Postcard Poetry #1

This past August I participated in the August Poetry Postcard Fest, where I wrote 30 poems on postcards to strangers. All the poems were written “on the spot” with no prior planning and shipped off. In return, I received 30 postcards from strangers. So in this 6 piece installment, I will share those poems that I wrote and sent off into the world. I decided they would all be sonnets, of some sort. All presented to you without edits (aka first drafts).

#1. “If You Were Watching”


If you were watching you would see me plunge
my greedy fingers into soft Nutella.
You would see my frantic sit-ups, hella
good yoga poses, outfits that have hung
inside my closet, never to be worn.
If you were watching you would see me dance,
if you could listen you would have the chance
to hear me sing though lately I have torn
my vocal chords in other aspirations.
I let friends in the front door, you would see,
if you were watching through the open window,
but you’re not watching. My hallucination’s
the only thing that could be watching me,
for in my life, I’m always in the show.

#2 “Late at Night”


We make ourselves feel better late at night
what does your inner voice reveal to you?
Always saying “you’re ok, you chose
right, don’t worry now you will and always do the right thing.
That movie with the boy who ran away
and never stopped to turn back
because he couldn’t find his joy or
the one where friends along the tracks
find death. We think that these are lives to live
and live them out in dreams and late at night
we find our inner voice and let it give
us the right of way to run away, you’re right
we make ourselves feel better late at night
we make ourselves feel better, late at night

#3 “The Thing About Postcards”


I told myself that I would write
32 sonnets, but the thing about
postcards is that they are small, about
writing 14 lines with enough syllables,
in rhyme and meter, maybe Paris
will help with inspiration if you see
Paris before midnight, before the last
If you see Paris in the middle of the day
write a hotdog in a baguette
like a bald eagle wearing a French flag
then you can write a sort of sonnet
on a postcard. If you see Paris

#4 “Cards”


Throw down your hand! They cheer then walk away.
You’re left in absent victory. Your next
move will be the last one of the day
and maybe year, depending what you get.
Outside the summer day looks cold and white,
a snowfall made of cottonwood clouds over
your senses. How can you expect to win
when your eyes water, full of flowering clovers?
When your nose is full of lilies just beginning
to be beautiful? Others around call
and you can’t help but listen, tuning in,
away from the window where the cottonwood falls,
away from the sunlight. It’s too hot in
the sunlight, and you can’t win this trick.
Give up, move on, the fields are growing thick.

#5 “Night Fire”


Never getting here and never seeking
it and never seeing if above
there is something worthy to find lovely.
People speak forever, sick of speaking
and yet sure of what lies in the silence
of an unburdened train. No place to turn
except towards the electric slow burn
of previous social experiments.
Maybe the sky burns bright even in darkness.
Maybe the day is dark, and who can say
which sun they worship is the ruler?
Who says which nightingale, who names the lark?
Maybe those beams where children rush to play
are just night fires slowly growing cooler.



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