Watch For Me At Midnight
A long time ago, I kissed her
on the step of our front door
then marched away with other men
off to a foreign country
to fight in a distant war.
At first the letters came frequently
slowly diminishing to a few,
which got me thinking and worried
that in my long absence
I was slowly losing you.
Then I got a letter from your brother
that explained things to me
you were sick in hospital
and I should not worry
about our son and you.
The letters then stopped coming
each mail run I looked on in despair
that there were never any letters
from your brother or you
and my heart felt so heavy.
Then in the next summer
that dreaded letter came.
You had passed into God’s hands
in that early spring
leaving one last message for me.
When you come home my dear
I will not be here
I leave in your trust our son
may he grow up to be
a man just like you.
Fear not you will see me again
if you go down to the fairy wood
and find the circle where the fairies play
and watch for me at midnight
under the haze of the moon.
3 March 2011
poem by David Harris
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Related quotes
The Wicked Postman
Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me,
mother dear?
The rain is coming in through the open window, making you all
wet, and you don't mind it.
Do you hear the gong striking four? It is time for my brother
to come home from school.
What has happened to you that you look so strange?
Haven't you got a letter from father today?
I saw the postman bringing letters in his bag for almost
everybody in the town.
Only father's letters he keeps to read himself. I am sure the
postman is a wicked man.
But don't be unhappy about that, mother dear.
Tomorrow is market day in the next village. You ask your maid
to buy some pens and papers.
I myself will write all father's letters; you will not find
a single mistake.
I shall write from A right up to K.
But, mother, why do you smile?
You don't believe that I can write as nicely as father does!
But I shall rule my paper carefully, and write all the letters
beautifully big.
When I finish my writing do you think I shall be so foolish
as father and drop it into the horrid postman's bag?
I shall bring it to you myself without waiting, and letter by
letter help you to read my writing.
I know the postman does not like to give you the really nice
letters.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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50 Years Later
I have no letter to show you my son
Said the modern father to his
Postmodern son.
Epistolary novel is a form of past
Why are you worried about such
Trivial matters like letter?
Asked the modern father to his
Postmodern son.
I got sms in my message box
I got mails in my pc
And deleted to make way to
New ones
Nothing remains forever dear
Said the proud father to his son.
I read about letters in little mags
My friends say it was really amazing
To share thoughts, feelings
Through letters
But you have nothing to show me
Ha! It's really very sad!
You should have some letters dad!
Said the postmodern son.
poem by Amitabh Roy
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No Letters From Home!
A stranger lies ill, in a distant city,
With no - - letters from home!
The glances that meet him, in lieu of pity,
Are querring, "Why does he roam?"
"Oh, heed my request," says he, "else 'twere better
I slept in this gold-dusted loam;
Dismiss the physician, and bring a letter--
A flock of kind letters from home."
"Oh, heed my request," says he, "else 'twer better I
I slept in this gold-dusted loam;
Dismiss the physician, and bring a letter--
A flock of kind letters from home."
Like messenger doves, from across the mountains,
Cream tinted and golden and white?
Like the clouds that have sipp'd at the Eastern fountains
For thirsty land to take flight;
So come the dear missives--but ah! the stranger
Receives none to lighten his gloom;
In this time of sickness, this hour of danger,
Not ever one letter from home!
He moans in his slumber "Why did I ever
So far - - westwardly roam;
Oh, must I lie down must I sleep forever
With no loving letters from home?
My bones you may bury where winds are lifting
Pacific's broad billows in foam;
Or there on Lone Mountain, where sands are drifting,
But first, bring a letter from home."
"From the 'Golden' up to the portals pearly,"
He murmurs, "Oh can it be far?
On the sunset domain, in the morn how early
Will glimmer the Orient Star?
What light is the melting my shade like fetters?
What birds are those circling the dome?
Those messenger doves are my long sought letters
My flock of kind letters from home."
"They heed my request," says he, "best of debtors,
Their favors are whitening the dome!
Sweet messenger doves are my long sought letters,
My flock of kind letters from home."
