Best Stamps Poems
Aimless foot prints mark a wind torn shore
deserted rifts splitting a secluded scene,
(where romance rocked a heart between
painted paradise and realness once adored)
our heads inevitable drift even deeper inside
And as blood red curtains paint a choppy sea
where last sun rays die a temporary death,
(so wondrous how they hold their breath
to pat one later on the back with glee)
even shallower time stamps left by our feet
Everything erased a minute after we passed by
incessant and unrelenting a water without feel,
(your hand in mine, I bend over and steal
evening breeze kisses, almost shy)
and find myself in you a place to hide
An uncertain future held without hope
washed away shores with unfulfilled dreams,
(but because nothing is as bad as it seems
with you by my side, I can certainly cope)
together our spirits and lives are complete
Darren White
Tim Smith
Categories:
stamps, beach, hope, inspiration, life,
Form:
Rhyme
Dear Santa Claus, can I ask a wish
A wish come true- for everyone
Be'eth I too old..to ask
Will it fit on your sleigh
It's not a small wish
It's humongous
Everyone
Will love
It
I
Myself
Will share it
To one and all
To the entire world
Even for you, Santa
Several times I wrote you
I wished for peace and love on earth
Maybe I forgot to put the stamps
Double Nonet Poetry Contest
Sponsor: William Kekaula
12/13/2020
Categories:
stamps, peace, world,
Form:
Nonet
Footprints in sand, indelible till the tide comes in,
reliable impressions, etched, embedded, enveloped
to form an album of traces:
crab hole excavations,
scurries of hurrying birds,
seaweed twirls wind-driven in curls,
tiny sand flea hop-craters,
crab claw side-step shuffles,
drift-wood scuffs and scuppers
remnants of tidal riffles and ruffles,
snap-shots of scrapes, stomps, scats and scars.
Footprints like graffiti deface the awe of seascape shore
with a mushyheaded mishmash of double-exposed impressions.
Categories:
stamps, nature, sea,
Form:
Free verse
when i used to have to send letters to the editor
from charleville-mezieres,
i used to use stamps with pictures of Louis Pasteur on them.
in the united states, i've been sending out manuscripts,
with stamps that have Buzz Lightyear on them.
i feel reflected in my infinite culture.
to change the world:
i don't want to change the
world,
or culture;
i wrote.
the world of culture is the law.
it's nothing but space.
the outlaw moves through nothing but space
on all sides and in all areas
of life.
space all around.
i don't want to remove the space i need to move around in.
but it's possible, is what i wrote, if i explode
to break the very symmetry that survives as space;
it's theoretically possible, another wrote;
all i need to do is explode.
to find another food
for the food of the gods.
to find another god;
a one that's not the state.
you kill those gods,
you hang them and burn them.
because these gods are only men.
we are only men;
you,
silver-tongues with plastic toys,
are something else.
i write to stop playing with your toys.
to find another game;
it's when we break the rules--
while playing with "your" toys...
but we're playing another game.
it's only when you stop and stare,
with your holier discontent,
that it turns into a game of you.
you give the hand when you feed;
but it's never your own.
you don't play war games,
you don't offer your table,
your food, your money...
you offer that of those that have little...
and for that they hate us.
i've been around a long, long year,
before the junkies, before the settlers,
before the indians:
i want the Romantic fallen angels and the mad
to transform their demons into dancing springs
of spirit.
i am no longer myself.
i've been so many others,
there's no one left to be.
i need enough space to be myself.
and, somewhere
there is a flower on a star,
waiting to see herself.
why do we send letters in space?
we haven't enough to eat?
Categories:
stamps, adventure, change, space,
Form:
Free verse
Villanelle: Whenever Life stamps me down under heels
Whenever Life stamps me down under heels
I think of those who died living deaths young
So say i who am i to bleat meek squeals
Ages gone by how many mute appeals
Fell on deaf bigot ears great lives un-sung
Whenever Life stamps me down under heels
Who dared shift Earth from centre to out-fields
How Galileo ate humble pie dung
So say i who am i to bleat meek squeals
Nuanced scales stringed by chords neuronic peals
Had Mozart in debt into common grave flung
Whenever Life stamps me down under heels
Van Gogh Cervantes Dostoyevski shields
Me from vainly emptying my spent lung
So say i who am i to bleat meek squeals
If my words can’t Gorki's lives serve dire meals
Then would not mine and your pen seem low-strung
Whenever Life stamps me down under heels
So say i who am i to bleat meek squeals
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
Categories:
stamps, character, creation, death, endurance,
Form:
Villanelle
In a world of paper, colors bright and bold,
Lives a stamp collector, with stories to be told.
