trusted it with my secrets
Into adulthood, my heart I spill
To this silent symbol
Of life and once up a times
Of a million poems that escaped my mind
To this virtous partner in all of my crimes
Learn more about this author, K.C. Jean Kellam.
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Poetry: Typewriters
The old Remington,
Over there on the table
Was his darling, his baby,
His shiny, black mistress.
He stroked her steel sides
by K.D. Saffron
A S D F J K L ; throw, jeez how I dreaded each time she walked up my row
Every morning at 10am, there she'd be, ready to
I have a sinful obsession with the hard click of the keys
Each pause in the air fills my creative heart with glee
From a thrift
by Jane Allyson
Sitting at my old typewriter,
My mom just had to laugh at me.
The only way that I could write
Was bang it as hard as can be.
I'd
The old green typewriter
Still sits on the desk
Collecting dust
Unable to remove it
It holds so many
Memories
The stories
View All Articles on: Poetry: Typewriters
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