Letter Box Poems | Examples

Table of Love

You wont need the table of love
What was meant to be
was put through the letter box
You truly broke my heart in two
You've lost your tears of joy
and lifted a heart of stone
like a medal of spinsters honour
See me through the broken rain
My misery wont leave me alone
I beg of you
for things that needed to be done

Loved, loathe and will leave

Early October.
I accidentally came across your message,
I dare not open it, after it caught my eye "Police contacted. You..."
What did he try to prove?
End of September, a note was hand delivered direct to your letter box.
I did that to have a closure and
To show you for the first and last time,
I could also be in control of the situation.
I loved you so much, I did not exercise it in the past.
I let you enjoyed it, then you abused it. 
I thoroughly checked with the Police, 
My message was loud and clear,
To accept what you have requested.
Police assured me, it was fine to deliver,
Because it had no threat nor harassment either.
You only messaged to intimidate me further,
As you always did with the use of your language.
It was not long ago, I crafted on the apple's skins, 
"We loved you, we loathe you, and we will forget you".
What have you done to my dear friend?
What did you do to Reach and Sent? 
Please go away, leave me and my memories alone.
You have done enough to our relationship,
There was plenty of bitter and sweet.
Goodbye, good luck and good grief.

Dawn

Rimmed with red,
the sky emerges
from an alcoholic haze,
collapses on the shoulder of a hill.

As thin-lipped
as the letter box,
I brush a broken bottle
from the driveway:

shards of glass
that tinkle on the tarmac,
sharp as laughter
in an empty room.


First published in Bravado, New Zealand

Looking Back In Anger

If we want to see less people looking back in anger,
We need to give them more to look forward to,
Like old age,
Like 3 square meals a day,
Like being listened to,
Like less waiting time for that operation,
Like a place to shower,
Like actual mail in their letter box,
Like an end to the beatings,
Like job security,
Like being valued by others,
Like a holiday,
Like being invited to help,
Like a second chance,
Like sound advice, 
Like a safe place to meet others,
Like Christmas,
Like Hope,
Like Love.

Heavy Right Foot

Heavy Right Foot

The clatter of the letter box
And post on the mat
Sends a shudder of fear
So I cuddle the cat
My hand shakes 
And my heart beats fast
I did something wrong
In the recent past
I know they are coming
Handcuffs and fines
Cart me off 
For serious crimes
My foot too heavy
On the pedal of fun
And like a speeding
Bullet, out of a gun
I did the worst 
A driver can do
Eighty miles an hour
Curse my right shoe.
I shudder and shake 
Never broke the law
If my licence they take
Will I get parole?

David Cox 17/02/23

Dont Slap a Copper With a Kipper

[Youtube clip attached as the source of my ‘copper through your
letter box line... and because I just love the song!]

Don’t slap a copper with a kipper
Don’t catch your todger in your zipper
Don’t put the peas on if you cannot watch the pot
And if your wife should ask don’t say the weather girl is hot

And don’t play Twister with a hippo
Or light a firecracker with a zippo
Don’t date a sure bet if you’ve got holes in your socks
Don’t try to post a copper through your letter box
For that will be a squeeze but you won’t get past his boots
Don’t pull you’re little sister’s hair out by the roots
Don’t hold a bank up with a plastic BB gun
Don’t ski down K2 just because it sounds like fun

Don’t drive a Datsun in Stetson
And don’t wipe your visor with a wet one
And don’t quarrel with your wife, or venom she will hurl
She’ll say why don’t you run off with your little weather girl

And don’t dress like Lennon at a Rolling Stones revival
If you have inside your head the notion of survival

Dirty Rotten Thieves

They’ll thieve from you your money 
Your shoes that you just brought,   
They do it with a notion          
That they’ll never get caught.  

Though I state this very clearly and
With much integrity 
I’m proud and loud with no shroud for
Thievings not for me.

They’ll thieve what they think they deserve
They thieve what they just want,
Is a fact- a dirty act
To pull a thieving stunt.

They thieve in the name of love
They thieve behind your back,
They think they are entitled 
For things that they do lack.

They’ll thieve your words and twist the verbs
Your designs, plans, ideas,
Then they’ll act almighty from
Stealing time and years.

They’ll thieve your light when shining bright
Your heart and curly locks,
They’ll thieve your garden hose out front and
Your letter box.

They are not fair they do not care
To steal what is not theirs,
Their in a class of their own and some
are billionaires.

The greediness, the avarice 
rapacity, extortion,
Be careful of corruption
for this can cause distortion.

Heartless

Yay, Valentines day
Postman feeds my letter box
Utility bills

Once Thought I Was a Honeycomb

Not hexagonal and yellow
Like if i broke my arm off
A conglomeration of air bubble caverns
and in between small wooden doors
with the name bee embossed
above every tiny letter box
my ode to the crunchie
That i just finished off

Hobbies Revisited

With time on my hands now that I am retired,
To hobbies I have returned,
And I am not disappointed.

