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?

Friday, February 20, 2009

redeye

time.
stops.
for 5 hours
,
sitting suspense
inside a giant pill.
pressure in your head, ears stuffed
with ambient sound; hiss of air
from a thousand plastic nozzles
letting the air in from nowhere
waiting
looking around the cabin
the backs of peoples' heads
waiting.
looking out the window: earth so bright -
the ground so far below, colors
thinning out into the air,
colors thinning out
into blue

waiting.
the outside window has
(squint)
a tiny crack in it
just a crack
- waiting

Annoyed, you look up
you reach up,
twist the toy nipple shut
cutting off the air (that blasts your eyes for a second)
button click
turning off the little light.
grasp at the handle, pull
down
push
sliding the window panel down,
shutting out the light.
The light comes from inside now
brown, dim, like a paper bag
with a flashlight inside
dim enough to sleep, but
not enough for you to sleep.
There are
books to read,
and magazines, and
this safety card.
If You Are Seated In An Exit Row
but you are not seated in an exit row.
you would like to be seated in an exit row
it would be nice to have some responsibility.
your book seems to have petered out
right in the middle of a sad chapter.
Sad,
but not sad enough
to want to keep dragging through it
with itchy eyes, and a neck
that kinks when you shift your seat

now you are a little worried. you always are

you wish this poem was over, already
safely over! Well Over
coming in smooth and graceful, with that rubber jolt and bump and rumbling roll
letting you know "OK! Even if
the wheel struts snap - we're already on the ground now,
and the fuel is spent (mostly) - and so we'll probably all get out okay"
(mostly)
but
the poem isn't over.
It's going to keep dragging on

dragging through the thin blue sky
in a high white arc
til the clouds go dark
in another couple hours.
til the clouds go dark,
and the wheels come out
and time restarts.
For another couple hours,
waiting.
you reach over, pull
push,
open the window

- just a crack

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