Return To Sender
I gave a letter to the postman,
He put it his sack.
Bright in early next morning,
He brought my letter back.
She wrote upon it:
Return to sender, address unknown.
No such number, no such zone.
We had a quarrel, a lovers spat
I write Im sorry but my letter keeps coming back.
So then I dropped it in the mailbox
And sent it special d.
Bright in early next morning
It came right back to me.
She wrote upon it:
Return to sender, address unknown.
No such person, no such so.
This time Im gonna take it myself
And put it right in her hand.
And if it comes back the very next day
Then Ill understand - the writing on it
Return to sender, address unknown.
No such number, no such zone.
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Dear Michael
She wrote dear michael
Youll probably never get this letter
Michael, I wrote you a hundred times before
Knowing how I feel
Ill write a hundred more
Dear michael, every time your records on
(michael michael)
Michael, I close my eyes and sing along
Dreaming youre singing to me.
(ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh)
And then she wrote:
(ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh)
Michael, I love you
I held the tears back long as I can
(ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh)
Im sealing my feelings in this envelope
(ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh)
cause I wanna be more than just your number one fan
Im gonna answer your letter
(michael michael)
Ill start beginning with the abcs of loving you
(I love ya)
(she wrote)
(michael michael)
(I love ya)
Your letter really touched my heart
(she wrote)
Ive been dreaming of meeting the picture
That you send along, signed with all your love
(michael michael)
(I wrote ya)
(she wrote)
Im gonna write you back, ouuh, I promess you that
(wont you write me back? , please write me back)
Girl, I think I love you
(michael michael)
Hurry, hurry mister postman, take my letter, tell her I love her
(she wrote)
(wont you write me back, please write me back)
(michael michael)
(she wrote)
Hurry, hurry mister postman, take my letter tell her I love her
(wont you write me back, please write me back)
(michael michael)
Yeah,
(I wrote you)
(she wrote)
Im gonna write you back
I promess you that...
song performed by by Michael Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Last Letter
writing one last letter...
not sure who it's to
- dont think it matters!
the words are composed of
the things i've done... both
good and bad.
the commas are for my mistakes,
-Lord, we're gonna have a lot of commas!
mistakes both of omission,
and commission...
the periods are for the times
i gave up, quit trying,
lost my way...
but the body of the letter
is filled with hope....
hope that sees things as
they are, and still believes...
i dont have to sign this letter,
it looks, smells, and tastes
like me...
i'll put this letter in the mailbox,
addressed to occupant,
to whomever gets it...
address unknown!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Dreams are postcards from our subconscious, inner self to outer self, right brain trying to cross that moat to the left. Too often they come back unread return to sender, addressee unknown. That's a shame because it's a whole other world out there--or in here depending on your point of view.
quote by Dennis Koenig
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Now Life or death didn’t matter to me
I wrote a letter to her
Filled it with choicest words
Expressing
My love and desire for her
Full of hope
Kept waiting for days
Lost my peace, lost my sleep
Waiting for the postman
To bring a message from her
My heart pained
Anxiety increased
I did not hear from her
I didn’t know what to do
Kept praying to god
One day the postman came
The address was not correct he said
Returned the letter back to me
I decided to give my life away
Ran towards the river bridge
To jump into the river beneath
There I saw somebody jumped
Before I could
A letter was lying on the ground
I picked the letter
Read it with a heavy heart
To learn it was written by her
She ended her life
Waiting to hear from me
She could not contact me
As I had changed my house
I became a living, dead
Now Life or death
Didn’t matter to me
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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Letter To Heaven
An old man was sitting at his table one day
Writing a letter to pass time away
His little granddaughter climbed up on his knee
Saying wont you please write a letter for me
Oh what must I say in this letter I pray
Tell mommy I miss her since she went away
I coming to see her real soon I hope
He choked back a big lump that rose in his throat
He sealed it and wrote on that big envelope
To God up in heaven youll get it I hope
He stamped it and handed it to her to mail
Her big eyes were shining her little face pale
She was crossing the street to the box oer the way
And when she stepped out never looked either way
A big auto hit her and sped away fast
The little girls prayers had been answered at last
The postman was passing and picked up the note
Addressed to the master and these words he spoke
Straight up into heaven this letter did go
Shes happy up there with her mommy I know
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Return To Sender
Failure wished dispensed,
And is...
Seldom stops.
To leave those wishing it,
Upon others to experience...
