To England
There are no postage stamps that send letters
back to England three centuries ago,
no postage stamps that make letters
travel back until the grave hasn't been dug yet,
and John Donne stands looking out the window,
it is just beginning to rain this April morning,
and the birds are falling into the trees
like chess pieces into an unplayed game,
and John Donne sees the postman coming up the street,
the postman walks very carefully because his cane
is made of glass.
poem by Richard Brautigan
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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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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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Late August
There’s a chilly wind blowing this morning,
the black-collard barbet
flies into my study’s window
as if it can go right through it,
the big brown Labrador jumps
with locking jaws
trying to snatch it from the air,
there’s menace creeping into the morning,
menace coming from somewhere,
both dogs jump and try
to snap the postman’s hand in two,
while he is putting letters
in the mailbox,
last night the police
made a ruckus at two in the morning,
at the neighbours across the street,
hooted the neighbourhood awake
and as a mistake
was at the wrong address
and when I got back to bed,
I thought that I had heard something
and in t-shirt and shorts
went to investigate
with a shotgun in my hands
but it was only the wind
rustling through the trees,
blowing as it did
from the beginning of time.
This morning felt like Monday,
as if going to work
after a weekend
brought the responsibilities of living
back to me again.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Designs in connection with postage stamps and coinage may be described, I think, as the silent ambassadors on national taste.
quote by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Sick Child
The postman comes when I am still in bed.
"Postman, what do you have for me today?"
I say to him. (But really I'm in bed.)
Then he says - what shall I have him say?
"This letter says that you are president
Of - this word here; it's a republic."
Tell them I can't answer right away.
"It's your duty." No, I'd rather just be sick.
Then he tells me there are letters saying everything
That I can think of that I want for them to say.
I say, "Well, thank you very much. Good-bye."
He is ashamed, and turns and walks away.
If I can think of it, it isn't what I want.
I want . . . I want a ship from some near star
To land in the yard, and beings to come out
And think to me: "So this is where you are!
Come." Except that they won't do,
I thought of them. . . . And yet somewhere there must be
Something that's different from everything.
All that I've never thought of - think of me!
poem by Randall Jarrell
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More than kisses, letters mingle souls.
quote by John Donne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Right Back Here In My Arms
{cuz thats my only mission sample repeats in song}
Oh baby
(right back here in my arms) {x2}
Right back here, yeah
Dont want u 2 write me no letters
Dont want u callin my farm
I just want u, I just want u
I just want u right back here in my arms
Alright
I aint checkin 4 the sweet talk, baby (right)
Talkin bout how ure missin my charms (right)
I just want u, I just want u
I just want u right back here in my arms (thats my only mission)
I just want u, I just want u
I just want u right back here in my arms
(right back here in my arms)
Oh baby
(right back here in my arms)
Oh baby
I know u got a lot on your mind (right)
Thats why I wanna give u some time (right)
Till I get 2, till I get 2
Till I get 2 hug that body so fine
I know u need a little space, just a little
Thats why I aint showin my face (right)
I just want u, I just want u
I just want u right back here in my arms
Oh baby
(right back here in my arms)
(right, right)
Right back in my arms (right back here in my arms)
Right back, right back
Right back here in my arms
(right) (right back here in my arms)
No, no, no 2 the postman bringin me letters
U know a brotha gonna feel much better
If he keep his mind on, u know, whatever
Anything as long as it is makin it wetter
Cuz I cant stop thinkin about what we do
There ought 2 be a law against the hoochie ooh! (ooh!)
Can we groove? I dont wanna do u no harm
I just want u right back here in my arms
Oh baby (right back here in my arms)
Dont want u 2 write me no letters
I just want u, I just want u
I just want u right back here in my arms
Ooh yeah, right back here in my arms
(right back here in my arms)
I just want u right back here in my arms (right)
Right back here in my arms
(right back here in my arms) (right)
Right back, right back (right)
Ill try 2 write u back
(right back here in my arms)
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Postman
I'd like to be a postman, and walk along the street,
Calling out, 'Good Morning, Sir,' to gentlemen I meet,
Ringing every door-bell all along my beat,
In my cap and uniform so very nice and neat.
Perhaps I'd have a parasol in case of rain or heat;
But I wouldn't be a postman if ...
The walking hurt my feet.
Would you?
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Please Mr. Postman
( stop )
Oh yes, wait a minute
Mister postman
( wait )
Wait mister postman
(*) please mister postman look and see
( oh yeah )
If there's a letter in your bag for me
( please, please, mister postman )
Why's it takin' such a long time
( oh yeah )
For me to hear from that boy of mine
There must be
Some word today
From my boyfriend
So far away
Please mister postman
Look and see
If there's a letter
A letter for me
I've been standin' here
Waitin' mister postman
So patiently
For just a card
Or just a letter
Sayin' he's returning'
Home to me
Repeat (*)
So many days
You passed me by
See the tears
Standin' in my eyes
You didn't stop
To make me feel better
By leavin' me
A card or a letter
Repeat (*)
( why don't you check it and see one more time
For me you gotta )
Wait a minute, wait a minute...
