Short Postcards Poems
Short Postcards Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Postcards by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Postcards by length and keyword.
a
collage
of postcards-
posted white on
white
Trbiute to Ben Nicholson
http://www.tate.org.uk/servlet/ViewWork?workid=10677
postcards
tattered relics
soft paragraphs wailing
faint memoirs languishingly dampened...
boneless
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
The Primeminister's gone on tour again.
He's going where I have dreamed.
To wait for him through postcards
much more than I esteemed.
The cost I'm too through budget
much high above my wage.
To take the time to travel
has left me home in rage.
Postcards~
tattered, old, creased;
Chiaroscuro landscapes;
Reminiscence of a story~
First love.
10 July 2020
Hon. Mention
STRAND COMPLETELY NEW (7) any theme any form
Contest Judged: 7/10/2020 2:32:00 AM
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
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!
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.
hanging on the tree like red ripe apples snow scrim postcards view winter
Forget those wintry postcards,
where the streets are covered with snow;
'cause there ain't no snow in Texas,
the odds are better in Amarillo!
Christmas in good ol' Texas,
mild weather is such a pain;
there won't be snow for Christmas,
so i guess i'll pray for rain!
Postcard Whow
Millions of '
postcards
for sale
Dealers
from around the world
Some from Israel
Some from Russia
Some rich
others poor
Capitalism in action
But E.V. Debs cards
sell for a lot of money!
The point of this poem escapes me
Another day here at BMCC
Jazz magazine at the ready
Yes and students
walking around
Some say Buenos Tardes
Some say drop dead
You can't please everyone
But as the song says
"You've got to please yourself"
so here is the poem
on the Poetry Soup
website
Form:
In my room
There's postcards on my wall
of Foxes and Max Ernst's artwork
and works of female poets
of Mary Oliver and Margaret Neville
and some of my own
10s of mechanical SLRS
adorn my book shelves
Im shattered
I await till Spring to chill
Winter takes you so far on the road
of meaningless
Windswept, the rows of leaves descent.
Bereft the bare of toppling dreamt.
The lamb of fluffiness gives clue.
A pram does shake with laughter coo.
The revenue of shapes and hues,
For heaven sweeps, creates such views.
Plush yards of harvest dreams full tilt.
Postcards of dawn or dusk and gilt.
I hope to view it all today,
Each planet’s just a whoosh away;
Revving engines, whams and bams,
Spaceships stuck in traffic jams;
Writing postcards seems so strange,
Waiting for the lights to change;
I hope to view it all today,
Each planet’s just a whoosh away…
Jack Horne for Nette’s Stardust in an Octelle contest, 5th July
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.
...I bring your name up
in one-sided conversations
that take place in empty
rooms. Four walls, no windows
1 canvas.
I am sending you postcards
from watercolors
that wash away
with ease---I am chasing your memory.
You loved with an expiration date.
I am loving now in permanent
ink.
.
Global Warming
1:
planet’s yellow light
shards of ice slow river’s flow -
wet dreams in winter
2:
pieces float seaward
season’s broken spirit weeps –
humpty dumpty earth
3:
glaciers slide downhill
seasonal creep advancing -
uncertain future
4:
man’s season fading
haikus yellow stains on snow -
postcards mailed to self
Brian Johnston
December 11, 2015
THE WORLD: A RING
Oh, thou world is a ring
And you oh fate, a boxer
I only a contender
With my milky teeth
Thou smirked at my ignorance
But now with bread grown
Thou two have given me thou hard’st blows
My fans now fed up
They draw postcards of my waterloo
However, I have fallen
From a blow like Tyson’s
Melting like gold refined
I shall not fail to rise
At least rise to fail
There is a summer
come along on windtide
weaving through the reeds
return like an old friend
Bags and beachtowels in the trunk
there is a summer
port town postcards always
too little room to tell
Winding round a mountain road
down through Bobcat Pass again
there is a summer
waving for the camera
Once then in the cool night
you took my hand
as we watched the birds fly home
there is a summer gone
Form:
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
The fog did not appeal to me;
Myself, fonder of clarity --
But one must accept such postcards
Nature a dominant publisher --
Saw a distant storm approaching...
All have passed – so why not this one?
What could stop Sun's eventual
victory, faithful now billions of cycles?
A great philosopher once said --
feet up on his desk, holes in the bottoms
of his shoes, an infectious grin from
ear to voluptuous ear -- “What, me worry!”
I write so the universe can hear my heartbeat. Pen in hand, soul on send.
My words are letters to the stars.
I don't do journals;
I broadcast my heart to the cosmos.
Ink is how I pray to the universe.
I spill my soul, and the sky catches it.
Writing is my heart's WiFi to the universe. Every line I write is a signal flare to the stars.
I pour myself out
so the universe can pour back in.
My pages are postcards to infinity.
Hundreds of thousands
of postcards
for sale
evoke nostalgic
memories
and offer glimpses
of faraway lands
Conversations about deltiololgy
fill the room
Dealers have come form
many states and lands
to sell their wares
Along with an old friend
who is a photographer
I prepare a piece
about
the
event
The commerce in old
paper
continues throughout the day
Ashes of the past still smoulder
In my room with its broken latch
There's postcards of hens and foxes
and a disused TV set
There's a collection of analogue cameras
Some I use
Some of my lightbulbs are out
There's a book of Trakl and his Blue Melancholy
and Sylva Plath with her German Mannequins
There's albums out of time
Susan Pilsbury and Jimmy Campbell
You see the past comforts me
There's poetry of my own
some bonded others nestling on my cupboard
I hope to get published soon
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.
Thousands upon thousands
of postcards
Images from the past
with the wrting of long forgotten strangers on them
The three day show
Collectors gather from all over the world
Gather in the hotel
to but and exchange
cherished images
fromthe past
Collecting movie star photos, sports heroes ,nudes and
almost everything else
The proceedings seem dull to some
But a source of fascination to others
Postcard show -New York City 2012