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. Try the RANDOM button to sample the sometimes surprising breadth of quality (and in several Novembers, breathtaking quantity as well), or click the "ANY GOOD" label* for those poems labeled with it. On any poem, old or new, feel free to offer your remarkable insight or critical acumen.

*I haven't yet revisited many pockets and stretches of time to appraise and label the "any goods," so some are missing. Please feel free to point out omissions, or - especially - erroneous inclusions, in comments.

but aren't they all random?

Monday, November 24, 2008

Untitled Poem by Anonymous & P.V. Mann

the sweet bitter flavor of lament and regret
is all that you get - it's all that you get
the songs of summer's sweet salty sweat
the beat you keep, the words forget

in a cove on the beach where we first met
though we didn't know then, that's where we fell
into an abyss, caught in the net
and the surf coming over our heads as well

the sound of the surf pounding over your head
is all that you get - it's all that you get
the deep wet thrum of a drum miles wide
the beat you keep, the words forget

with your hair in the sand as the seagulls spied
though we didn't know then, that's where we fell
with the clouds burnt red as the sunset died
and the surf coming over our heads as well

the sweet bitter flavor of lament and regret
lingers long as I savour it on my tongue
the songs of summer's sweet salty sweat
sound in my head like a giant bell rung

in a cove on the beach where we first met
on the rocks and the sand, skin suntanned
into an abyss, caught in the net
we willingly lept, blindly hand in hand

the sound of the surf pounding over your head
lingers long as I savour it on my tongue
the deep wet thrum of a drum miles wide
sound in my head like a giant bell rung

with your hair in the sand as the seagulls spied
on the rocks and the sand, skin suntanned
with the clouds burnt red as the sunset died
we willingly lept, blindly hand in hand