Saturday, April 6, 2013

PAD DAY 6. 6 Post Poems -

Street Light by jose alhambra

Posted – Mrs. Geraldine Post has passed.

Posted in the Teachers’ Room
Mrs. Geraldine Post has passed
the young ones eyes flick on
they did not know she was
the last of a time when teachers
wore lace-up shoes, white collars
starched and stiff, all of a molded cast
They did not know her difference
Her eyes sparkling over stern
of-the-time down turned lips
“Did you know her? – Anybody?”
Through the day they’d ask.
Between coffee mugged sips

Through the day
coffee poured amid their sighs
shuffled papers, chattered sing.
Someone looking for space – pins
Book Sale notice over hers
and no one moves a thing

Until the nightfall, when all
have left – moonlight
mirroring his flashing beam
as Mr. Madden Night-Security
catches sight in his swathe of
check light her name illuminated
neon to him, does it seem

Mrs. Post? “His” sacred Mrs. Post?
He cranes his neck
and nearly hits with ancient
bones the teachers’ sanctuary deck

Indeed it is his sweet young
Mrs. Post, newly arrived back then,
fresh bride with husband
gone to sea – her eyes bright
shimmered, oh how she shimmered
Past Mrs. Post did up at me!

Mrs. Post, soft arms around my neck
lips opening – Ah. So very long ago.
He feels his shoulders broaden
Legs throb with need to run
And yet his gait somehow so slow

Just yesterday she lied here
This morning still a possibility
Now she’s vanished really done
They curled together safely
How can all of this true at one time be?
It is time itself, the murderer
Life-stealing – cruelly, vicious, virulently.

Oh! What the heck! To be expected.
Mrs. Geraldine Post has passed.
He turns and walks back down the hall
Hand trembling, thinks this night might
be his last.

Mrs. Post.

A memory to not a single one
but for the shadowed former
football player Mr. Madden
dipped in the love chocolated
night now sand-time run
meeting sweetly, secretly
when all their work was done

And as the former Mighty Madden
turns eyes blurred with tears
her smile he’ll later swear
twinkles showers of starlight
as he walks his route comforted
within her embrace ever to be gladden.

Mrs. Post has not passed.


Write no postmortem
sing praises or blame today
in warm sanded now



never graced
our breakfast table
but smiled their
name on many
a morning
not a tiger
nor a crackle
just a name
floating as
giggled good


Penned Pal

Reached high stretched
on tip-toes
to drop the
pencil impressed
letter away
into the slot
to soft hands
waiting with
anticipation on
the other side
of the world



she rises
thighs tight
the hot
of the
wind in
her hair
back never
as straight
again as
on those
hoof clacking
straw scented
of possibility


Post Perhaps

moistened by tears
of love flowing
into smiles of

I float on the
edge of a
dust mote
in the slanted

at the topmost
leaf of that
wind shimmered
tree on
the horizon

just above
the last
of that
wave touching

and more

on the
tip of all
freed from



  1. An interesting and moving piece, Pearl. I wouldn't have thought of this angle at all, but so glad that you did. Wonderful work. Happy I stopped in to see it. Thank you for sharing, my friend.

  2. Ah thank you sweet Claudsy ... I don't know where Mrs. Post came from ... but she wouldn't let me rest until she (still awkwardly) made her appearance known:)

  3. "dipped in the love chocolated
    night now sand-time run
    meeting sweetly, secretly
    when all their work was done" such beautifully remembered passion...each poem is wonderful...I especially enjoyed the first and last...Post Perhaps has so many lovely lines running through it.

  4. This is quite a long series here. I am concentrating only on the first poem, the one about "Mrs. Post has Passed." Very poignant. So many did not remember her, but Mr. Madden, night security definitely did.....and (ahem) fondly. Yes, time passes so quickly. And it is time that is the murderer indeed. I enjoyed this, Pearl.

  5. What a sad and yearning poem...a forbidden love permanently lost to death.

  6. An intriguing series. I, too, enjoyed the passing of Mrs Post poem. But my fave is the girl riding a horse, through the "mornings of possibility". So alive!