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Please Sign Your Letters
(sylvester / clarke / hicks)
Please sign your letters
Please dont make me blue
Please sign your letters,
And then Ill know its you
Cant stop thinking of you
Youre always on my mind
Please sign your letters
Please dont be unkind
I read your letter
I read most every line
You said you loved me,
Said you would be mine
My heart was jumping
Something shook my mind
I found your letter was left unsigned
Chorus
Your letter said wed met some time ago
Id like to see you,
But somehow you just wont show
I just dont know which way to go
Repeat
Chorus
Please sign your letters
Please dont be unkind
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Autumn Letter
I want to write a letter to someone in the autumn
In the Autumn, I see lonely fountain streamed from a deep valley
And want to wet the lonely heart
I write a letter in the autumn night but knowing that cannot be sent in the morning
Now there is a postman who delivers letters in the air in the days and nights
So I am sending letters
I regret but the unsent letters always cry
I send the thread tied letters in the air without stamps
The letters of the poet opens its eyes with holding their breaths
poem by Kyungdae Min
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Letters To No One
I wrote a letter to my love
and never received a reply.
I've often wondered why that was.
Did he up and die?
Yes, he did. It's a fact.
And because I didn't know
I kept writing letters
and kept feeling low.
These letters went to no one.
So no one wrote to me.
I've often wondered if all my words
would come back home to me?
And then one day they all came back.
'Undeliverable'
is what they said.
I guess my lover moved away
or maybe he was dead.
And so I stopped my letters.
I never wrote again.
I still have all those letters,
unopened and unread.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Letters Or Feathers?
A letter has run into feathers,
The old image of letters are words;
Keep the frock of letters a secret,
How delightful a clean person this is!
Letters are dear to the touch,
Few will discover a grassy bank,
In wrapped water, water all white,
Leaving fishes to the taste,
Feathers are scales this time.
My head chattered from time to time,
Leaving the dear person in a landing.
Let the river seek a blunt instrument
Called rocks, a fully able object,
Worrying is all it contains.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Gone without Goodbye - English and Japanese
Lost letters lost letters
With the clouds may slide
After finding them waiting
On their hands you lie.
Lost kisses lost kisses
With the wind may fly
After finding them sleeping
On their shoulder you lie.
Lost hugs lost hugs
All the needy ones find
Then slowly and kind
Do hold them tight.
Roll up on them tightly
But with greatest care
Gently delicate kindly:
-Shhh! Don't let them be aware.
Letters, Kisses and Hugs
Vacuum all the cries
Spick and span cleaned
Let all smiles, rise!
I wrote this as a prayer letter for all the 3? 1 1? (March 11) tsunami victims (dead or alive) I hope will really get to the ones it was meant for..
here is the japanese interpretation by my friend Miyuki san:
poem by Elena Sandu
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A Song Of Spring
The Spring comes slowly up this way,
Slowly, slowly,
Under a snood of hodden grey.
The black and white for her array,
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
Where is her green that was so gay?
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
Unto a world too sick for May,
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
Where are the lads that used to play?
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
She has no heart for holiday,
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
The trees are out in Heaven they say.
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up our way.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Sealed With A Kiss
A pile of old letters
lay forgotten in an attic,
letters written long ago
in the bloom of someone’s youth.
They were tied with a pink ribbon
and kept preciously
by someone I do not know.
Each letter spoke of love,
the yearning of being apart,
and how good it would feel
to be home once again.
How wonderful it would be
back in loves arms again
away from a terrible war
that had to part them too quickly
shortly after their wedding day.
They spoke of plans for their future
and how their love would grow.
They would start afresh
at the beginnings of the first snow.
Each letter was sealed with a kiss
that was there for all to see.
It told the story of unbroken love
that would live on through every tragedy
and sealed with a kiss.
The last letter in the pile
was tear stained and edged in black.
It told the story
that her lover never came back.
26 March 2009
poem by David Harris
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Love Letters
She held a pack of love letters tied with ribbons and bows.
these were the love letters that she would never show.
Every one of them was dated first to last
These were the letters that held a life past.
Times may pass and things may change
But memories stay the same.
The writing of love letters had slowly disappeared
But she held on to them from year to year.
She sat with the letters in her lap.
As the tears rolled down her eyes
He had said he would be with her
Till the day he died
And fifty years later
He met his maker
And was carried to the cemetery
by the undertaker.
The letters had been written
with tenderness and love
Proclaiming every thing
Even the stars above.
He said life was meaningless if with her
His life he could not share.
And losing her was something
he could not bear.
Now that he was gone and she
Was left all alone.
