in the attic,
a box of old postcards
still smells faintly of cedar.
I read the handwriting~
looped, patient,
a kind of tenderness
that doesn’t announce itself.
Some artifacts
don’t need to be rare
to matter.
Known through every heart's
Wild urge and fun side;
Forbids nothing, including
Desire to escape
What Summer, especially
Along its sea coasts
Reveals, laying us half stripped
About its nature
If coarse, is one glad to cure.
Laughing at our shape!
Postcards and paper plane's.
Postcards and paper plane's I'd never thought to throw away, some day I may reminisce how flying and crying mingled with nostalgia, as my travels have been short. Maybe the plans will resemble my freedom on the wings of desire, and the postcards remind me of home, in all the places you have been.
Nothing do I have of him except some post cards
and the one picture of himself he sent me once he’d gone away.
No piece of clothing do I have to press against my face
and breathe in the wonder of his essence.
Stored in an old worn treasure chest are the picture and the postcards.
Rarely do I take them out; I do not need to
because his beautiful face is imprinted forever in my mind.
I knew him but one week of my young life.
Old Buick Rivieras remind me of
our final night of glorious romance.
Is he still out there somewhere in this world
remembering me as I remember him?
This I cannot know, but I imagine it is so.
The picture and the postcards – tucked away -
are the tangible pieces of evidence that he existed in my life.
But the image of his dark, tender eyes fixated on me,
and the memory of his smooth kisses and sweet caresses
one magical September eve
are my favorite mementos
of the boy from Quebec.
March 13, 2021
For Malabika Ray Choudhury's "I Remember" Poetry Contest
Now for John Hamilton's Your Best Free Verse So Far This Year Poetry Contest
meanwhile volcanoes spewing~ some trip !
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
How cool to get a postcard!
For someone took the time
To buy one, write it, stamp it
And then send it. Sometimes I’m
Away and make the effort,
But often I do not.
It’s easy to tell everyone
That somehow you forgot.
With FaceTime, Skype and Twitter,
The postcard seems so quaint.
The person who would bother, though,
Will not get one complaint.
The fact that someone thought of you
While off on a vacation
And put it into writing is
Beyond all expectation.
My parents send me postcards
As they jet set around the world
So that I have a little piece of them
I save the cards like I would exotic pearls
I'd like to tell them that I'm okay
Although both of them I miss
I often think of writing back
But have no forwarding address
I have cards from Paris, France
Amsterdam and on the Rhine
China along with Africa
I'm happy to see they're doing fine
I keep an atlas by my bed
So I can see where they are at any given time
I only wish my mom was here
To hold me as I cry
I travel to my mailbox
Lonely along the way
Looking for that postcard
To see where my parents are today
The end dear friend is just the entry and he pointed, but he never meant me, it was the old man sat inside me that the message was intended for.
I sat and wondered about the door and what was it the entry for and could it be he meant me after all?
Then the timepiece changed into a watchtower and it changed back on the hour, every hour
what tricks these eyes can play
what puzzles and to blind.
In the end I wouldn't mind a new beginning
somewhere with a decent climate
and
slightly South of the equator
where I could do a baked
potato
on the rocks.
but don't worry
they'll twin you with a town up
in the Pyrenees
which
you'll find out
will be full up with
the Chinese who'll
be
making origami
chewing gum from
Sorghum and
reciting verses from a book
by ...tse Tung
The end is just a fixture
another game we play
away.
These postcards spell the moments of my life
Each memory jotted down in black and white
In New York's where I first kissed you
In London is where I missed you
(Pre-Chorus)
I know you wanted to see how my story ends
But I promise you that we'll still be friends
If never our roads go and meet again
Just promise me...
Chorus:
You won't live your life in revenge
That's always been the downfall of tyrants and kings.
Don't hide your heart away,
Or turn your back in shame.
These postcards tell our history,
It all goes back to you and me.