( mister postman )
Mister postman look and see
( c'mon deliver the letter, the sooner, the better )
Mister postman
song performed by by Carpenters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Arrival At Santos
Here is a coast; here is a harbor;
here, after a meager diet of horizon, is some scenery:
impractically shaped and--who knows?--self-pitying mountains,
sad and harsh beneath their frivolous greenery,
with a little church on top of one. And warehouses,
some of them painted a feeble pink, or blue,
and some tall, uncertain palms. Oh, tourist,
is this how this country is going to answer you
and your immodest demands for a different world,
and a better life, and complete comprehension
of both at last, and immediately,
after eighteen days of suspension?
Finish your breakfast. The tender is coming,
a strange and ancient craft, flying a strange and brilliant rag.
So that's the flag. I never saw it before.
I somehow never thought of there being a flag,
but of course there was, all along. And coins, I presume,
and paper money; they remain to be seen.
And gingerly now we climb down the ladder backward,
myself and a fellow passenger named Miss Breen,
descending into the midst of twenty-six freighters
waiting to be loaded with green coffee beaus.
Please, boy, do be more careful with that boat hook!
Watch out! Oh! It has caught Miss Breen's
skirt! There! Miss Breen is about seventy,
a retired police lieutenant, six feet tall,
with beautiful bright blue eyes and a kind expression.
Her home, when she is at home, is in Glens Fall
s, New York. There. We are settled.
The customs officials will speak English, we hope,
and leave us our bourbon and cigarettes.
Ports are necessities, like postage stamps, or soap,
but they seldom seem to care what impression they make,
or, like this, only attempt, since it does not matter,
the unassertive colors of soap, or postage stamps--
wasting away like the former, slipping the way the latter
do when we mail the letters we wrote on the boat,
either because the glue here is very inferior
or because of the heat. We leave Santos at once;
we are driving to the interior.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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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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No winter will destroy the coming spring
(after John Donne)
No winter will destroy the coming spring,
between you and me
and the feelings that are rising
come with raging passion and with dignity
and gently flowers unfold on every branch,
while birds are singing,
there is something deep in every glance
in every small token that you are bringing
and those who laugh at love poetry,
do not dwell deeper still,
in the words see only you and me,
do not know love as we do and will:
To me you are the one that love affords
the one I have to praise in all my words.
[Reference: “Love’s Growth” by John Donne.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Last Breaking Of Dawn
ending, or beginning?
sometimes i still cant tell!
out of date postage stamps,
just dont deliver.
carbon and rust,
even cobwebs turn grey.
lips bent and crusted
never kiss the night!
holiness, old clothes,
the fit of the body fades.
time buries the fire,
again and again.
small things, kind words,
and the simplest touch.
the first cup of coffee,
the last breaking of dawn!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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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 From The Wasteland
Now coming down
Out of this swandive to your arms
I make no sounds
Wheni move thru your reservoirs
I wake up quick
I wake up sick
As you abandon me
Into these fields of rank and file
Thru this cloudi hear you breathing
Thru these barsi watch them bring more in
Nowi send back letters from the wasteland home
Last slowdance to this romance on my own
May take two to tango, but boy it takes one to let go
It just takes one to let go.
Now boy keep still
Dont spread yourself around
Get back in line
Eat your bread
And just work the ground
cause youre not through
Theyre not done with with you
Did you think you were
The only one whos been let down
So sleep tight little boys of the new dam
Let them drop in the quicksand
Nowi send back letters from the wasteland home
Last slowdance to this romance on my own
May take two to tango, but boy it takes one to let go
Now another bad idea gets thru
Down they send me unto you
Every bridgei should have burned
Every lesson Ive unlearned
When the smoke give way to ruins
Incarcerated lovesick fools
I wait for you to cut me loose
But until then
Nowi send back letters from the wasteland home
Last slowdance to this romance on my own
May take two to tango, but boy it takes one to let go
Nowi send back letters from the wasteland home
From wherei slowdance to this romance on my own
song performed by by Wallflowers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Letters From The Wasteland
Now coming down
Out of this swandive to your arms
I make no sounds
Wheni move thru your reservoirs
I wake up quick
I wake up sick
As you abandon me
Into these fields of rank and file
Thru this cloudi hear you breathing
Thru these barsi watch them bring more in
Nowi send back letters from the wasteland home
Last slowdance to this romance on my own
May take two to tango, but boy it takes one to let go
It just takes one to let go.