The house didn’t seem
like much of a home.
She knew her children would not understand
Why she held the love letters in her hand.
These were the memories that kept her alive
And on that she couldn’t deny.
But her mind and body was fading fast
And she knew she could not last.
So to her children she bequeathed
The letters that she cherished all her life
For that was her husband, and she was his wife.
These are the love letters that your father
Wrote to me when we were young and carefree.
He told me of all that life had to offer.
And of all the love he had for me
And that he wanted to raise a family.
When you read his letters you will know
Why I loved this man so.
And now it’s time for me to go.
Because your father awaits me on the other side
And we’ll be together for all of time
poem by Louis Rams
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Write by Return
Clerk, corresponding,
“Rooster and Comb”,
Here I sit idle
“Thinking of home”;
I must be grafting—
Living to earn,
More correspondence,
“Write by return.”
Clerk in employ of
“Shoddy and Woods”,
Thinks that we have not
Forwarded goods.
Parcel we sent them—
Missing, I learn,
Says in his postscript:
“Write by return.”
Here is another
Letter from Bland—
“Cheque he expected
Isn’t to hand.”
How we forgot it
Cannot discern,
“Forward remittance,
Write by return.”
Here is another—
O how they come?
Treats of a “Bender”
Planned by a chum.
See on the margin,
Big letters: “Burn
After perusal—
Write by return.”
Mail in from England,
Letters for me—
Dear little sweetheart
Over the sea.
“Quite broken-hearted,
O how I yearn
Only to see you. . . .
Write by return.”
One who will “never
Think that I’m bad”
Writes me a letter
Tearful and sad.
Thinks that I’m starving,
Filled with concern,
Sends me some money—
“Write by return.”
Letter from father,
Sent to his son,
“All is forgiven—
Fat calf for one.”
O that I ever
Thought he was stern—
Money for passage—
Write by return.
poem by Henry Lawson
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When We Grow
when we grow
we actually change
we are like the sprouts of
a bean slowly crawling
wanting to see and
touch the sun,
we pretend not
to notice because
time runs so slowly
like cells unseen by
us but keen and keep on
gaining length and
width like the way
we grow eyelids
and we extend our sights
and smells, we find
love and we embrace
lust and we mix them
like a kind of
a bloody Mary drink,
or scotch on the rocks
and we face walls and
we mumble as we begin
to meet loneliness,
the spaces that spread
like a disease; you and
i, in all these, after a
lovely night in a
tangle of hair and
intertwining of fingers
we face darkness
and walls and we
begin to ask: what for?
we let the rain fall
our roofs leak and our
windows begin to open
we find separate paths
and we argue and then
we decide to take what
we really want:
i long for this and you long
for that; we take separate
ways, and we say goodbye.
we write letters day to day
until such time when the
silence becomes like a boring hour
and the
letters are unread and
we throw them on the river
of time: floating, all the
letters dissolving in the
cold waters of forgetting.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Writting
When i feel lost lonely and have nowhere to go,
the words keep me company and im a loner no more,
Letters come together in my minds free flowing from my
heart,
Two letters one letter many letters make up words,
Long words short word
bring up sentences that form up,
my concious wades throught them picking seeking to join
short and long and make it work,
No rules to my word play anything u want can stay a
concortion a work of art,
Am lost in emotions,
lost in expressions,
pronouns adjectives and nouns,
Lay them straight,
hang them down they still are need a flow to make a sweet
sound,
The rhyme,
the time is put into consideration when iplay with all my words,
My best friend is my pen, my paper and my head there is no limit to what i can,
Its a poem am at it a work of art in progress i love the work
of my hands...
poem by Kennedy Musyoka
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A heart-throb and the go-between
The old man dropped his precious letter
into the isolated letter box
where it stands in the gravel road.
The notorious postman who tampers letters
comes very seldom to collect.
He found only one letter in the box
but no addressee and stamps too.
He opened the letter and read loudly.
' I am an old godforsaken man
but still not senile; good for nothing my dear.
This could be a giveaway for you.
If you read this I am sure you may excuse me.
Do you know about spiritual love?
Sometimes this letter will annoy you my sweetheart!
Take it easy honey as I am a dreamer.
I am lonely and frustrated
and I need someone with a goodwill
who comes and stay with me forever.
