one for the postman
The postman knows your name; his bicycle
and the benign dog’s habitual barks
flow on and over the eloquent roads.
The postman knows the bald man, his love for
junk-mails and that he never gets one from
his son. The postman will call him captain.
A shaft of iridescent wind carrying
letters of golden leaves through Autumn’s dale.
An expectation one has and trusts that
will be real any day soon. A gift that
never comes but you find something to talk
with an elderly man carrying secrets
like the ones you once have kept inside your
pillow case. A postman of sadness and glee
knows your name.
© 2009-Copyright reserved Kushal Poddar (reprinting is absolutely prohibited, without permission)
Whistles of a postman
She watches sighs coming from the North;
the snail-mails in snowy envelopes.
The brown leaf stuck on the postman
makes her say, “Autumn becomes you well.”
The suburb has its share of empty
gossips and knowing smiles spilled out of
the postman’s trusted bag. The mails glow,
a fistful of fireflies captives of
longing nights. The distant flute held in
a simple CD opens those words;
its sound is the most delicate knife.
Southbound sighs tell her, the knife is sharp.
The postman is, by that time, crossing
a slog river whistling a soft dream.
© 2009-Copyright reserved Kushal Poddar (reprinting is absolutely prohibited, without permission)
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Comments: 101
\My comments are Beatles oriented today!
Ouch, this isn't posted to Gather Writing Essentials? Or did I miss it? Well....Dawn's featured there :)
Thank you.
postman of Autumn
Ku, You're Featured in Gather Writing Essentials, Monday!
Marilyn (Monday Editor, trying to get it done before the upgrade at 11 pm!)
Nice post. Thanks for the memory.
postman of Autumn
Thank you again.
I also enJOY..."knowing smiles spilled out of the postman’s trusted bag." I think I've had mail like that!
Except when they give me bills. Lol!
Thanks for posting to my group, Anythingwriting
I grew up in that type of small town as well - our postman knew the families probably better than they knew each other. Wait, I'm still here! Changes though, different postman, not half as friendly, which is a shame. The other ways were better and you're still making that lady's days bright.
Ku, See what you started? :)
Thank you both.
Kushal, each time I read your poems I think "this is my favorite" Again, this morning, I am thinking that this is my very, very favorite. I love the intimate quality to this poem, the way that the postman ( we all have one in one form or another) is more like family than family itself. Even the mail is intimate and valued. Oh, this is just like sipping warm tea with a friend, it is that sensitive and gentle. What a beautiful way to start my work day. Thank you so kindly Kushal for your gifts to us all. You see, you are as a postman today.
Featured in the Triple Name Club.
postman of Autumn
Lots of ideas here.
Dianna,
She's probably figured it out, but is too busy enjoying it (and you) to say anything now :)
:+)
sun on the guard’s gun
E-mail from my friends and the postman here drives a little buggy van to deliver stuff from Amazon
Thank you for sharing with The Surreal Circus.
Thank you.
sun on the guard’s gun
the history of man's communication is set for new birthing pains ;revolutionized through electronic mailings ,the internet , is crowning and set to burst forth as the preferred method eclipsing the standard mailing practices of hundreds of years ..only left behind as the grisley afterbirth and the memory found in museums ..
only the trees sigh relief..:)
your words set my thinking wheel turning..I enjoy your uncommon ability to create inspiring and provocative thought from a subject taken for granted..so often as before in history 'things' just slide away from common use..
longing nights." Only you could make something as ordinary as mail sound extraordinary in a poem.