A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years.

but aren't they all random?

Saturday, December 01, 2007

A Christmas Letdown

When the mountain town opened for business
its annual walk-through Christmas display
for the holiday bustlers to come bustling through -
you and I,
resplendent in sweaters
nog in hand
- were first in line.

At the start of the long, long park,
we stood; behind the green garland rope.
Ready to ooh and ahh,
not in the slightest bit ironically.
When they took the rope away,
we rushed forward in an ecstatic scramble:
oohing and aahing.

Well, the needles and leaves of the evergreen trees
were bedecked in arrays of electric eyes
and we ran hand-in-hand, gaily
so far ahead, so far, away far
ahead of the crowd.
Away out of sight, we ran ahead -
looking all around ourselves, like
children explorers, with mouths open.
We were the first to reach the Giant Tree.

Among its boughs, certainly dead, hung motionless
a worker
in a puffy quilted navy-blue coat,
a white-and-green snowman scarf.
He was smiling.
Tangled, suspended in the cords of electric lights,
among the decorations, his job
well done now forever.

You looked at me,
And I stooped down,
to lift a shiny red christmas ball
from where it had fallen in the snow.

You hooked it
onto the exposed elastic edge
of his white athletic sock
and we giggled, but
the mood had already been ruined

Sunday, November 04, 2007

The cat wants out

The cat wants out. He thinks
he's going to have his way
always, his way always.
The cat thinks his way
is the perfect expression of justice
carried out to its logical, feline extreme.
And he sits by the sliding glass door
in dignity,
in the rightness of his cause,

and singing.

And he has his way

Saturday, October 20, 2007

the kisses goodbye

We taste like lakes of
writhing snakes
- cool washcloth,
on tormented heat -
a kiss that never ends,
that lingers on in mind
through days and weeks
All our sour goodbye kisses
holding on and latching on
final lungfuls underwater
desperate interlocking lunge
"do we really have to go?
will this be the last we see?"
- a kiss that never ends, until
it drags us back, to

The Back of a Stranger's Head

You smile brightly as you catch
a glimpse of the face of a friend
but two steps closer, you see that it's only
the back of a stranger's head.
It's strange how the back of a stranger's head
can trick you like that - it's the early sun,
bright morning magic, casting blurs across your eyes -
that's what it does. When the back of a stranger's head,
distorted as by alchemy, becomes
the kind face of a friend.
And you smile.
But watch it!
That's the kind of friend you can't trust!

Put It In Writing

Attention All Company: Effective immediately,
this policy replaces all previous policy
on the topic of whatever is relevant.
All previous understandings; written, oral,
verbal or anal, are now null void and overturned.
If you have any questions, please contact the person
previously identified in the formerly effective policy
as your contact, and make known to him or her
your concerns. He
or she
will be certain to refer you to this memo
for further clarification. That is all. That is all.
That is all. That is all.

That is all.

Ode to Boont Amber Ale

Thy barely-sweet and slightly-nutty flavor,
thine angelic finish and voluptuous body -
with a bold swish of your bottle's hips,
I pour your virtues into a slanted glass - careful!
Lest you overflow the rim with your prodigious head.
O! Ye amber waves, sloshing frothily in my pint glass
'blazoned with the proud Boonville Beer,
How sweetly I sing your praises! In such a tuneful voice
that all who try a taste join in.

Friday, October 05, 2007

The Sea-Bird by Geholmes Watchfop Thacklevoy

The Sea-Bird

- by Geholmes Watchfop Thacklevoy -

I saw a mighty sea-bird hover,
wings athwart, above a choppy river-mouth
that empties to the Bay.
She labored lightly, leaning into
headwind, shaking wings akimbo
barely flapping, course correcting,
one foot over copper waters.

Making slow but forward progress
all unsteady, shaking pinions
barely just aloft, but gliding
ever forward, yard by yard.
Suddenly, mid-air she stumbled,
tottered as the wind from under
failed her - her with only inches
'twixt her and the waves beneath.

Up they slapped, to catch and gather
her ungainly, graceless flapping,
floating now, and looking 'round to see
if any witness saw. I will never tell -
my lovely sea-bird: please consider
your indignity a confidence
between us that I vow to keep

as I make my way on forward
slowly, leaning into headwind
ever forward, yard by yard
catastrophe an inch beneath

Monday, September 10, 2007

Grasp Fate by the hand, my darling.

Grasp Fate by the hand, my darling.
Twist its thumb back painfully,
and it will do your bidding for a time.
Will take your lead, and follow behind
Will meekly bow its head and submit to your
Will. But if you let it go, then it will rub its hand,
and look at you implacably, and wander off -
expecting you to follow. Expecting you to heed the call
of its inscrutably retreating rear end. Fate is used
to having people trail after it, pleading and entreating;
gnashing their teeth, wringing their hands. But darling:
don't waste time trailing listlessly in Fate's wake.
Grasp Fate by the hand! Go for the thumb!
That's its weak spot.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

lullabye blessing

May sleep gather you in
with the softest embrace
and forgetfulness
wash all the cares from your face
as the dreams of the night
take you where you most wish
to be held by the light
and caressed with a kiss.
May the love of your life
beat more strong in your breast
than a pessimist army could hope to contest
and when night quits the field,
and the birds sound their call
may you wake to a dream,
and your life conquer all.