Now boy keep still
Dont spread yourself around
Get back in line
Eat your bread
And just work the ground
cause youre not through
Theyre not done with with you
Did you think you were
The only one whos been let down
So sleep tight little boys of the new dam
Let them drop in the quicksand
Nowi send back letters from the wasteland home
Last slowdance to this romance on my own
May take two to tango, but boy it takes one to let go
Now another bad idea gets thru
Down they send me unto you
Every bridgei should have burned
Every lesson Ive unlearned
When the smoke give way to ruins
Incarcerated lovesick fools
I wait for you to cut me loose
But until then
Nowi send back letters from the wasteland home
Last slowdance to this romance on my own
May take two to tango, but boy it takes one to let go
Nowi send back letters from the wasteland home
From wherei slowdance to this romance on my own
song performed by by Wallflowers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Letter From The Wastland
Now coming down
From out of this swan dive
To your arms
I make no sounds
When I move through your reservoir
But I wake up quick
And I wake up sick
As you abandon me
Into these fields of rank and file
Through this crowd
I hear you breathing
And through these bars
I watch them bring more in
Now I send back letters
From the wasteland home
Where I slow dance
To this romance on my own
It may take two to tango
But boy, just one to let go
It's just one to let go
Now boy keep still
Don't spread yourself around
Get back in line
Eat your bread and just work the plow
'Cause you're not through
They're not done with you
Did you think you were
The only one that's been let down
So sleep tight
Little boys of the new damned
Another drop in the
Tidal wave of quicksand
Now I send back letters
From the wasteland home
Where I slow dance
To this romance on my own
It may take two to tango
But boy, just one to let go
It's just one to let go
Now another bad idea gets through
Down this assembly line to you
You're every bridge I should have burned
Every lesson I've unlearned
In this smoke-filled waiting room
With incarcerated love sick fools
I will wait for you to cut me loose
Till then I...
Send back letters
From the wasteland home
Where I slow dance
To this romance on my own
Now I send back letters
From the Wasteland home
Where I slow dance
To this romance on my own
song performed by by Wallflowers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Letter From The Wastland
Now coming down
From out of this swan dive
To your arms
I make no sounds
When I move through your reservoir
But I wake up quick
And I wake up sick
As you abandon me
Into these fields of rank and file
Through this crowd
I hear you breathing
And through these bars
I watch them bring more in
Now I send back letters
From the wasteland home
Where I slow dance
To this romance on my own
It may take two to tango
But boy, just one to let go
It's just one to let go
Now boy keep still
Don't spread yourself around
Get back in line
Eat your bread and just work the plow
'Cause you're not through
They're not done with you
Did you think you were
The only one that's been let down
So sleep tight
Little boys of the new damned
Another drop in the
Tidal wave of quicksand
Now I send back letters
From the wasteland home
Where I slow dance
To this romance on my own
It may take two to tango
But boy, just one to let go
It's just one to let go
Now another bad idea gets through
Down this assembly line to you
You're every bridge I should have burned
Every lesson I've unlearned
In this smoke-filled waiting room
With incarcerated love sick fools
I will wait for you to cut me loose
Till then I...
Send back letters
From the wasteland home
Where I slow dance
To this romance on my own
Now I send back letters
From the Wasteland home
Where I slow dance
To this romance on my own
song performed by by Wallflowers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Postage Due
The future will outlast
us all, but it is to
our present and our past
that postage must be due.
In the future which
we make we may hope we
will live on, but our niche
is now, unfranked and free.
Ted Kennedy once said: 'We know the future will outlast all of us, but I believe that all of us will live on in the future we make.' When he was born, President Herbert Hoover sent Rose a bouquet of flowers and a note of congratulations. The note came with a 5 cents postage due; the framed envelope is a family heirloom (John M. Broder, NYT, August 27,2009) .
8/27/09
poem by Gershon Hepner
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The lonely old lady
She sits in her favourite chair
her dog lies by her slippered feet
a cup of tea in an arthritic hand.
The television is on in the corner
she sees it as a very close friend
talking to the newsreader about her day.
She stares over at the telephone
praying that someone will call
it hasn't rung for a long time.
The postman has just been
she wishes he'd come in for a chat
but people are so busy these days.
The pretty weather girl is talking
it's going to be a hot and sunny day
the old lady tells her she looks nice.
Struggling to get to her aching feet
she looks out of her living room window
people and cars go quickly by.
Sitting back down in her favourite chair
she bends to pick up her little dog
and stroking him she starts to cry.
The old lady died in her favourite chair
her little dog sat for weeks by her slippered feet
the postman kept pushing the mail through.
poem by Kevin Halls
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