Postage Stamp Poems | Examples

The Hitler Stamp

What tale this stamp of time can tell
in silence of a world once held,
as captive by this forceful man,
with death intent to conquer lands.

We know not much except it’s found.
Its worth would probably astound
and have the cherished owner fear,
Who would value this as “dear?”

In simple plain coincidence
it’s passed throughout the ages since
and now by pure inheritance,
discovery is         result of chance.

We cannot praise this frightening face,
bringing death to millions not of "master race."
A postage stamp stands for the time,
when such despise soon met decline.

What Makes You Feel

Topic #2: When I feel sad that my friend has drifted away . . . 

I’m an envelop - its contents emptied and missing a postage stamp

Eagle-Eye Girl

You marrow-deep in the bone-dry field,
sprawled like a wishbone snapped wrong-
the ground drinks your weight,
but won't swallow you whole.

wind combs its fingers through the wheat,
a mother's touch turned phantom.
That house- small as a postage stamp,
licked, sealed, and sent too far- 
waits with its back turned.

your arms are bridges to nowhere,
your legs, two broken clock hands,
stuck in a time that does not move.
still, your gaze- sharp as a knife-edge moon-
slices the dance like a butcher's twine.

the land here is a tight-lipped secret,
a locked jaw of yellowed grass,
a lungful of dust that never exhales. 
you wear silence like a second skin,
but your eyes, keen as a needle bite,
thread the gap between longing and gravity.
eagle-eyed girl, you have the hunters staring,
but the hunted bones 
tell me- does the sky ever blink first?

Indeed He Wrote

It was Clark Gable, who posed the question,
“Oh, Mr., Faulkner…do you write?”
Indeed, Mr. Gable, Faulkner wrote…
About that postage stamp of native soil
In many books and stories did his typewriter toil
regaling about that mythical place he called Yoknapatawpha County
somewhere in the rolling hills of north Mississippi
he penned a tale about Colonel John Sartoris
of Boon Hogganbeck and Lucius McCaslin
taking a trip to Memphis, Tennessee
in “Boss” Priest’s Wynton Flyer
they were “The Reivers”—footloose and fancy free
Yes, Mr. Gable, Faulkner wrote…
of Quentin Compson—“The Sound and the Fury”
the perils of the Bundren family—“As I Lay Dying”
Vardaman said, “My mother is a fish”
Indeed, Mr. Gable, “Mr. Bill” Faulkner did write
about Emily Grierson, her male admirers in “A Rose for Emily”
the trilogy of the Snopes family, such a literary tapestry
Oh, heavens, Mr. Gable, Mr. Faulkner did write 
In every novel, every story, all about his native Mississippi
his works a marvelous contribution to America’s rich literary history
								
--Allen Baswell
   © 02-25-22

Rhyme Rapp Flow Apollo

Tall tale
Inhale
Exhale
Fire-sale
Entrails

Stop watch clock

Detail
Retail
Question
Charity
Joke
Shop

Cunning Plot

Accusations
Conertation
Deviation
Meditation
Presentation

Flip Flop

Resonate
Elevate
Procrastinate
Incarcerate
Deviate

Box off

Morphine
Dopamine
Vaccine
Injection
Firework
Dynamite
Pill

Postage Stamp

Taxes
Cheque
Cash
Paper
Bitcoin
Bill
Gold
Diamond
Jewel

How much have you got 

Can you afford to loose

Can you make the roundabout
spinning stop

Drain the power from the main frame

Just how many times can the handmaid
escape

Before eventually getting caught

Crushing fresh red footprint track into 
yellow snow upon a blue grass 
landscape portrait

What's exactly lurking underneath the
bonnet hood

And have we sufficient rocket fuel left in
the tank

In order to survive re-entry in 1 piece

Apollo

9 - Dash . Dot - 11

OVER

In the Land of Old Pajamas

When a ladder leaps like a lady bug
and the patterns turn away
Where the coffee needs an electric plug
now on any given day
Will the sun outlast it’s father
as the field comes round the bend
Till the winds forget to bother
and the season calls an end

Collected like a postage stamp
that's far too sharp to lick
Or a Sunday at a summer camp
just pulling off a tick
Found along some checkered highway
in a bag thrown in the air
Can you count the lonely buttons
that are tangled in your hair 

Now I feel the lamp light burning
as the banjos start to wail
When the stars at night are churning
and a comet cuts its tail
Will you stand beside me waiting
for the promises I keep
In the land of old pajamas
that shall find us in our sleep

A Postage Stamp

You
                        Travel
                     Far across
                 Waters and lands
                Remaining in place
                   In one corner
                   You move on
                       To reach
                           Me



