ink softens with time~
yet some friendships stay bright
as the first postmark
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It arrived thirty years late,
the stamp still clinging
like a last breath.
The handwriting—your grandmother’s~
shaky, as if she wrote it
in the dark.
The weather is mild here,
the streets quiet.
You would hate it.
No date, no return address,
just the postmark bleeding
into the paper’s edge.
You hold it under the lamp,
turning it over,
half-expecting her voice
to rise like steam
from the ink.
But the silence stays.
And the words,
now brittle as old leaves,
whisper nothing
but her absence.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The envelope’s edges are crinkled and battered,
like a leaf forgotten underfoot~
its seal remains tight, unbroken.
Inside, the ink bleeds into hesitant rivers,
words dissolving into what might have been
I miss you or come home.
The postmark? Just a blur now~
could’ve been spring,
could’ve been some random Tuesday.
That’s when it slipped out of sight,
getting tangled up in someone else’s story.
Now it hides in a drawer
tucked away with other unused things:
a ticket stub to nowhere,
a key that fits no lock,
and the quiet weight
of all the words
that never left one's throat.
What is a letter
but a breath trapped in paper?
What is silence
but the echo of a name
no longer said aloud.
The envelope waits.
The words wait.
And the hand that might have opened it
is dust.
A Valentine's Senryu 2-3-25
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Living Valentine
living valentine
with a heavenly postmark ~
love notes sung each day
Wonders of the world a
welcome guest house for those
wounded blue mood psyches
who ramble golden vales
when past life ghosts appear
while scenic haunts postmark
ways to blissful solace
I went out to the mailbox to get today's mail,
Mixed in with the same household bills and trivial
Junk mail, was a padded vanilla envelope,
With a China postmark. I don't recall, nope, nope,
Ordering anything from China. The pack looked
Quite mysteries and just begging to be opened.
A bag of seeds to my surprise. Weeds or flowers
Will not hurt, maybe herb, fruit, or shady bowers.
A garden filled with blooms. Oh, fragrance can consume.
What you are I wonder. So, I google, how to
Plant seeds. I followed the directions step-by-step,
Burying the seed. I watered and fertilized.
I went in the garden this morning, breathless with
Joy, seeds burst into huge flowers, ivy, and weeds.
8/17/2020
"Mystery Seeds" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Carolyn Devonshire
The once was a man with a long bad tongue
He wrote poor lyrics and never got sung,
His lengthy words were a farce
They came out of his ****,
Smelling like stagnate garbage of bung.
She is a lady from Mersey side
In need of a smack on her backside
Her finger always digging
To give someone a wigging
she is neither clever nor dignified.
A man from earth snorkels like a hog
Cries like a cat and growls like a dog,
A true pain in the bum
Because he is scum,
He lives happily in a repulsive bog.
There was a lady who travels a lot
She has rounded face and a beauty spot
She is loud as a siren
Thinking she’s Lord Byron
She is Dorothy they call her Dot.
There was a man who owned a yacht
He was depressed and overwrought,
Ladies loathed his clowning
They had no time for fooling,
He needed some serious food for thought.
Danny was a man from the You Ess Ay
A Canadian lady who liked to pray
A twit from Denmark with an Italian postmark
And a Kenyan who lives in Bombay.
The sewing machine, long idle, gathered dust
Their farmland sapping every last ounce of energy
Animals and crops, entrusted and on her own to adjust
With welcome visits of encouragement from the clergy
All the men had enlisted swearing they’d be back
Leaving behind wives who hushed their worst fears
Nights spent dreaming of men riding home on horseback
Godforsaken days turned to months turned to tears
The war years seemed like only yesterday
Like a treacherous nightmare that could be swept aside
With each sunrise, all held their breath for judgment day
Dreams of lighthearted love and happy times gone astride
A woman has premonitions others call foresight
Setting aside the unopened envelope with its postmark
Sat alone with his bloodstained letter well into the night
The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark
AP: 3rd place 2020
Submitted on April 13, 2018 for contest ONE NINE AND SIXTEEN sponsored by VIV WIGLEY - RANKED 4TH
All entries must be typed and titled.
Do NOT put your name on the poem,
so it may be judged anonymously.
Put your name on a cover sheet along
with your contact information, including
phone, address, and email.
No email submissions will be accepted.
Submit all entries in hard copy to:
NCSU Poetry Contest
Campus Box 8105
English Department
NCSU
Raleigh, NC 27695-8105
The POSTMARK DEADLINE is Monday, March 13, 2017
Due to volume, we cannot contact each contestant or
return your poems afterwards.
Father, deliver me to the swollen path
faith's calling, not the lathe,
not the breaker point, nor salve,
that heals profusely, so the scar can bathe
its entity - like pride, in terms of have!
I have - a nothing, but thy love,
that God would halve,
and then turn righteous, thee & I, 'til wholeness bade -
I have thy courage, if my heart not wax,
too openly, and leave no guessing's waft.
I have thy knowing hardship, thy enslave.
I have thy postmark, like a name would seal a grave,
and that beneath, not entering, forgotten, and deceased.
I have thy place of halt - thy birthright, thy retreat,
I have, by God's discern, a plan against defeat!
I have - envision to complete
thy halving - not repeat,
a oneness - that is lone in its own meet.
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