My Soup Mailbox often is empty! That's great, I do not like tattling
I love to face poets
face to face without hiding ~
leaky tale bearing
monoku haiku haibun!
Violet Grape Purple Envelope
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
Contest Judged: 10/4/2025 11:20:00 AM
( 7th place )
In the mailbox, it waited,
a violet grape purple envelope…
not the plain white of bills,
not the business-blue of routine,
but a shade rich as twilight grapes
pressed into wine.
The flap held more than paper;
Its pulse echoed the warmth of a waiting hand,
the secret weight of words
never said aloud.
I lifted the seal,
and the room tilted…
like stepping into a midsummer orchard
where each branch hung heavy,
brimming with whispered secrets
of fruit still blushing in the sun.
Inside, no gold, no check,
just a letter, simple and trembling.
Ink curved across the page
like vines climbing a trellis…
every word a fruit,
sweet with risk,
staining me purple.
I held it close,
as though the page exhaled in quiet pulses,
like hidden grapes fermenting
beneath stone and quiet flame…
a slow transformation,
love softening into molten amber.
Once upon a time there was a forsaken mailbox
that sat with its hood open
waiting for the infamous letter number two
The hours, days, weeks and months went by
where the mailman would deliver junk mail
but no letter number two
The mailbox shed tears as its sides grew rust
the neighbors mailboxes would jingle in laughter
as there was no letter number two
Then one day the mailman came with a smile
he opened up the forsaken mailbox
and gently placed in letter number two
The cities letter parade was ecstatic
everyone knew of the delivery
the house owner would read letter number two
With that the mailbox was no longer forsaken
by yet it would sit there in earnest
waiting for letter number three
Even it is turned on, my Soup mailbox is often very empty
mass confusion under an abandoned black mailbox
just mentioned as lackadaisical as day,
someone very close to me just told me about diabetes medication
i sit on this empty porch of dried tears with a quickly written letter in my hand
i am thinking about possible amputations and high blood pressure
so secretive, and i do not know where to go
so vague, and i do not know what number to call
so mysterious, and i do not know what hospital in which to go to
the mailbox is now black corn flakes without even intending to be
not knowing the definition of 'where', 'to', 'go', or 'next', i put said quickly written letter in the abandoned, flaky black mailbox
i return back to my weather worn black car and stare into the space of myself in the mirror of the driver side sun visor
In the mailbox sat
This valentine of mine,
With no return address
No name did they sign
Like my mind at the time
The little card was blank,
Who left it for me to find
… Just who do I thank?
Maybe it is best this way
Not knowing who it was,
Just another kind heart
Who put it there because
It was February 14th, after all
And the snow was falling fine,
When in the mailbox sat
This valentine of mine …
Tear by on a Friday
Doing 75 down Sharon Road
Short cut up north through the federal woods
Back here
No one knows from US-127
About the clear-cutting as far as the eye can see
Or the heads of hills chopped off and rolling
And curves of road that’ve lost their will
To bend
A mailbox shakes in my scissor wake
With no house or driveway
Making claim of it
Hangs
On to the side of the road
Choked with scrolls of yellowed paper
Its little red arm
Up
Flailing
In my rearview mirror.
When consulted, the mailman said,
"Sure, put a little daisy on the mailbox if you want."
So we all put on daisies.
Martha put one daisy.
I put up two, the girl down the street put on a marigold.
The mailboxes were now in a little competition.
One day we discovered Glory had bested us all.
Her mailbox was saturated in a bed of purple clematis.
The joke was on her.
She received this note “mail cannot be delivered due to bees
until removal of bush”.
One black mail box, twelve inches deep by
five inches wide. Large enough to hold any
letter or package to ever arrive. It hangs
tilted to one side, the nails holding it to its
post straining under the weight that years of
loneliness put upon it. Slowly its mouth opens
and shuts in the wind, creaking out its cries for
company. The flag long rusted off so the mail truck
simply drives by, kicking dust into its face again and
again. Finally it gives up and releases its cling to
the past, crashing to the rocks below with
such a clatter, but no one heard a sound.
One black mail box, twelve inches deep by
five inches wide. Large enough to hold any
letter or package to ever arrive. It hangs
tilted to one side, the nails holding it to its
post straining under the weight that years of
loneliness put upon it. Slowly its mouth opens
and shuts in the wind, creaking out its cries for
company. The flag long rusted off so the mail truck
simply drives by, kicking dust into its face again and
again. Finally it gives up and releases its cling to
the past, crashing to the rocks below with
such a clatter, but no one heard a sound.
country mailbox
red flag up
first christmas cards
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
first snowfall
pristine coat of white
footprints to mailbox
AP: 1st place 2025, Honorable Mention 2020
six kids
new house
no running water
AP: 2nd place 2026, 2nd place 2025
Minds Meet In Mailbox
Mailbox is where our minds will meet;
Preparing poems that are on a sheet;
For cared;
Be prepared,
And do good turn daily nice and neat.
Jim Horn
The dusty road cuts through the rolling green plain
No twist or bend or end in sight
Only a small puddle from a recent rain
And a mailbox standing upright.
It used to bring letters, cards from one and all
And on holidays a treasure
A link to the outside world, refused to fall
A beacon it would bring pleasure.
Now it stands empty, and yearns for attention
Its gaping yaw, now want for news
It seems that its purpose in life is now done
Now abandoned, it has paid its dues.
And once in a while, down that long dusty road
The search for a card continues
But only catalogs, and trash by the load
Disappointment always ensues.
Seems the internet replaced the written word
So easy to click a greeting
You can even add sound for it to be heard
As the mailbox takes its beating.
The poor old mailbox is the bane of mankind
But another use I can see
Make a nest for the birds, the postman won’t mind
And then put it up in a tree!
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