It’s a relic of the Cold War era. It is black.

Once shiny Bakelite became dull. Maybe it was the chemicals.

It found shelter in a darkroom. In a research center dismantling its nuclear reactor.

There was no future for nuclear science after the iron curtain had crumbled.

It was voiceless, robbed of its carbon microphone. An organ donor for another member of the army of black W48s.

It is still on duty today, in the trenches. Repaired and healthy.

Fencing off ping callers who don’t know I cannot call them back.

Because there is no display. And no tone dialing. For Voice Over IP.

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Lone Black Telephone by elkement. Pencil drawing, drawn ‘negatively’ on white paper, scanned, inverted. Completed on February 23, hours before the world turned dark. Functional Tischfernsprecher W48 rotary phone, a German post-WWII icon, indeed from the darkroom of a (former nuclear science) research center. Carbon button microphone replaced. It can only receive calls. It would be able to dial out if I installed a converter.

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I am trying create found poetry, more on the process here. Google for Lone Black Telephone, pick a phrase from the first page found, click a link on that page, pick a phrase, repeat. Do not rearrange, do not go back.

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I try again. Now with Bing.

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I see the pattern. Creating constraints for creativity is like constructing the labyrinth from which you plan to escape. Quoting myself:

Guidelines on Found Poetry say you should start with an idea in mind what the poem should be about – then pick phrases that match this plan. I for one don’t have a plan. Maybe my subconsciousness has.

I try again, one day later. Now with DuckDuckGo.

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