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Mailbox Chronicles
by Kristina Woodhilldown at the end of the long dirt lane
stand the mail boxes all in a row
on 4 x 4 wooden posts holding them straight
closed mouths to the rain and the snow
in the calm country air of the bright daylight
there's a peace that the world is okay
as the middle-aged couple walks the lane to the road
to collect what the world sends their way
It's a fine, fine world, twiddle twee, twiddle twoo
I've been thinking of a letter that I'd like to send to you
on some dark still nights mischief gives a little push
down the road to the lane when there's not a soul in sight
when kids are feeling postal and looking for that rush
they spread their cold dark message, through the cold dark night
loud rev of the engine, hot pop of the clutch
send the big metal car toward the small metal box
eyes and tires spinning from drinking too much
with a bat swinging wild giving hard pounding knocks
It's a fine, fine world, twiddle, twiddle, twiddle tum
What's that message being sent with the rhythm of a drum?
and the mailboxes groan with the bludgeon of the bat
and their mouths twist and open in The Scream
with the ripping screech of nails like a cornered tom cat
they wonder what tonights message means
and the middle aged couple with tools gripped in their hands
think mid life thoughts of teens who roam the dark
as they walk down the lane to the road to make their stand
and wonder why such violence is referred to as a lark
It's a fine, fine world, twiddle twoo, twiddle twee
What's that message I hear - let's fight it over where?
and the woman of the earth and the non-violent man
peer down the road to try to see what might be coming next
and the man prays for a hammer, not a shotgun in his hand
prays his patience and his wisdom can endure these childish tests
and the woman of the earth puts her hand down to the ground
to feel the vibes that travel in low rumbles through the land
breathes in the soil's rich promise where the seeds can still be found
and vows to let the plow and hoe still firmly guide her hands
It's a fine, fine world, twiddle twaddle truth be told
Just look in any mailbox down the lane that meets the road
11/29/2006 Posted on 11/30/2006
Copyright © 2025 Kristina Woodhill
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gregory O'Neill on 11/30/06 at 03:39 AM So wonderfully lyrical Kristina. Reminds me of Doc & Merle Watson in a way. Never any excuse for destruction as a pastime though. Great write. Thanks. |
| Posted by Ken Harnisch on 12/01/06 at 10:32 AM lyrical, yet ironic with a bite..and elements of Frost creep into description (at least to me), making this a lovely read! |
| Posted by Tony Young on 12/03/06 at 10:51 AM Hi Kristina, I can see the place youve painted here so clearly, is there anywhere these kids dont hang out ?..Of the countryside myself the imagery is excellent though I also saw a couple of rabbits and a few flowers etc. Inspiring read. |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 12/03/06 at 05:51 PM Refreshingly different, though disturbing as one grasps his or her mind around the darkness found in and in-between its lines. |
| Posted by Max Bouillet on 12/04/06 at 02:36 AM Awesome tale... seems like you have taken on the persona of a Great Bard singing life's lessons to needy ears. Thanks for sharing. :) |
| Posted by Christel Crews on 12/04/06 at 08:06 PM what a lovely piece! its filled with ebb and flow and yet, leaves the reader with a bite at the end. this is well written and a wonderful concept! |
| Posted by David Hill on 12/09/06 at 03:59 AM Cleverly captures that feeling of being violated, losing some of that security in a small, quick, senseless bite. |
| Posted by David Hill on 12/09/06 at 04:00 AM Cleverly captures that feeling of being violated, losing some of that security in a small, quick, senseless bite. |
| Posted by Kathleen Wilson on 12/31/06 at 05:35 PM Ah, the image that carries this poem is a sturdy one, and the first stanza description sets the scene and dimensions. A 4 x 4 post is thick and strong. And the verses are measured in 4's by that, a very fine inner poetic strength. The "closed mouths are protective, silent toward the natural elements. The movement of the couple is calm and even idyllic. that is broken immediately by "cold dark message, through the cold dark night" and the "rev of the engine" and these two forces, of peaceful nurturing and violence. And finally we're left within a mailbox closed mouth to muse ominously. The two line refrain gives a fairytale innocence and "twiddle twaddle"-- adds an unforgetable contrast and distinction. |
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