With albums of wonder, and pages of dreams,
Each stamp a journey, or so it seems.
But shadows can linger, and hearts can break,
For the pain of loss is a toll we all take.
An album once cherished, now vanished from sight,
A collection of memories, lost to the night.
The thrill of the hunt, the joy of the find,
Can turn into sorrow, leaving echoes behind.
Stolen treasures whisper of what could have been,
A passion now haunted by what’s lost within.
A simple piece of paper, yet it holds so much,
A glimpse into cultures, a soft, tender touch.
From monarchs to landscapes, from wildlife to art,
Each stamp is a window to a world set apart.
From faraway places, where skies meet the sea,
To tiny enclaves, where the heart longs to be.
Yet, never for fortune does the collector strive,
It’s the stories and journeys that keep dreams alive.
With magnifying glass, they study each line,
Yet each missing stamp leaves a mark on the spine.
They trade and they share, with friends who understand,
The joy of collecting, but also the hand.
In quiet moments, as they flip through the pages,
They travel through time, across countless stages.
But the pain of the absent can weigh like a stone,
A collector’s heart aches for what’s never known.
So here’s to the dreamers, with albums in hand,
Who cherish these tokens from a faraway land.
Though loss may be part of this journey so true,
A stamp collector’s spirit endures, seeing through.
Categories:
stamps, world,
Form:
Rhyme
Stamps, perforated passport squares,
Took me oft where I wished to be
On my own low budget world tour
Warm, safely tucked in dad’s armchair.
I loved to dream in dad’s warm chair
A young wallflower who would dare
Brave adventures safe in my head
Free from boldness, courage, and dread.
Flipping album pages happily,
On safari in Kenyan lands
Lions and leaping gazelles roamed free
Yet touched by fingers of my hands.
On expeditions I went too
Daring danger in my armchair
Reaching the South Pole without dogs
Unlike the frozen Robert Scott.
Special fun were armchair cruises
On Captain Cook’s long lime-fed trips
Skirting blue coralline lagoons
And braving windy polar seas.
Major countries - I saw them all
From Trafalgar to Taj Mahal.
I loved the sight of Singapore
And beaches of Aruba’s shore.
Ladies danced in Italy;
Belly dancers in Araby;
Hip-swinging girls in Hawaii
And clog dancers in Germany.
Over lands and seas I passed through
Many creatures passed in review:
Albatross, porpoise, and blue whales
Butterflies, lemurs, and conch snails.
As around the world I now roam
I never dreamed my acquired taste
Could leave dad’s albums drowned by dust,
Forsaken for my wanderlust.
6/17/2020
Categories:
stamps, adventure, imagination, nature, travel,
Form:
Free verse
My Jimmy Hendrix stamps
are colorful.
They are not mine, for I cannot
buy them,
but I will use them
in my mind
just the same
Whenever I wish to make things
groovy.
Categories:
stamps, childhood,
Form:
Free verse
If stamps could talk,
What stories they could tell,
Of places they have seen,
Of messages delivered,
Of countries they welcomed into the world,
Of countries fare-welled.
If stamps could talk,
What stories they could tell,
Of letters lost and letters found,
Of being trapped behind furniture for decades,
Of being stamps of Royal importance,
Of being forged outside the Royal mint.
If stamps could talk,
What stories they could tell,
Of being kept locked up in albums,
Of being auctioned off,
Of the birth of airmail,
Of scandals and love stories.
If stamps could talk,
What stories they could tell,
Of mail fraud,
Of heroes and villains
Of secret meetings,
Of peoples thoughts on the meaning of life.
