Lookers, Lickers and Stickers
A big round bright red postbox,
Is such a splendid sight, to me,
And the way we try posting our letters,
Is, moreover, a 'fun' sight to see.
People often put their hand in the wide slot,
Holding onto their letters, real tight,
And somehow, they just can't seem to let go,
They are struggling, like mad, in their plight.
To stand, and to pluck up the courage,
And to make a decision to take
Their hand away from inside the slot,
Is a judgement they can't deem to make.
Very gradually, they then start departing,
But have to go back, just for luck,
To check in the slot, and make really sure,
That their letters, have not become stuck.
You can see, it's to them, a great worry,
It is written all over their face,
You so want to kindly reassure them,
And coax them cheerfully back to their base.
There are others who read the addresses,
On each envelope, that they have picked,
They examine the flap, to confirm it is sealed,
And that also the stamp has been licked.
Others read on the plate, posting details,
Not only once, but again and again,
And some try so very hard, to push in
A wrapper, too big, thus in vain.
Fascinating, is the art of letter posting,
Like watching a 'comedy' type play,
And realise with amazement, the many 'odd' ways,
We attempt to post our mailings each day.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Related quotes
Facing Reality
Feeling like a ghost
when the people I want to see me don't
I take out my rejection on the ones I love the most
I dont face the blackness
no I go on facebook and make a status
hoping my sadness shows my sad times
hoping they like it, hoping they read between the lines
if she comments she will care
I go away so I come back to see no notification there
I'm sad but I think its sad what this world has come to
face to face conversation a social network has out run you
I've been going round in circles looking for love
tell me if it is bad to say that one night wasnt good?
lets talk, lets meet up sometime, some place
am I old fasioned to say I want conversation face to face?
you cant give me what I want and I will not change.
When you see me in the paper will you turn the page?
I wonder if you`ll stand my ovation as I bow on stage?
I know you'll never send me a love letter.
Maybe you will realise that you can't make me better?
Maybe you will see that I will never make it?
Your sympathy doesnt satisfy yes I refuse to take it.
God didn't give me this heart
not so you could break it!
unlike your face we may never make up
as I face reality I am posting it all over facebook.
poem by Daniel McCann
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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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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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Red Letters
Red letters
Cut deep
Soothe the pain inside.
Red letters
Bold and loud
Scream silently.
Red letters
Secret and hidden
But a cry for help.
Red letters -
A way to deal with this pain.
As I cut these words into my skin
I remember seeing red words somewhere before
Then it hits me like a lightning bolt -
Words of Jesus are printed in red. Words of Christ in red.
Red letters
Real truth, piercing deep
Soothes my pain inside.
Red letters
Your passion, Your blood
Covers me.
Red letters
Hope and life
I cry, 'Fill me! '
Red letters -
You were pierced and bloody
So I wouldn't have to be.
'What can wash away my sin?
Nothing but the blood of Jesus!
What can make me whole again?
Nothing but the blood of Jesus!
Oh! precious is the flow that makes me white as snow!
No other fount I know -
Nothing but the blood of Jesus! '
Red letters... Nothing but the blood -
Red letters... Nothing but the blood of Jesus!
poem by Zoe MacRae
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Tennessee Jed
Cold iron shackles, ball and chain,
Listen to the whistle of the evenin train.
You know you bound to wind up dead,
If you dont head back to tennessee jed.
Rich man step on my poor head,
When you get back you better butter my bread.
Well, do you know its like I said,
You better head back to tennessee jed.
Tennessee, tennessee, there aint no place Id rather be,
Baby wont you carry me back to tennessee.
Drink all day and rock all night,
The law come to get you if you dont walk right
Got a letter this morning, baby all it read,
You better head back to tennessee jed.
I dropped four flights and cracked my spine,
Honey, come quick with the iodine,
Catch a few winks, baby, under the bed
Then you head back to tennessee jed.
Tennessee, tennessee, there aint no place Id rather be,
Baby wont you carry me back to tennessee.
I run into charlie fog,
Blacked my eye and he kicked my dog,
My doggie turned to me and he said,
Lets head back to tennessee jed.