A wealth of unspoken,
Back to back occurrences.
With a dropping of a load,
Of their desires.
Surprising them with wide eyes in disbelief,
How such failures requested...
Comes to stare them in the face.
Only to blame those chosen...
For not being where they should be,
When their wishes arrive at their front doors...
Delivered as gifts unexpectedly.
To have such failures declared...
Return To Sender.
Be careful of what is wished,
An overflowing of it may come...
When one is unprepared to accept.
Or the address is not correct,
As anticipated.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Girl From The Pawn Shop
With a pawnshop eyes and a second hand frown
She sat silent at the table
Her boots were brown, should she leave town
To play the role of lover ex-patriot
A nod to the waiter,always her flirty behavior,
You know she always gets one on the house
She pulls out a letter from a bag
Under her sweater and before she
Reads she straightens her blouse
Theres a passion in being alone a grace in a loveless time
Theres no new cross, theres no new sign
Only the sun and the changing tide
And out of respect, well really must confess
I never lost your number I never
Lost your address
And if we remain friends at best
Sometime later no, no not yet
Well smile and remember it like this
She put back the letter,one tear
Falls like a feather and disappears
On this bar room floor
The gratuity included, you know
The letter concluded
P.s. all my love
song performed by by Black Crowes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Girl From A Pawnshop
With a pawnshop eyes and a second hand frown
she sat silent at the table
Her boots were brown, should she leave town
To play the role of lover ex-patriot
A nod to the waiter,always her flirty behavior,
You know she always gets one on the house
She pulls out a letter from a bag
Under her sweater and before she
reads she straightens her blouse
There's a passion in being alone A grace in a loveless time
There's no new cross, there's no new sign
only the sun and the changing tide
And out of respect, well really must confess
I never lost your number I never
lost your address
And if we remain friends at best
Sometime later no, no not yet
we'll smile and remember it like this
She put back the letter,one tear
falls like a feather and disappears
on this bar room floor
The gratuity included, you know
the letter concluded
P.S. All my love
song performed by by Black Crowes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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It Is Me
He sat in his own world
writing down the stories
that came to his mind.
He never watched time,
for him there
was no time.
He wrote stories of love,
of mystery and suspense.
He wrote of everything
that popped into his head.
He was not a lonely person
as his characters kept him company.
He wrote things
for every writing sphere,
but there was one thing
he could not write
which may come as a surprise
to everyone.
He could not write a letter
no matter how hard he tried.
His mind went completely blank
whenever he tried.
Yet he could write
just about everything else.
He could write songs,
he could write stories at will.
He could write poems
on everything,
but writing a letter
was something he could not do.
Now all who read this
might take it as a joke,
but it is very true
every word I have spoke,
and how would I know that.
The answer is simple it is me.
19 April 2008
poem by David Harris
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Two Poems for Nicaragua
Return to sender (Managua, Nicaragua Postal Service) I
Turn at the corner known as “gallo más gallo”
2 blocks toward the lake, and at Doña Blanquita the Belle’s house
look to the right and up a little
as toward the sky and then lower your gaze to the tree charred
in the earthquake, right there where
Don Francisco props himself up in the window to talk
with Pedro Xavier and that Gloria girl,
at the next house take just three steps,
knock on the door where there’s always a rocker,
and deliver these poems and this letter, please.
And if nobody takes them or the person whose name
is written on the envelope is no longer living,
return to where you came from.
Go slow, looking over your shoulder,
who knows if the address is right,
and perhaps someone will ask you, Mr. Mailman,
who are you looking for to these many hours in this neighborhood
in Managua?
Return to sender (Managua, Nicaragua Postal Service) II
For Pablo Salomone
Pablo, the Argentine guerrilla fighter, made his way with his Uzi,
one afternoon in 1978 or 1979 in Managua,
hotter than blazes,
on a slip of paper he had the address of his contact.
He knew nothing about Managua, only a map, and that
slip of paper with the address of Comandante Gloria,
19, chocolate-colored.
As the young Argentine ran along, crouching between trees and houses,
the address was right there on the slip of paper:
“When you come to the corner of the bar “Los Olvidados, ”
continue on for three blocks, careful with the poet Guillermo’s gate
that can trip you up if you don’t see it,
go on to the right and pass by three yellow houses with grillework,
make no noise when you walk through the ironwork gate
where there are three mango trees
and across from there you’ll see a wall painted red and black
with some bullet holes made by Somoza’s sons of bitches,
on the corner is your contact’s house,
in the window there will be a vase with a single flower
you should whistle the ballad “Nosotros” for a good while.