5-24-2020
Ninette Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet

Love's Pain

Love's pain is like a postage stamp
being licked too many times
When you wonder who she'll woo
in a letter sent with chimes

In the Mud

postage stamp traffic drought
patient King naked spine
juvenile cocktail crevice's dye

Who--Or What--Do You Think You Are

Who, or what, do you think you are?
  A Bollywood star
    A Turkish bazaar
      An iron crowbar
        A permanent scar
          A late-model NASCAR
            An all-night Delhi darbar
              A cowardly lion, ala Bert Lahr
                A late-night replacement for Jack Paar
                  A postage stamp from the territory of Saar
                    A scene from MASH featuring Jamie Faar
                      An imported Swiss candy bar
                        A peripatetic avatar
                          A native of Madigascar
                        A powerful drug czar
                      A tractor-driver from Navistar
                    A pro golfer who can't even break par
                  An empty peanut butter jar
                An unwritten memoir
              A smelly, old cigar
            A boring academic seminar
          An unidentified flying object on radar
        A diplomat from Myanmar
       A fancy antique boudoir
     A hardy-har-har-har!

Sunday Drive

Sunday Drive

It was a Sunday drive,
High on the Kiamichi trail,
When an overlook was spied,
And out of the car we bailed.

(The sun danced low 
On purple evening hills)

I looked down at the green valley,
Curls of evening meat scents
Wafted from stone pits of fire,
Amid postage stamp crops and tents.

(Wondered did I if the insect sized
People were looking up at our road.)

As I raised my gaze, an Indian maiden
Stood beside me smiling
In her long braided blue-black hair,
Her chamois beaded dress, most beguiling.

(And I asked her if she was an apparition,
But no answer was forthcoming.)

We lingered long at the outlook,
And I looked down one last time,
When my awe-filled eyes did finally arise,
The Indian lady was gone, and I

Was left with one long eagle feather
Cradled In my arm.

A Day At the Beach

Are we having fun yet?
I think I’m doing everything right.

The three-hour drive only took four hours.
My postage stamp of beach is
staked out and blanketed.
Soda and Kool-Aid float in
tepid water in the cooler.
Beach towels, bathing suits, balls,
umbrellas, goggles, fins, chips,
hats, sun block, sand toys, lawn chairs,                   
and Solarcaine are near at hand.

I know, you see, because I carried them
across every damn inch of a quarter mile
of burning sand while the kids chased
seagulls and picked Cheetos off the
ground.

Are we having fun yet?

Sand has invaded personal spaces
even my gynecologist hasn’t seen.
My hair has twisted itself into Rasta locks,
saltwater style, and I can actually
see the freckles exploding like popcorn.
I lie down. I open a book. I am promptly surrounded.

“Mommy, it’s hot. We want to go home.”

Are we having fun yet?

I Would Buythat For a Penny

I Would Buy That For A Penny
 
In the 1900's to 1950's, it was amazing what you could
buy for a penny (1d), a bag of sweets was a popular buy
chewing gum, a trip on a bus, a newspaper, postage stamp, 
lemonade and many other things, children would get a penny 
for pocket money and the clever child would save it up until 
there was enough to buy something of greater value, as most
children the money would burn a hole in their pockets, so then
they would ask their parents for more money, they would
say not till the following week, that is what it was like 
back then, children respected their parents and were very 
greatful for what they had done in raising them well.  


Written:11th July 2013

Hattie Mcdaniel

Being an early African American actress, included moments of outcries & burst
That ended with pride & joy, on being so many of our first

Like the first African to win an Oscar, for the movie Gone With the Wind
Opening doors ajar for minorities like there has never been

The first African woman, to sing on the radio
Showing we meant something then, still, a long way to go

Being the first African, to have a postage stamp
A shining African star, like a bright candle lamp

This strong woman of color, who struggled to live her life
Breaking through barriers, cutting them like a knife

Admiration for her, grows each and every year
To see how far we’ve come after hard fought tears

So Hattie McDaniel, is the actress I love most of all the famous names
This child born of slaves now with two stars on Hollywood’s Walk of Fame

The Postage Stamp

I have traveled the world
Across the oceans and great lands
I have seen this earth from high above
A majestic orb in clouded beauty
From afar the pain of man, unseen

I have exposed myself
Like a naked Rembrandt on display
I was seen in the museum of the common man
As I journeyed far and wide
No one took any notice, of my quiet observations

All my voyages have ended
So now I sit tranquil in the corner
One day, someone will discover me
And see, the stories I have to tell
Of kings and Queens, and lovers lost

I may even tell a tale of woe
A sad story, buried in old archives
Of a love that was both great and sad
For those in love who never knew
The love letter lost, postage due

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