I am back into stamp collecting,
Still find it rewarding,
Brain cells re-connecting,

Memories of shared interest with my Mum,
Which was far from Dumb.

Stamps on approval in post,
Hunting for coins that were lost.
To exchange for cheque to send by same day post,
Number of pen pals something to boast.

Waiting at letter box for stamps from foreign lands,
To get into our hands.


Swapping stamps with friends,
Visits to stamp shops,
Asking relatives to save stamps.

The joy of getting stamps from countries just born,
Countries that are no more make me feel old and forlorn.
Saving their stamps for posterity makes me feel re-born.

The Block

Foreword... the sort of daft rubbish I write in a effort to defeat writer’s block. No attempt to make any sense, just to get words on a page/screen. Normally I end up deleting such garbage... but I kinda like this one.


The Block

There’s a mule in my pool and he’s munching on a carrot
There’s a fool with a rule who is measuring a parrot
There are chicks doing tricks with some pogo sticks
And some ticks eating bricks with their weetabix

There’s a bunny selling honey cos he hasn't any money
And some blokes telling jokes although none of them are funny 
There’s a ghost eating toast spreading butter with a rifle
And a fellow with some jello cos he’s gonna make a trifle

I got some goats in the post they came through my letter box
I got a present from a peasant, it’s a pair dirty socks
There’s a big hole in my bucket, now you know what made me chuck it
And it landed on the parrot so I think I’m gonna pluck it

So I find I’m writing stuff about a hamster in a frock
Cos it came as quite a shock when I got this writers block
But my back’s against the wall, I’ll write anything at all
’til I unlock the block and I write something really cool

Terror and Love

To touch the aircraft wheel on the country's soil
An emergency message ...
Authorities have arranged for drinking, feeding and sleeping
Emergency and sudden landing of soldiers across the country ...


After seventy two hours of terrorism, I came to know
I lost my dearest Nicholas
With the twin towers, the pride of nation
I lost him forever


After the catastrophe, with frightened and terrified hands,
I opened the letter box one day
A sealed blue envelope was delivered, stamped on 2001/09/11
The pearls are shed by him ...
"My dear Emily, you're my love
  .... and beyond love "

Halloween Humbug

Around the dank and dreary walls the howling wind does scream,
And as the rain begins to fall you’ll know its Halloween,
The lightening strikes and mist will form and round the town it swirls,
And dressed as goblins, ghosts and ghouls will come the boys and girls.

In voices shrill and high with glee they shout out ‘trick or treat’,
And prowl the town in awful mobs in search of something sweet.
And if they knock upon your door and sing their sweet appeal,
You’d better have some sweets on hand or soon their scorn you’ll feel.

They’ll pelt your house with rotten eggs or lengths of toilet roll,
Or shove things through your letter box like muck or poo or coal,
And as the evening stretches, the adults are more doomed,
As the pranks become more vicious as more sugar is consumed.

This holiday to non-parents is worse each year on year,
Being blackmailed into sweet supply in the guise of festive cheer
The screaming little b******s are more and more obscene,
In this ‘hallmark-American-crapfest’ that is now our Halloween.

The Vampire Postman

He only worked the night shift
The other shifts he was cut adrift
As soon as the sun went down
You could see him prowling the town

In his post office van he picked up the letters
And on the colder nights for the better
He wore a cloak in a flourish around
When he stepped out of truck to the letters bound

His cloak he held it high up to his arm
And he looked above the elbow to project alarm
Gliding over the ground to the letter box
With one foul swoop he emptied the lot

They could never give him a partner 
Because they never made it to the shift's end after
He had no next of kin listed on his permanent file
And when off duty he hung from the basement tiles.

© Paul Warren Poetry

This Town, This Time

In this time , this town, you'd grow
In this town, this time, you'll feel at home
your poor plenty more than rich enough
to crack the faultline,
your cup half full, half overflowing.

You stretch your legs and wings and mind and laugh
Find friends too easily,
and hand frayed throw cushions
to basement strangers.
But is it your life?

Tomorrow you'll return to the terraced houseboat,
to the gulls and the buoys
and there's a fresh breeze blowing
through fused stamens along the towpath,
coaxing brilliant notes
from your empty letter box
and spinning ancient coins
under a tear-shaped moon.

The chimes are natural now
not flat, not sharp, not late,
not ringing through your dreams like an ice-cream hearse.
He'll phone you at the weekend
She'll pop by with that book, that child, that unfinished thought.

And you'll drink methode champenoise
straight from the bottle
Like winning at Monaco
or from your shoe,
and chase your other lover
upstairs.

Now write a letter to yourself
and copy it to the moon.
Take the ferry to the island
and drive back across
the broad causeway.


In this time , this town, you grow
In this town, this time, you feel at home

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