I woke up a feelin mean,
Went down to play the slot machine,
The wheels turned around, and the letters read,
You better head back to tennessee jed.
Tennessee, tennessee, there aint no place Id rather be,
Baby wont you carry me back to tennessee.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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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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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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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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Special Delivery
The postman got himself in to a bit of a mess:
And he delivered a letter to the wrong address.
The intended recipient would feel a lot better,
When, in her hand, she was holding the letter.
When she opened that letter, intended for her,
Emotions inside her would soon start to stir.
The letter had travelled across many a mile;
To her face, it would bring a great big smile.
The letter was from a soldier in Afghanistan:
Maybe it bore news from her beloved man?
I am sure that she cried when he was deployed.
Receiving the letter, she would be so overjoyed.
The light blue letter had travelled all that way;
I was sure it would make the young lady's day.
From her boyfriend she would be dying to hear;
Receiving his letter would bring her much cheer.
I imagined the message written from his heart,
Helping to bridge the gap, during their time apart.
I pictured him writing, while rockets flew overhead.
She would re-read many times, all that he had said.
Holding that letter, made me stop and think:
With that soldier, I felt a strange kind of link.
Looking at the envelope, I held in my hands,
Her emotions, I suddenly began to understand.
I thought about the couple's mix of emotions,
During their time, parted by the mighty oceans.
I thought about how he would wish he was here,
And how they had both shed some secret tears.
Hearing from him, she would cry tears of relief.
I bet he signed his name with kisses underneath.
To her, the letter would be a wonderful sight,
And she would sleep well in her bed that night.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Clot It Off
Slot it in!
Blot it out! !
Clot it off;
Slot, blot, clot, allot, balklot, lot, plot!
But, with the sweet muse of love.
Slot it in and,
Start to draw now!
Blot it out and,
Find a way through!
Clot it off and,
Be free with your mind;
But, with the sweet muse of love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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I Aint Been Licked
(nickolas ashford/valerie simpson)
Roll down the gangway
So theyll see that its me
I know theyll wonder about my recovery
Yes, I lost a love that promised happiness
What my heart wouldnt accept
Put me to the test
They keep a holding me down
But I rise
Yes it can be done
They keep a holding me down
But I rise
They cant make me run
Keep a holding me down
But I rise
Got my second wind
Keep a holding me down
But I rise
Tell em Im back again
Just say
I aint been licked
I aint been licked
I aint been licked
Tell em for me
I aint been licked
Like outa nowhere my whole world fell apart
Till this day no one knows
What I felt in my heart
All those precious things
Inside me tried to still
Hands I thought would help
Pushed me over the hill
Keep a holding me down
But I rise
Yes, it can be done
Keep a holding me down
But I rise
They cant make me run
Keep a holding me down
But I rise
Got my second wind
Keep a holding me down
But I rise
Tell em Im back again
Just say
I aint been licked
I aint been licked
I aint been licked
Tell em for me
I aint been licked
Keep a holding me down
But I rise
Just to start again
Rise
Show em that I can
Rise
Found a brand new dream
Rise
Just to prove one thing
Just say
I aint been licked
I aint been licked
I aint been licked
Tell em for me
I aint been licked
I want the world to see
I aint been licked
Although my love is gone
I aint been licked
Somehow I carry one
I aint been licked
Ill find the strength somehow
I aint been licked
I think Im ready now
I aint been licked
I aint been licked
I aint been licked
I aint been licked
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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Nostalgia-tine
A time
Not so long ago
Was a school boy
He was tender in the heart
In the very same school class
Was a young school girl
Very smart,
Locked inside his empty shyness
This school boy
Wanted to, , ,
Talk to this pretty girl
Boldly, this day,
She set her hair in sophisticated curls
And what he wanted to say, , , was
Can you,
'Come out and play'
Inside he thought
I will do this, just on another day..
In the month of February
Exchanging cards was customary
On this school girls desk
Sat a box
Skilfully decorated
And craftily created
In the colors of the season
Red, Bright and White
Wow, the boy thought
'What a glaring sight'!