And I wouldn't change them even if I could.
Verse 2:
In Rhode Island is where you loved me
In Spain is where I left you.
In Paris beneath the city lights is where
We had our hearts broken in two.
It doesn't matter cuz its all us
The good the bad the ugly stuff
I wouldn't change these scars for anybody
Else's.
Pre-Chorus
Chorus
This postcards tell the meaning of our story.
And that story ain't complete without you and me.
These wounds will heal I'll get up again the road goes on and on my friend
Please don't let these memories slip away.
Let me see…
Give this one a Gothic Border,
For my mood is one
Of secret gardens,
Gargoyles-
All internal wanderings…
And this one,
Of an island
Somewhere,
A place only
Tropics know-
The sea
Its endless border,
The sky
A far away glow-
A sleepy little lagoon-
Here fairies
Flit, flutter to tell
Flickering tales
Us dream thieves
Dream to sell…
And now
Above a mountain-
Clouds lightly darkly speak,
Of misty rings
Cumulus things
Where summit and base meet-
Talk of a missing middle,
The answer a
2 syllable word:
Always in a climbing riddle
No middle would be absurd.
Pictures and postcards
crumpled up letters
memories of moments
captured in a nighttime dream
Picnics and flowers
warm summer breezes
whispers and kisses
captured in a daytime dream
Feelings are flowing, circling and dipping
creating allusions - causing confusion
life pushes on - pressing and pulling
leaving a memory etched in a restless mind
I wait - alone - one with the morning dew
scared - lost - in moments without you
no going back, no turning back
scared of a future with no you
Pictures and postcards
crumpled up letters
memories of moments
captured in a nighttime dream
Feelings are flowing, circling and dipping
creating allusions - causing confusion
life pushes on - pressing and pulling
leaving her memory etched in a unclear mind
Muddling through motions
moonbeams and raindrops
sunshine and silence
Life goes on, or so it seems
I get pretty picture postcards
from faraway places,
not many but over time
they accumulate
on walls, fridges
and marking pages in books.
Mostly from old girlfriends
writing to prove
they are still alive.
"Amazing scenery, wonderful people,
haven't had a decent cup of coffee since Montreal,
watch out for the water in ice cubes.
Wish you were here (Not!)
all my love xxxx"
Still on a dull grey morning,
a message from Mexico, Italy,
Vietnam or New Zealand
is at least intriguing.
Me, I never send postcards
as I never go anywhere
but I get pretty picture postcards
from faraway long ago bitches
every now and then.
You were gone, though you had never left
on a long vacation, from yourself
they'd arrive in batches, every day
no return address, no greeting
Questions, feelings, hope was fleeting
then missing died, one lonely day
as did the heart that still lay beating
in the empty room next door
No warm goodbyes, or teary eyes
no last dance to an old, sad song
just picture postcards, curled and fading
fading, like our memories
I’ve been sleeping for a long time
Drifting in and out of “reality”
They say the dreams of men are only passengers
That has but one final destination
I can’t get off this train
I never bought a ticket
It was always here
In the back of my mind
In front of me
Carrying me towards destiny
I look out the window
The glass reflects only me
There is no scenic tour
I only know that I feel bad
Like I got the blues in green
Sad but forgotten
I ride this train
To the end of the tracks
Where the blues end
And the dying begins
Till then
There are only postcards
My friend
Life’s heading somewhere,
Still not sure where.
I’ll send you all postcards,
Once I get there.
With love, hope, and plenty of inspirations.
My dreams are yours,
So go ahead and take them.
Live them fully because I know I won’t.
There still on my to do list.
Next to loving life and joining fight,
Kisses, hugs or forgotten loves.
They’re flying by,
I’m still trying to catch them in jars, like fireflies.
To light up my room at night,
With a warm glowing yellow light.
My lovely dreams keep me going.
So wait for my new postcard, love.
I’ll be there soon.
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