If the vase disappears, knock on the door three times.”
It’s been several centuries since then. The world travels down a different path.
The whole socialist camp has crumbled. Pablo didn’t die in that
1979 war. He still has that slip of paper of his contact
with Comandante Gloria. He recently visited a different Managua
and looked for that very address.
The house was in the same spot, except that on the wall painted red and black,
with the same Somoza National Guard bullet holes,
there was now a mural with the photo of the self-same comandante Daniel Ortega,
the presidential candidate, backed by Somoza’s party.
The very same dynasty of the Somozas’ who ordered
the killing of that girl while the teen-age Argentine guerrilla
whistled a ballad one blistering hot afternoon.
(Both Poems Translated from Spanish by W. Nick Hill)
poem by Javier Campos
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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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Back Home
Yeah yeah yeah
Well Im going back this summer to ohio
Im gonna seek out all my friends Ive always known
Im goin back to that farm that I remember
Well Im goin to spend this summer back home
Back home (back home, back home, back home)
Ill spend my summer (back home)
Back home (back home)
Back home (back home, back home, back home)
Ill spend my summer (back home)
Back home (back home)
Im gonna get up every morning before the roosters
Ill run downstairs fix my breakfast all alone
Ill milk those cows feed the chickens and the horses
Well Im gonna spend this summer back home
Back home (back home, back home, back home)
Ill spend my summer (back home)
Back home (back home)
Back home (back home, back home, back home)
Ill spend my summer (back home)
Back home (back home)
Ill eat everything that ma puts on the table
When I get back you wont believe how Ive grown
Ill hit the sack early everynight thinkin bout tomorrow whoa oh
Well Im gonna spend this summer back home
Back home, back home, back home
Back home (back home, back home, back home)
Ill spend my summer (back home)
Thats what Im gonna do thats where Im gonna be, thats this summer
Back home (back home)
Back home (back home, back home, back home)
Ill spend my summer (back home)
Gonna get up, gonna get up, gonna get up every morning
Back home (back home)
Back home (back home, back home, back home)
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Ill spend my summer (back home)
Hey woo feels okay back home
Back home (back home)
Back home (back home, back home, back home)
Ill spend my summer (back home)
Back home
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sarah Recieves A Doll Named Melodie
On one special day, the day before Sarah’s birthday to be in fact,
Sarah received an anonymous box with no return address to be sent
back.
But once Sarah opened the box she was totally amazed,
For she had a doll from another planet that had a star-like gaze!
Yes, it was a cute girl doll with stars in her eyes and a big happy smile
that stretched a mile wide! !
Sarah was so happy and yelled out with joy she had received a
Krendoll doll which is a very magical toy.
She picked up the doll from out of the box and noticed it was wearing
a pair of bright pink socks.
He shoes were not on but there was a letter to Melodie’s side,
The letter starts out: “Hi, I’m Melodie, and I had a very long ride.
Yes, I came from another planet and was made especially for you,
To bring you lots of joy by playing the flute named the Lu Lu.”
Then the letter went on to say, “I will help you dream of faraway,
Faraway places that you will visit someday.”
Sarah held Melodie tight with both of her hands,
And noticed Melodie was wearing a shiny bright crystal headband.
The letter ended with a brief note of surprise,
It said, “Sarah, you will receive more magical gifts
From a land where magical toys come alive! ”
So, Sarah went to sleep with anticipation of what was to come,
For she couldn’t wait to visit the land that Melodie was from.
She noticed Melodie forever smiling,
And would bring her much happiness and joy,
For Melodie was made especially for Sarah
As her very own magical Birthday toy! !
Copyright 1995,2010 Suzae Chevalier
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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I'll Be Missing You Come Xmas
Did you ever really start to cry over something you just wrote?
Well i'm writing you, my dear st. nick, it's the saddest little note.
Is it fair come this christmas eve that i should be alone,
When she knows how much i'm missing her, would you kindly bring her home?
This boy's letter to santa claus it's gonna tear him up,
When he reads how much i'm missing her it's gonna tear him up.
I'm sure if all his reindeers could arrange room on his sleigh
Then i'd receive a big bright package and she'd be mine today.
I'll be missing you come christmas, wishing hard, my dear,
Missing you come christmas, wishing you were here.
Did you ever really start to cry over something that was said?