Categories:
stamps, analogy, appreciation, beautiful, character,
Form:
Personification
Remembering S & H Green Stamps
By Elton Camp
This was at one time a marketer’s dream
Loved, though most knew it was a scheme
For each dime spent, one stamp you got
Soon they would add up to quite a lot
Grocery stores that wouldn’t participate
Their decision would soon come to hate
For about the stamps customers did care
And they’d take their shopping elsewhere
Lick ‘em and stick ‘em into a little book
Go to the redemption center for a look
What made ‘em even more of a rage
One big stamp filled up a whole page
Swap the filled books for merchandise
A toaster or a lamp that looked nice
Some felt they were getting things free
But the more savvy knew it couldn’t be
Use of Green Stamps finally faded away
But they were wildly popular in their day
Categories:
stamps, nostalgia, green,
Form:
Rhyme
IN A GILDED INSTANT
The monarch’s wings opened as a picture book, fluttering by. It glided, uncertain but undeterred, through a gentle haze of gold and shadow, the garden’s hush punctuated by the faint murmur of leaves. Sunlight filtered in rare skeins, dappling the monarch’s patterned wings as it hovered, hesitated, and then pressed onward—a flicker stitched between petal and air. The world, for one gilded instant, seemed spun from elegant silk.
Painted in oranges, kissed with black lace,
the monarch glides through the air and
pirouettes in a ballet of grace.
Oh, to witness her beauty, a fleeting affair
a living poem, a jeweled muse~
a moment suspended in delicate air.
(Poem written for USPS Stamp Poetry Contest, Robert James Liguori, sponsor)
Categories:
stamps, 12th grade, butterfly,
Form:
Ekphrasis
Touching this postal stamp shaped just like a sponge
How many more of these stamps would be launched
The beautiful colors and the humor of animation
Cheering up a heart through this line of communication
The hues being used could moisten the stamp
Cute little stamps to use by those in summer camp
It has to be an honor to be featured on a stamp by USPS
SpongeBob swimming through the post office is the best
Categories:
stamps, inspiration,
Form:
Ekphrasis
To have your picture on the face of a stamp,
Is a honor reserved for the ones who cultivated change
Among the mèlange of inspiring faces,
Lays the face of someone who served on the basis,
Of freedom
Behind a small black and white picture,
A mighty face lays
With eyes of a fighter,
eloquent hair, neatly parted
The words,
Black white
Trust danger
Defiance hope
All line the bottom
Words of hope, words of courage
That picture is of a strong willed soul
Oh what a wonderful life, one bloke stole
Late at night, she deployed her clandestine runaway
With peers, she warily walked, not knowing where she was destined
Little did she know,
She would make this trip many times again, not knowing what each bestowed
Harsh winter nights, where the breeze grew as cold as coal,
She walked, walked and walked
Till’ days grew into the lines of a bole
She is a freedom fighter
She is a activist
She is a mother
She is a motivator
She is Harriet Tubman
Usps Stamps Poetry Contest - 07/04/25
Sponsor: Robert James Liguori
Categories:
stamps, black african american, freedom,
Form:
Ekphrasis
Modern Concentration Stamps For Query
Heights of subtly decide the best points for invention
Delights of brevity decide the next poetic composition
Insights of entropy reside and then collide in patient comprehension
Conspicuous engagements of the outspoken looking for transparent attention
Ridiculous derangement of the broken ones that should have been all about prevention
Ambiguous retainment of the disguise which illuminates the apprehension
Promiscuous enragement that results in confined detention
I’m bereft aloof alone unkempt and broken at the knees
Contempt for those who have it all and still are hard to please
Cement the groves of the dead to mourn as the wind flows thru the trees
Circumvent the throes of dread that form as I long to be set free
Abdication of the crown for a superficial reason
Fabrication that’s renowned that quantifies as spiritual treason
Aberration of profound modern lies that define the season
Condemnation of the resounding cries that refine the notion of partisan
Holocausts and starvation not resigned to history anymore
Concentration camps a modern feature as we watch them knock upon deaths door
Instigation of disenfranchised people that have no place but to remain poor
Obfuscation of the unbelievable that demand we stand for more
The End Elizabeth Moroz Copyright
Categories:
stamps, life,
Form:
Rhyme