Long Postman Poems
Long Postman Poems. Below are the most popular long Postman by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Postman poems by poem length and keyword.
Moonlight, a Few Shadows and a Shower of Rain
At times, they were ‘the’ couple;
the gold in a quartz vein
until guilt raised an admonishing finger,
alerting him to what he should have seen
and, from experience, should have known;
her need before it was needed.
She’d spoken in stretched sighs
which he hadn’t the ability to read.
She just wanted a place to rest her heart;
he never understood the importance of affection.
He watches as her eyes turn to tungsten,
drilling into his emotionless senses
then she lifts the letter box into his thoughts
and a harsh realisation dawns on her;
the door slams, relationship is extinguished
and she’s flees showing a pained pair of heels!
The shock, again, creates a trap door in his head
and recriminations pour swiftly through;
the postman, once more, has delivered
an unfulfilled relationship!
Later, alone within the noise of silence,
feelings of remorse, marginally sanguine, lie close
until the moon saunters up his garden path,
a cordial invitation to walk, stretch his guilt-filled legs.
He accepts gracefully and with gratitude
and soon the odd ball couple stroll on
while a few, friendly, shabby shadows
clamber to put on their walking boots;
eventually bothering beads of rain
string themselves along their journey.
As they wander whimsically along
he reconsiders that perhaps being alone
doesn't purely represent selfishness, loneliness;
Mother Nature has been a good friend to him.
He chuckles a smile as he imagines
the incongruous sight of himself,
moonlight, a few shadows and a shower of rain
ambling, sharing an easy togetherness,
a simple fellowship he could understand
while jewels of light bubble and bobble all around.
Ian Souter
Waiting for the Postman
Florrie stands at the garden gate,
How much longer must she wait?
The Postman was due ages ago
What will he bring today for Flo
Junk mail or a pile of bills
Or a letter from her daughter Jill
Maybe a seed catalogue
Or a letter requesting she sponsor a dog
An offer of a new bank card
Or book-club offers of works by the Bard
Or a parcel from her sister Sally
Now living in the Rhonda Valley
A letter about changing her energy supplier
They promise her a cheaper deal
Then the bills are higher
A spring catalogue from Ann Summers
Or a free sheet advertising plumbers
Oh postman, what is keeping you?
Florrie has better things to do
Than wait and wait and wait and wait
Shivering at the garden gate
Knowing myself as only
i unfortunately do
My feebles and my foibles
Whence life becomes nothing
but this to me
This i also know i am not
the many but the few
Who take safety and comfort
in routine
As feeling like a postman or a
milkman following the same
old trodden round commute
I fear far more than change
For if nothing new there be
to see or experience
No corner left to turn every
line runs true and straight
I see no point of journeying
a 1 single step further
I'd far rather choose to press
the red button marked stop
get off and eject myself
To anywhere but right here
right now
Because that to me at very
least represents something
yet to be discovered turning
a corner
As yesterday to me is already
old and in the distant past
Truth be told i am far more
interested in what the future
holds and creating fresh new
memories
Than having to constantly
dredge up and ruin my
most joyful cherished
memories of old
To get me through another
day plagued by endless
Da-Jar-Vue
Pardon my French if you
know what i mean
Of those to admire, or crusaders we've known
pulled from the movies, or comic-book clones
there is one to consider, I wish I had known.
I'll say "Mr. Rogers", and eyebrows will raise.
Considered, perhaps an unlikely name.
Not the hero we're used to or one to seek fame.
Just an everyday fellow, with a soft-velvet voice
Humble, and gentle, you might call an odd choice.
With a gentleman's warmth, he would open the door,...
then ask us to join him for a neighborly while.
He arrived on the scene when my children were small.
Would reach for his sweater, from a hook on the wall,
and, change into sneakers that lay on the floor.
Inviting us in with a comfortable smile
He opened that door to a new state of mind.
Never demeaning, always thoughtful, and never unkind.
Puppets and people, and storybook poems,
and a neighborhood trolley that always came home!
The postman, McFeely, and Lady Elaine...
A neighbor called Aber, and memories to frame.
Each day was a lesson, with uplifting traces,
taking my children to other-world places
Yet, what mattered the most, was a presence with heart.
His endearing examples, and the lessons he taught
such as loving your neighbor, or helping a friend,
or how grief could be softened, when worlds come to end.
He encouraged our children to take things out of that box,
when parents got tongue-tied, or stumbled a lot.
He could gently, with wisdom, look into their eyes.
where they found understanding, and the lessons of life.
How do we describe our heroes today?
Do they kill and destroy, and the enemy slayed?
Have we not learned the message that came softly spoken?
Our children still listen and will thrive or be broken.
Some will look for their heroes in the comic-book craze.
I'll claim Mr. Rogers ..... as a hero today.