A little slot cut on the top
A place to make a dropp
Secure and sealed this
Decorated box
Its job was
Safeguarding all her precious
Little cards
Breaking from his school boy shyness
Reaching inside his pocket
Where kept his
Hand painted card
Drawn upon the white paper
Is his little heart
Howard Johnson
poem by Howard Johnson
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Hardest Part of the Day
It's the hardest part of the day,
Saying good bye to you,
Over and over again,
Saying good bye to you.
I know you're busy, baby,
Doing the things you do,
But it's so very hard,
Saying good bye to you.
Sometimes I read your love letters,
Think of good times from the past,
Clear that what your letters said,
Was never meant to last.
I know when you love to much,
It can blow up in your face,
I waste the day in regret,
With a handful of faded lace.
I still hear those love songs,
That we used to play,
And it's still breaking my heart,
Watching you walk away.
poem by Richard Jarboe
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On A Young Poetess’s Grave
UNDER her gentle seeing,
In her delicate little hand,
They placed the Book of Being,
To read and understand.
The Book was mighty and olden,
Yea, worn and eaten with age;
Though the letters look’d great and golden,
She could not read a page.
The letters flutter’d before her,
And all look’d sweetly wild:
Death saw her, and bent o’er her,
As she pouted her lips and smil’d.
And weary a little with tracing
The Book, she look’d aside,
And lightly smiling, and placing
A Flower in its leaves, she died.
She died, but her sweetness fled not,
As fly the things of power,—
For the Book wherein she read not
Is the sweeter for the Flower.
poem by William Cosmo Monkhouse
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Preparatory Meditations - First Series: 6.
(Canticles 2:1. The Lily of the Valleys)
Am I Thy gold? Or purse, Lord, for Thy wealth;
Whether in mine or mint refined for Thee?
I'm counted so, but count me o'er Thyself,
Lest gold-washed face, and brass in heart I be.
I fear my touchstone touches when I try
Me, and my counted gold too overly.
Am I new-minted by Thy stamp indeed?
Mine eyes are dim; I cannot clearly see.
Be Thou my spectacles that I may read
Thine image do upon me stand,
I am a golden angel in Thy hand.
Lord, make my soul Thy plate: Thine image bright
Within the circle of the same enfoil.
And on its brims in golden letters write
Thy superscription in an holy style.
Then I shall be Thy money, Thou my hoard:
Let me Thy angel be, be Thou my Lord.
poem by Edward Taylor
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Letters From Home
My dearest son, it's almost June
I hope this letter catches up with you
And finds you well
It's been dry but they're calling for rain
And everything's the same ol' same in Johnsonville
Your stubborn old daddy ain't said too much
But, I'm sure you know he sends his love"
And she goes on, in a letter from home
[chorus]
I hold it up and show my buddies
Like we ain't scared and our boots ain't muddy
And they all laugh
Like there's something funny
'Bout the way I talk
When I say, Mama sends her best y'all
I fold it up and put it in my shirt
Pick up my gun and get back to work
And it keeps me drivin' on
Waitin' on letters from home
"My dearest love, it's almost dawn
I've been lyin' here all night long
Wonderin' where you might be
I saw your mama and
I showed her the ring
Man on the television said something
So I couldn't sleep
But I'll be alright
I'm just missin' you
And this is me kissin' you
X's and O's"
In a letter from home
[chorus]
I hold it up and show my buddies
Like we ain't scared and our boots ain't muddy
And they all laugh
Cause she calls me honey
But they take it hard
Cause I don't read the good parts
I fold it up and put it in my shirt
Pick up my gun and get back to work
And it keeps me drivin' on
Waitin' on letters from home
"Dear son, I know I ain't written
But sittin' here tonight
Alone in the kitchen
It occurs to me
I might not have said this
So I'll say it now
Son you make me proud"
[chorus]
I hold it up and show my buddies
Like we ai't scared
And our boots ain't muddy
But no one laughs
Cause there ain't nothin' funny
When a soldier cries
And I just wipe my eyes
I fold it up and put it in my shirt
Pick up my gun and get back to work
And it keeps me drivin' on
Waitin' on letters from home
song performed by by John Michael Montgomery
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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