I’ve got a poem in my pocket
Cos I’ve heard that today is the day
That the poets are planting a poetry seed
Just a verse you can pull from your pocket and read
If conditions are right, it could grow like a weed
If conditions are right, well, it may
I’ve got a poem in my pocket
Could be Silverstein, Kipling, or Frost
Could be Angelou, Dickinson, Cummings, or Yeats
Neruda, or Hughes—there are so many greats—
Or that William McGonagall everyone hates
And whose poetry should have been lost
I’ve got a poem in my pocket
And I’m hoping you carry one, too
We can search out a spot where there’s adequate light
And there pull out our poems and begin to recite
And the people who hear us will smile with delight
Or they’ll cry, because sometimes they do.
I’ve got a poem in my pocket
Though the truth is, I know it by heart
So I’ll study your eyes while you lend me your ear
And recite while I search for a twinkle or tear
Sure, it’s only a day, not a poetry year…
But you know… it’s a pretty good start
For National Poem-In-Your-Pocket Day. Today. And before any real poets complain, I had to use widely-recognized names. They are some of my favorites, but I have others I love that would mostly be unrecognized. Maybe I made the wrong choice, now that I think about it. But fixing it would mean more work, and I am nothing if not a lazy cuttlefish.
If of thy mortal goods thou art bereft,And from thy slender store two loaves alone to thee are left,Sell one, and with the doleBuy hyacinths to feed thy soul.Moslih Eddin Saadi, Gulistan (Garden of Roses)
Heh.John Ciardi.
Indeed, I carry one in my pocket always, have for years, written by a friend. I’ll share it here for the first time:
NEW
I need a new poem,
A new focus for my mind,
A new song to bring my feelings
Back on an upward climb,
A new horizon whereupon
The sun will someday shine.
I need to find a star
In this inky endless night
And pin my spirit’s wheelings
To a point of tunnel’s light
And know that where I’ve gone
Must still be heading right.
I need a new poem
To read as well as write.
— Warren Fahy
Does one in my head count? Because Tolkien’s “Cat” has been there for years.
Here’s my contribution:
I think that I shall never see,
A poem I hate more than “Trees”.
I didn’t read it when assigned,
So got an “F”, which blew my mind.
It ne’er occurred to teenaged me,
That “Kilmer, Joyce” was not a she.
Oh, poems are made by fools like he,
But I can’t make this last line work.
My pocket watch will tick and tock. It
Doesn’t care if I shake or rock it.
Placidly it does its task
Never bothering to ask
What powers that poem in its pocket.
This is a poem that I have carried around for years.
A smile is quite a lovely thing,
It wrinkles up your face.
And when its gone you’ll never find its secret hiding place.
And far more wonderful it is…..
To see what smiles can do,
I smile at you, you smile at me….
And so one smile makes two.
I do not have a clue who wrote it.
“DownunderinNewZealand.”
What do we do with dead people
Dead people
Dead people
What do we do with dead people
Before they go bad
We put them in a deep hole
A deep hole
A deep hole
We put them in a deep hole
And feel quite sad.
It was this, or “If”, so embrace the morbid and consider yourself lucky. :-)