Famous Postcards Poems by Famous Poets
These are examples of famous Postcards poems written by some of the greatest and most-well-known modern and classical poets. PoetrySoup is a great educational poetry resource of famous postcards poems. These examples illustrate what a famous postcards poem looks like and its form, scheme, or style (where appropriate).
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...red and second-rated
Yet still they stand like moorland rocks in mist
And wait as I do till the storm has passed
Buy postcards at the parsonage museum shop
Sit half an hour in the tea room drying off
And pen a word or two to my three muses
Who after all presented their excuses
But nonetheless the three all have their uses....Read more of this...
by
Tebb, Barry
...r had a day off sick,
Your trips to Blackpool
Every Banky week were always
Blessed with non-stop sun
And Bamforths’ postcards
Showed you shared the beach
With half of Leeds
15
One day you came home early,
Sat fidgeting before the fire,
Smoking one Capstan Full Strength
After another; Auntie Nellie
Was working at the Maypole
So you told me, at twelve,
16
Your troubles, “They just went
Bust once gaffer died, his lad
Just couldn’t thoil it, so we got
...Read more of this...
by
Tebb, Barry
...e Atlantic, the Pacific, for surely God...
No one.
She went to the Buddha, the Brahma, the Pyramids
and found immense postcards.
No one.
Then she journeyed back to her own house
and the gods of the world were shut in the lavatory.
At last!
she cried out,
and locked the door....Read more of this...
by
Sexton, Anne
...for the Synagogue cast on the pavement,
who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall,
suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak furnished room,
who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts,
who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through s...Read more of this...
by
Ginsberg, Allen
...father and
An Irish immigrant mother. Failure’s metaphor.
I did not make it like Alan Bennett,
Who still sends funny postcards
About our Leeds childhood.
Of your’s, you could never speak
And found my nostalgia
Wholly inappropriate.
Forgetting your glasses for the eleven plus,
No money for the uniform for the pass at thirteen.
It wasn’t - as I imagined - shame that kept you from telling
But fear of the consequences for your mother
Had you sobbed the night’s terro...Read more of this...
by
Tebb, Barry
...On Fridays he'd open a can of Jax
After coming home from the mill,
& ask me to write a letter to my mother
Who sent postcards of desert flowers
Taller than men. He would beg,
Promising to never beat her
Again. Somehow I was happy
She had gone, & sometimes wanted
To slip in a reminder, how Mary Lou
Williams' "Polka Dots & Moonbeams"
Never made the swelling go down.
His carpenter's apron always bulged
With old nails, a claw hammer
Looped at his side & extension cords
Coiled...Read more of this...
by
Komunyakaa, Yusef
...I'm thinking about you. What else can I say?
The palm trees on the reverse
are a delusion; so is the pink sand.
What we have are the usual
fractured coke bottles and the smell
of backed-up drains, too sweet,
like a mango on the verge
of rot, which we have also.
The air clear sweat, mosquitoes
& their tracks; birds & elusive.
Time comes in waves here, a si...Read more of this...
by
Atwood, Margaret
...metimes the first, sometimes
the middle and even sometimes the last.
the vacant lots are not bad, churches in
Europe on postcards are not bad. people in
wax museums frozen into their best sterility
are not bad, horrible but not bad. the
cannon, think of the cannon, and toast for
breakfast the coffee hot enough you
know your tongue is still there, three
geraniums outside a window, trying to be
red and trying to be pink and trying to be
geraniums, no wonder sometimes the women
...Read more of this...
by
Bukowski, Charles
...es
and you undid the bridle
and you undid the reins
and I undid the buttons,
the bones, the confusions,
the New England postcards,
the January ten o’clcik night,
and we rose up like wheat,
acre after acre of gold,
and we harvested,
we harvested....Read more of this...
by
Sexton, Anne
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