I'll offer you my old hammock
and I know thousands of stories
which I can read for you on full moon days
until you sleep quietly my darling.
dedication to the letter box at ' home for the elders'
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Letter
She retrieved the letter from the mail.
Seeing the handwriting
she grew instantly pale.
She'd not seen it for many years.
Seeing it again brought
back the tears.
Not one word that he had said
was lost in her,
inside her head.
Things were good for so long.
Remembering them again
seemed so wrong.
The letter sat on her desktop now.
Staring at it intently
she knew somehow
the letter was an attempt to rectify
blaming him alone
or even knowing why?
Two months passed and finally
she opened it. Her heart stood still.
For she did see
words of comfort, but words of woe.
'I'm sick my love
but before I go
I need to see you. Can you come?
I'm sorry my love.
What's done is done.'
He died while the letter
sat unread.
She kept the letter in her bed.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Brother To Brother Hymn
Brother to brother
I know that I can always coun on you
Because you are my brther
And I am your brother also
Brother to brother
Your life is different than mine
You live in Brazil
I live in Canad a country that is more advanced in technology
Brother to brother
I will pray for you
Eventhough you don't believe in God
Brother to brother I will email you more frequently
Brother to brother I will sing you a song
Brother to brother I hope the saints will go to Sao paulo and watch you While you are sleeping
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Burn All The Letters
I am sorry that I set my sights
On the things I read
Something meant for your husband
Maybe you left it under the bed
Once upon a love those words blew free and secret
The pages lay around
Drifted to the hands of the publisher
And the greedy generations on down
Burn all the letters
(someone is always watching)
The governments on the phone
(whether openly or secretly)
Burn all the letters
(now breathe life)
Send them on
(into your story)
To a safer home
(I said burn it to secrecy)
Burn all the letters
Brand them in you before you go
Soldiers are coming to plunder
But there are some things they will never know
We made our love out of dignity
Dug our nails in the dirt
(hung our towel soaked souls out on the line)
Hung our towel soaked souls out on the line
We loved so hard that it hurt
To ease my pain I took a pen and paper
Incarnate came the bleeding
Send it back before the public eye
Perverts it in the reading
And burn all the letters
(someone is always watching)
Ah the governments on the phone
(whether openly or secretly)
Burn all the letters
(now breathe life)
Send them on back
(into your story)
To a safer home
(I said burn it to secrecy)
Burn all the letters
Brand them in you before you go
The soldiers coming to plunder
But there are some things they will never know
Burn all the letters
Ah the governments on the phone
On the phone
Burn all the letters
(all the letters)
Send them on to a safer home
(send them on to a safer home)
Burn all the letters
To you
And you to
To me
Coming to take what they can
They cannot read
What they cannot see
Mmm
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Confessed To You
As I read the old love letters,
you sent back to me.
The ones in which I confessed to you
how I wanted our love to be.
I told you in them
how I was sensitive to your touch,
and how I loved you so much.
It was obvious that you
did not feel for me the same way.
You never answered the letters,
but sent them unopened back to me.
Years have now passed
and I kept each and every one.
I dig them out occasionally
and have a good read through,
and then I sit down
and read them to you.
When I wrote them,
there was one thing I did not know.
You could not have read
the letters even if you wanted to.
You were blind and I did not know,
but that never stopped our love.
Now as we grow older together
with each passing day.
Our love grows a little stronger
in lots of different ways.
Those faded old love letters
we keep, as our reminder
love has no bounds.
4 June 2008
poem by David Harris
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Letters Never Sent
(carly simon/jacob brackman)
In a suitcase tied with string
On the highest shelf
In the closet down the hall
Hidden from myself
Fits of madness, pools of grief
Fevers of desire
How peculiar these remain
Slavaged from the fire
For some I crumpled some I burned
Some I tore to shreds
Lifetimes later, here they are
Ones I saved instead
Letters never sent to you
Letters never sent
Never reached their destination
Mostly born of pain
Resurfaced with the purpose of
A trip down memory lane
Broken hearted, breaking hearts
All the way it went
Evidence of what I saw
My experiments
Lifes a riddle, lifes a dream
Lifes an accident
Now Im gonna set them free
Letters never sent
Letters never sent to you
Letters never sent
Once upon a time taboo
Letters never sent
Letters never sent to you
Letters never sent
Incongruous, and overdue
Letters never sent
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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