Postmen Poems | Examples

serpent mound

under the serpent mound prudent
demons (NOT monsters) preserve the
nuts and 
endosperm meant for
later day 
postmen to deliver
when the time is
all too convincingly ripe

The Street

Some of them are living ghosts,
they have buried their roots
under newer foundations,
or they still live anonymously
under a rock of poverty.

If you asked me to name them
I could not, for they all had names
too similar to mine.

The whole street,
all its doors and windows,
its narrow-broken pavements
have been obliterated by the nazis
or the iron booted rent collectors.
Postwar postmen have no addresses
to slot through.

In my mind
is a diorama of a history
that I missed by being born late,
yet the street knew me before I knew it.

Now the ghosts are dying one by one.
Those that left the street
to become pink and abundant
were happy to be alive for a while,
as I was,

until inevitably
the diorama turned into a carousel
of long gray sunsets.

Bombed Out

London was still full of
fire-bombed vacant lots.
Ruins and rubble
were a kids natural playground,
the deeper the devastation
the better our play.

There was always a chance
to find a broken toy
to abuse.

Back at home,
not once did we consider
what that unidentifiable
gray soot-like substance
on our clothes contained,

but at night
our dreams were troubled
by the eerie whistling
of long dead postmen.

Postmen

Postmen 
are hard working Men
under the hot Sun 
and rain
letting them day and night to suck
for a few bucks

Sophie Helen Saves Us Daily

Sophie Helen is our beyond protective black cocker spaniel.
She races out to meet the rapists and murders
They come in the form of Amazon deliveries.
Postmen and house painters, she previews them all.
Expecting their intentions are notoriously diabolical.
To her they are killers carrying hidden axes and daggers.
Untrustworthy, menacing, lecherous liars and thieves.
She barks elongated warnings.
Frantic, angry, howling, fierce barks.
Until the evil ones sit down and give her a treat or a pat.
Within seconds becoming their new best friend.
It is now she and them against us.

A Didactic Effort To Mail a Letter

Buy ink which remains indelible on the soul
Lick your stamps as they should never lick themselves
Keep envelopes open to suggestions and to be stretched
Hide them in a dry place or pine desk out of trouble 
Hold pens gently into the wind or corresponding weather
Leave an impression on the world as you write
Use an eraser but only after midnight

Employ an umbrella over your story
Deploy it in the rain if you compose
Protect your notes while rushing to the mail post
Kill trees only when necessary
Pray they don’t take revenge 

Keep rain in buckets one drop at a time
Keep sanity at bay and asteroids at large
Stamp high as bays get wet in rising tides

Write letters with pens untouched by men
Utilize paper snow white and pretty 

Mail correspondences twice if suspicious
Use two stamps because you can
Deliver yourself from evil
Let postmen know you are on to them
Send one letter at a time as mail is heavy 
Give it time because time is burdensome 
Let letters drop while servers do the rest
Wait for a response but don’t hold your breath

Virus

Virus

No dining no cinema no going out
No football or festivals
No getting about

No meeting a colleague no hugging a friend
No pubs no clubs gatherings
When will we see the end?

This virus has us locked inside
Us over seventies
All have to hide

But its not all gloom it wont last forever
Being kept apart
Has brought us all together

We are Zooming and Skyping like never before
The community spirit
Is just like in the war

There have been front room festivals
And internet plays
Happy reminders of better days

So we wont give up we’ll stay in lock down
Until this damn virus
Is no longer around

If we believe in our hearts it wont be long
We will beat this pandemic
And see it gone

So lets drink a toast to the NHS crew
And to postmen and drivers
Who bring deliveries to you

To bus drivers and policemen and firemen too
Who all risk their lives 
For me and for you

So lets all stand firm and never give in
Then the war on this virus
We will surely win

I know we can beat it if we stay strong
And we will see the day 
When forever its gone

Red Runny Nose Cl

Postmen are the unsung heroes      		
Rain or shine they’re here on time	
Ten out of ten never zeros			
Such respect for postman of mine		
In summer shorts till winter’s clime		
When at dawn my Postman arose		
In snow or rain or warm sunshine		
Strong and fit no red runny nose

