poetry postcard 13

seeing how it's september now, i assume this is the last postcard with poetry on it i will be getting. it was very cool to get the postcards and i loved reading everyone's poetry. this last poem is called: trees.

we have seen the trees roots like long legs
stretched out above ground ocopus like,
we remember the times as children at night
outside our windows the trees did a hula dance
then a wild frug, winding down swaying
waltz like. trees do these dances at night
sometimes by moonlight, but after we sleep,
after we cleep they uproot themselves
cautiously, disturning the eath so little,
moles are blamed for any piles of dirt,
they dance away on their root tips
embracing limbs with other trees,
they know their dances well, and
they choose their partners carefully.
the chestnut on the corner loves a maple,
she is big leaf maple and rebuff him.
sometimes at night a slight rumbly noise
may awaken you, it's the trees running home,
occasionally they stop in place and retend
it's where they grew, they are so nonchalant,
oh yes, there were nights they liked to frighten you,
wave their limbs and look like monsters,
you thought it was the wind that made them so,
but really they're great actors, fortunately
during the day they stay in their places, espically
in summer on bright days when their shade is needed.

poetry postcard 12

the latest poem does not have a title.

in a heavenly field trimmed
and rimmed in gold,
st bartholomeu slunes(?) in
a reddish light -- his halo
burning through the muscle
and corpuscle(?). bartholomeu's
tendons stretch along his
arm and the sinew holds
each finger around his
shin, clutched in his
own fist. helt aloft in glassy(?),

poetry postcard 11

the latest poem is called: the loss of one more link. the writer notes on the postcard that the poem was composed from bits and pieces of emails sent after joan's passing.

in the early hours of a march morning,
during a peaceful and painless sleep,
in the presence of those who dearly love her,
aunt joan passed away.

it is hard to accept that she is gone.
she was such a lady,
so welcmoing and fun to be with,
a breath of fresh air, yet also
worldly and sophisticated!
we would look forward to her visits,
prepare everything just right:
now there is a void within our lives,
the loss of one more link
to mumsie and my old world relatives.

and so, by way of homage and remembering,
i gaze upon an artifact from the past:
a black-and-white photograph of
a wartime wedding dinner, with a young joan,
smiling, an intense groom, janusz,
and all four sisters, alas, now dwindling fast.

words of support and consolation come:
joan is with her sisters, sympathetic company,
no longer suffering. thus we continue living
with the greatest of sorrows,
badly shocked and shaken.

how are things with you, janusz,
during these days of grief and sadness,
stabilized and getting better?
our thoughts and prayers are with you now,
to restore strength, more suitable conditions.
we send you these comforting words,
our love, beautiful flowers,
wishing you peace and mending:
better days will come, please be assured.

postcard poetry 10

the newest poem is called: misplaced

i have lost
many things
libarary books,
phone numbers,
christmas present i remember buying.

my mother, teasing,
says i'd lose my head
if it were not welded
to my neck by
spinal column, muscle, and sinew.

poetry postcard 9

the latest poem on my postcard of poetry is called: some call this home.

foot hills rising out of morning
fog - expanse of fileds lined
by roads heading straight to padilla bay - i can tell
how long you lived here by
which way your head turns
traveling south, how the "l"
in padilla curls off your tongue
and how the pace of your heart
slows here, close to the rim.

postcard poetry 8

there is no title for the poem on this postcard.

oh, i ain't got manners,
and i ain't got talent,
but i know what it's like
to chase that rabbit,
so when the dogs are weighed
and the band starts up the hurry
my money's on the six
and i ain't go no worries.

postcard poetry 7

the most recent postcard poem was titled: steptoe bute, idaho

so what is it
that makes the grainlands
so fruitful,
the spilt blood of 100 dragons
or the sloswed(?) wine of the wealthy
as they viewed from the top
an they own?
or could it be as simple
as the sun rising with the uneat(?),
each reflecting the owner
back to itself?

postcard poetry 6

there's no title for the newest postcard of poetry i have gotten.

her pennies
have wheat
you can eat
his crickets
have legs
that play mozart
your ears
have corn
so sweet
my body into(?) child
comes
to hearts.

postcard poetry article

here's an article about the postcard poetry.

postcard poetry 5

the newest postcard with poetry has titled it's poem: Mt. Rainier

we leave the
chores
hardness
grief
behind
and travel to the
glacier covered
mountain that
reassures us.

poetry postcards 4

yesterday i got another postcard of poetry in the mail. this one is called: Ziggy Stardust

fall alseep to
rain
awake to
rain
a memory of her
intimacies, mattress
chat and
david bowie lyrics.

poetry postcards 3

today in the mail i had gotten 5 postcards with poetry! it was a lovely surprise, for i was starting to get worried that i wasn't going to be getting any more postcards. so here are the new postcards of poetry in no particular order.

the first poem: Last Time
I was half-
blind with
love
now the truth-
your eyes
are bloodshot
and like
the moon,
vacant.


                                             the second poem has no title:
                                             to sunflowers, exercise
                                             plus red not poppies those
                                             in seattle have in paper i do
                                             vienna! tho' pennsylvania
                                             the collection "barnes" an-
                                             other nor the iconic man
                                             and woman in gold
                                            works of mass exposure
                                            yellows whites AND green
                                            and RED floating vienna
                                            river perch in botanical
                                            garden meanls of fortune


the third poem: Streetlight
i fold my cold fingers
into my palm

the yellow streetlight
won't warm my hands

but when i say your name
you begin to begin


                                          the forth poem has no title:
                                          don't judge me.
                                          you haven't journeyed down my roads.
                                          you want change-
                                          i only know this way of life.
                                         you seek healing for our wondedness,
                                         yet i feel no wound.
                                         take time to know me.
                                         let me know you-
                                         then we can decide.


the fifth poem: Sheer Cleft
it was just a simple situation
but someone objected
and filed a complaint.
which irritated the other guy,
bringing in a third perspective
and the problems just piled up
and up and up and up and up.
i can see distant horizons
but i just can't get down
from where i reside
on the peak of progress
at the edge of the edge.

poetry postcards 2

i have gotten my fourth postcard with poetry on it. there is no title for this poem.

Mother, transformed
by gravity's
invisible power,
fragility of
tissue, calcium
leakage, by
89 years of
work and sun.

poetry postcards

so for the month of august, i have joined this mailing group that mails a postcard a day to someone with poetry on it. you sign up to be part of it and the idea is that everyday for the month of august someone will send you a postcard with original poetry on it. i have been sending mine out and so far i have gotten 3 postcards. i thought i would share the poetry i have gotten, and then continue to share through the month as i continue to get them. bare with me about some of the words, the handwriting isn't always the best. if i'm questionable about a word, i will put a question mark next to it.

poem one has no title:
Begin with a bright
curve
a bold line drawn
like Vienna in gold
on your upper lip
the scudding(?) clouds piling
for seduction
round and loose
While innocence sleeps
unwakeable
on your neck...


                                                   poem two: First Tourist Sight
                                                   The dervish(?) begins whirling
                                                   Arms spread out
                                                   And a little red cap atop
                                                   his head

                                                   he quickens his pace
                                                   his skirt slowly rises above
                                                   his boots
                                                   until it balloons around his
                                                   figure

                                                   he transforms into a white
                                                   blur
                                                   no longer human
                                                   in joyous worship


poem three: Ghost Memories
Wearing mist shrouds
they rise from Earth
to haunt the muted sky
echoing the past