________________________________________
Vagabond brothers in plaid patchwork socks
Crossing the street between stripes painted yellow
Stretching the avenue half past the hour
Dodging the drunk, he’s a staggering fellow
Grabbing a smoke from the stack on the corner
Begging a match that just isn’t the same
Identical twins from a different mother
Thinking the postman holds most of the blame
Belting a chorus while changing their trousers
Pressed at the seam near the fine zigzag stitch
Hiding the spot that is worn in the middle
Caused by aggressively scratching an itch
Checking the fridge just to find it quite empty
Not even leftovers left over there
Hearing their stomachs now growling profusely
Hoping that none on the sidewalk would stare
Reaching for handles of brass alabaster
Gathering things at a grocery store
Paying in cash with a currency foreign
Offering nickels, they don’t have much more
Pork chops on Sunday and sweet apple cider
Pushing their cart over ten city blocks
Still they are known for their colorful fashions
Vagabond brothers in plaid patchwork socks
Written for the Zany contest
Sponsored by Frank Herrera
she is standing
on the sill of the door, she is waiting
sight on the end of the going away road
for the postman, she is waiting
o yellow envelope
you are coming
hand by hand
the torn old bag carries you
o yellow envelope
you are coming
under the lamp-post
by the day, by the night
by the cycle, on the foot
through summer to a rainy day
through various village field
the Postman touches your skin
take a while and reads your address
at last he reaches and gets your destination
look, she is still standing under the moon-lit
standing, breathing, crossing longest wink
a dawn crow is cawing
but the yellow envelope comes to her with tears!
-April 23, 2019, Chattogram
An old house proudly on top of a hill
Shutters open letting in the winter chill
A big wide bay window lets in the light
Bright Red Curtains can close out the night
Inside the window there is a seat so as to sit and stare
And gaze out at the view that’s available there
She sits there daily till the Postman passes
A stout young man who wears horned rimmed glasses
Who always waves and gives her a smile
As he wends his way for many a mile
She’s waiting for news of her true loves fate
The one that waved good bye at the Garden Gate
As he went off to war for King and country
Disappearing from view as he passed the old Plum Tree
To fight in a war so far very away
Will he ever return she thinks to herself every day
The thought of him having left her all alone makes her sad
Now she feels that she may lose everything they had
They are so much in love and now to be separated like this
All she has are memories of their last kiss
So that’s why she sits in her Window Seat
Looking so pretty in her dress so neat
Awaiting the words that will bring her joy
That he’s coming home to her and their little boy
Tommy is only five years old
And only knows what he has been told
That his daddy has gone off to war far away
But hopefully he will return some day
His mother Alice tries her best
To raise him right shield him from all the rest
Now she sits for today’s post
Until it arrives she does the most
To keep Tommy amused and off to school each day
And has done so each and every day
Suddenly she sees the postman approaching near
Suddenly her heart is filled with fear
Will he bring news of her love so dear
He hands her a letter marked confidential from the war department
And inside is news of her one true love that makes her feel content
Her one true love is coming home in a few days
The war is over he has survived the letter says
The postman realizes it must be good news at last
Now all her troubles may now be in the past
He has a wide smile and bids her goodbye
And travels on his merry way with a lasting sigh
Whistling a tune as he goes out of sight
Alice is back in her window seat the future looking bright
All well that ends well but she appreciates how lucky she is
They will be together again free to live in bliss
“Give them back! Give my tears back, right now—with interest!!”
—Natsuki Takaya
She wrote her marine a letter, hopeful, bright
loved with her kisses and perfume. In sight,
the postman circles ‘round. Expectantly, she
hurries to the wooden box, near the Pear tree.
Spring is in the air with robins mating, daffodils
in potent bloom and the sudden goosebump’ chills.
Sarah shuts her bedroom door, pounces on bed,
allows steam to open the envelope, read what’s said.
“Dear Sarah, soon I go into the fight, I will write more
later, after the attack. Kiss kiss, x x, hug hug score.”
Later he continues with blood, sweat and tears.
Incoherently, blots - black and blue, slide down. Fears
march up and down her spine. Vietnam’s magic trick
was to steal her joy and love. America’s turning quick -
long ere, a neighbor, fathomed regress from her guy,
which would rip the torrential tearful cloud of her eye.
It's not raining...but I'm getting soaking wet
My head is sweating...because, there is something...I can not forget
My baby's leaving me...and my life is filled with sorrows
Just knowing, that I won't be seeing her...in all of my tomorrow's
It's not raining...but dripping off my nose
Are drips of teardrops...flowing, just like a river flows
My baby's leaving...and I am broken hearted
Just knowing that...there is something she has started
It started raining...but I was feeling a little dry
Until I cried again...when my baby said goodbye
My baby's leaving...and I just can not forget
It isn't raining...but I'm getting soaking wet
The sun is shining...I am feeling so much better
The postman came to me...and he handed me a letter
My baby wrote to me...said she was coming home
Without me in her life...said she felt all alone
The sun is shining...and I've got life back again
It seems so long ago...it seems like way back when
It wasn't raining...and I was getting soaking wet
Because, there was something leaving...that I just could not forget
As I sit at staring at my mobile phone, waiting
For the telephone to ring
I think maybe I will be lucky
A love letter maybe, the Postman will bring
A message from the one I love
As true as true can be
Just remember that special love
Begins with you and me
Always in my thoughts and on my mind
The girl I left so far behind
Whose magic smile just melts my heart?
And took my very soul right from the start
I may be so far away
In a hostile land and against the enemy
But will be home again someday
Back to your arms, don’t you see?
So as I sit and wait for the daily post
The man who drifts in like a ghost
To bring weekly joy from his mailbag
The daily wait is such a drag
But the perfume on the paper I can smell
Just goes down, so very well
Reminds me what I miss so much
Your kisses and your wonderful touch
Sometimes, when I get down, and my mind wanders
Melancholy thoughts abound
Of times together, that may have past
And why I miss you so, when you are not around
So Mr Postman, do your best
Bring me that special message that I need
From my loved one so far away
Today I hope you can get through, Oh yes, Oh yes indeed