Written 25th January 2020

ABABBABA
8 lines
8 syllables

Contest  Oh-No a Twisted Char-Lay
Sponsor  Charles Messina
2nd Place

Contest Strand Select F
Sponsor Brian Strand 
HONORABLE MENTION

The Letterbox

A pensioner's long walk today,
Yes, the mailman's been, no yah!
What bills did arrive this way?
Postman, postman, stay away,
I am putting up a sign,
"BAN THE BILLS!" about frigging time!
if all bill payers went on strike,
Bills would go down, not upwards hike!
Yes, it's that dreaded long walk again,
Should I throw the bills down the drain? 
A gutter too far, or in the bin?
Bringing us bills is the postman's great sin,
Can't afford that, can't afford that,
"I'll shoot you, postman, now don't come back!'
is shooting postmen a capital offence?
"BAN THE  BILLS!" on everyone's fence!

Stranger

Ultimate wish with the great thoughts,
No one knows today is my birthday. 
Knowing you is my hardest task of the day, 
Never thought one will wish me like this, 
Off course, it is not for me, I am mistaken.
Words are pointing me, how it is possible!?
Nice emotions these are,  the person may be a writer.

Postmen surely help me to find the stranger, 
Envelope is fully blank, how can he find? 
Remembering every second of mine, this is only the way.
Surrounding is in silence, but,  I am totally disturbed,. 
Obviously, the person observed me for a long time,
None of the people disturbed me like this, then,  who is this?!


4/2/2018
Contest :Anonymous angel

Inspired By Oh Dear What Can the Matter Be Contest

I'VE GOT NO POST TRAUMATIC STRESS SYNDROME


Oh dear what can the matter be
There’s a mail strike and I’m into philately
I’ve had no letters from Monday to Saturday
The postmen are really unfair

They promised last week that they would deliver
Some stamps from Hong Kong and box of chopped liver
But nothing’s arrived, oh how my lips quiver
My mailbox is terribly bare

Inspired by contest

**** Total Fiction write ****

2/03/18

My Town

I’ve got to get away from here
And this time I do know why
My town is just changing way too fast
To the point where I’m about to cry
They’re shutting all my favorite stores
They’re building wider roads
The gin mills are charging more
The policemen have more codes
Other workers and I are impatient
Our pay hardly ever goes up
And bosses give us much more work
They drink from a silver cup
Our postmen are losing their positions
The mail is slow to get through
Summers are getting hotter
But we don’t think warming is true
And I’ve just made up my mind
I’m leaving my town for good
But where my spirit takes me
May never be understood.

Dream On

Dream On!

Clouds hang low today covering the ridge,
if I drive up there on my bike I can hide in 
a steel blue cloud and people will say:
where is he? Him! He is trying to find 
the milky way where postmen wear red 
uniforms and say good morning sir before
handing you the gas bill. 
Sigh, here back on earth the post has been 
privatized low status, casual work, they 
wear jeans and anorak and have no time for 
a chat, their route is long and a man with 
a timepiece follows them around.
When coming down from the ridge I will not 
carry tablets, stay silent drive home and 
make a cup of coffee.

Yes Carol, They'Re Dogs

My three girls
                                                by Michael Hornschuch

With great fondness I write of my three girls, 
They're  always smiling throughout the day 
Chasing cats, and the occasional squirrels
Searching the park, oh, how they play

But mornings are rough, as I walk out the door,
Their eyes all saddened as they wonder once more
Will he return at days end, or is this our last time
Since he’s gone, to the couch where we’ll climb

Guarding the house in my absence -- they watch
For burglars and thieves and postmen at four
This job they take seriously and never will botch
Militantly watching for a stranger at the door

But each night I return, same as the day before, 
Ecstatic with joy, overwhelmed by my presence
As if they were saying “don’t leave us no more!!” 
Each dog vying for attention at my sudden entrance  

What an example of God’s loving grace
Suddenly playful, crazy and wild
Each taking their turn at licking my face
I spoil them rotten as each is my child

St Maarten

The island is very small
With a small mountain
And a small lake
Some small towns 
With small stores
Little houses with tiny balconies 
And miniature beaches
Where winter and summer are blended 
Exchanging their days and nights
Like the play of waves
You can ramble on it all in half a day
Only the setting sun is big
Like a giant bronze rooster
It doesn't want to leave 
Even for a night
This island of only two postmen

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