but aren't they all random?



A Pocketful of Poesy was a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog* up until the great derail of 2013. The impossibly-high standard of quality proved impractical to keep up, without a book deal. But don't take my word for it: click RANDOM and judge for yourself! And feel free to offer your critique.
*based on poem rate for calendar years 2009-2012. Also, kidding about the book deal.

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

A bird lies dead.

A bird lies dead
in the first frost of late autumn.
A dead sparrow, I think.
Something small, brownish,
dead at any rate. One
of the birds that hop,
not walk.

I think of the birds
that you see, wheeling as one
in numberless flocks, turning
and contracting - individual birds
beating wings so hard, you picture
tiny looks of concentration
on each birds' face.
The whole flock
appears at once, rushing up
into the air in one great shape,
as if at some sudden
invisible call.

Was it the cold
that stopped its puny heart?
Or did the cold come after -
drawing a cold blanket over.
Frost feathers frozen windows,
and no two snowflakes are alike
they say; nor any two feathers
on this little dude.
Poor guy. His head lies cocked,
as if listening.
I think that he died
waiting

waiting
for the call to take off.

Saturday, November 11, 2006

rush of time

The slow rush of time -
you are dragged by the neck
through the towns of your life saying,
"I will miss this place already,"
always passing through:
your life
the street you walk down
has already gone behind you
you anticipate
the past.

And then eventually,
it comes.

You Rule

Like a monarch with a sceptre,
waving left and right forever
as adoring waves of subjects bow and scrape
your keen glance of command
masters all that you survey
as you stroke your regal purple fur-lined cape
your court holds court in courtly ways -
the supplicants with lowered gaze;
the jangling of bells upon the fool
and that's me in that stupid hat-
but even such a fool as that
can see the truth, it's plain enough:
You rule.

catlike

catlike,
I lie around for hours.
With catlike reflex,
yawn

I love you on a case-by-case basis

I love you on a case-by-case basis
each day's love comes up to spec
or else it's rejected. Needless to say
you insist on the best. There's an image
to uphold here, a standard to be met.
But that rejected love, I take it back
and retool it. To be slipped through later
on the sneak tip, perhaps.

this love that I have is meant as an encouragement

this love that I have
is meant as an encouragement
when the whole day sucks,
when the seconds of the clock
are beating down like big hammers
when the people that you know
are glowering at you scornily,
when the anger that wells up from within your bosom
tastes like certified grade-A USDA hate...
my love says buck up, little camper!

My love for you is for your own damn good

My love for you is for your own damn good
that look of reproach you give, can't sway me
the experts divide on the right approach,
but you know that this love that I give
is gonna hurt me more than it hurts you.
So think first next time maybe,
because otherwise, you might just get
a big kiss
on your smart mouth!

LOVE

the pome that I have for you
is LOVE
LOVE incarnate
LOVE almighty
LOVE with a vengeance
you sit there with a dazed look
on your face, just taking it in -
but the LOVE just keeps on coming.
finally you have to say "alright, STOP
that's enough love."

precaution

Are you sure that you love me? because
if you're not sure, I'll need to know about it right now
for my considerations. With bold swift moves,
I will secure your heart with a sudden flourish
of gestures and aplomb, with a subtle point driven home,
with a little trick I happen to know about.
But if you're not sure, and I don't know
right now about it - how then can my plan
spring into action? With what mistimed leap
would you have me fall to my death?

this hate that I have for you

the hate I have for you
is really miniscule
it's hardly there at all in fact
I had to get it out for you
and put it in this pome
and now that hate's all gone!
This epic pome in miniature
is just a souvenir

The people who look at you

The people who look at you
from across the lonely way,
they don't know how this love
that we have so deep inside
truly operates. They might surmise,
but we know otherwise.
How dare they mock our pain?!
Let's get 'em!!

Things such as cannot be said

My heart lives in a house on fire;
these feelings for you
that I have -
well they don't mean much;
not without that sigh of sudden tenderness
that awakens in your breast like a mighty shout,
a sweet whisper of the strange lands
that your heart hearkens unto
in the darkling deeps of love's sweet night of the soul -
when the toes of one's unreadiness settle
heavily
into the thickly downed slippers
of love's repose.

as we waltz achingly into the future,
dripping endless entreaties of love,
we sweet happiness to each other
over tender protestations of despair.
This, too, our dearly-made destiny:
falling haplessly by as the sleeping years
smite us hither with deep longing,
under the baleful glances of the moon.
you are beautiful
beyond flowers
and jewelry,
and sunsets,
and fine things,
beyond the soft glow of fires
and the sweet earth from which we grow
and I love you for it.
Your sweet head is in my heart
bumping and thumping around
but it can't get out.



___________________
this is an earlier version of "Things such as cannot properly be said"