Well, i'm writing you, dear santa, it's the saddest thing you ever read.
Is it fair come this christmas time that i should be without you,
You know how much i need you, girl, won't you kindly help me through?
This boy's letter to santa claus it's gonna tear him up,
When he reads how much i'm missing her it's gonna tear him up.
I'm sure he'll write a special note to remind him christmas eve
That he has to mend a broken heart that believes in make believe.
Right above his vip we'll be ranking number one,
No sadder request will he receive he'll know it has to be done.
Hey, santa, if you're my friend, please take heed, it's not pretend.
This boy's letter....
I'm sure if all ....
Oh, santa, i'll be missing you come christmas, wishing hard, my dear,
Missing you come christmas, wishing you were here.
song performed by by New Kids On The Block
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cenotaph / Letter From Amsterdam
Snow hard up against my doorway
And its falling twice as fast
Funny I was just thinking of you my friend
How long you were gonna last
Driving those blizzards cross europe
Snow chains on you back
64 feet of mobile thunder, leaving a ten wheel track
Its good to hear from you, go easy when you can
My day is better for your letter from amsterdam
I stand alone by the cenotaph
Where the unknown soldier lies
And its somewhere out there that you are
This freedom angel died
To save us from depression
Today I look around, boys our age and younger
I fear we let them down
Its good to hear from you, go easy when you can
My day is better for your letter from amsterdam
The town squares disappearing
It drifts up to my knees
Midnight silence deafening
And my feet begin to freeze
Is it because we dont remember?
We cannot understand?
But me and the unknown soldier
Got your letter from amsterdam
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am your maternal Aunt from Ohio!
A letter came without the sender's address.
She's written 'I am your Aunt but I cannot prove it.
Do not think that I am senile,
Still I can trace Judas who made the crown of thorns
For our Good Shepherd!
Do not think that I am mean
The Plumbago mine to whom I give
Before I take oaths in the Heaven.
Purposely I omitted my address on the envelope
Because I know you rascal never step into this lonely Aunt's habitation!
And you scribble the whole life until you go to the Hell!
I am your Aunt Hellen!
For the young couple in the Wedlock Mike & Sue!
*Is this the Canadian Aunt once poor deceased Mom mentioned in my faded dream?
But she must have gone to the heaven already.I have doubts whether she writes her last will the Plumbago mine for me? Now I remember once a palmist in my country predicted, one day I own a sudden wealth in a strange soil.O I can make pencils for poor children free!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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I'll Be Missin You Come Christmas
Did you ever really start to cry over something you just wrote?
Well I'm writing you, my dear St. Nick, it's the saddest little note.
Is it fair come this Christmas Eve that I should be alone,
when she knows how much I'm missing her, would you kindly bring her home?
This boy's letter to Santa Claus it's gonna tear him up,
when he reads how much I'm missing her it's gonna tear him up.
I'm sure if all his reindeers could arrange room on his sleigh
then I'd receive a big bright package and she'd be mine today.
I'll be missing you come Christmas, wishing hard, my dear,
missing you come Christmas, wishing you were here.
Did you ever really start to cry over something that was said?
Well, I'm writing you, dear Santa, it's the saddest thing you ever read.
Is it fair come this Christmas time that I should be without you,
you know how much I miss you, girl, won't you kindly help me through?
This boy's letter to Santa Claus it's gonna tear him up,
when he reads how much I'm missing her it's gonna tear him up.
I'm sure he'll write a special note to remind him Christmas Eve
that he has to mend a broken heart that believes in make believe.
Right above his VIP we'll be ranking number one,
no sadder request will he receive he'll know it has to be done.
Hey, Santa, if you're my friend, please take heed, it's not pretend.
This boy's letter....
I'm sure if all ....
Oh, Santa, I'll be missing you come Christmas, wishing hard, my dear,
missing you come Christmas, wishing you were here.
song performed by by New Kids On The Block
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Address Unknown
morning coffee;
a touch of the news,
goes down bitter....
shoe leather, and trash
blown across the horizon,
pregnant gas pumps heaving....
another napalm morning,
gunpowder and grease,
tiny bodies in flower gardens,
unattended.
sunday school teahers
with bayonets and cell phones,
small childrens fingers curled
around stones and broken limbs.
ring the register, take off
your hat, close your eyes.
put your lives away
in cardboard boxes
wrapped up in duct tape.
address unknown...
.........address unknown!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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