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?

Wednesday, October 28, 2009


the spade cuts down and in,
and pushes through defenseless loam
it severs worms and webs of roots
and scrapes against smooth stones

the earth is made of past
it piles up unevenly
it makes great mountains over acts
too horrible to see

it piles mounds and hills above
each person's secret shame
but you and I were nothing wrong
I'm standing in a plain

with dry grass rustling hip-high,
my spade works in and down
I unearth things, a tarnished ring
an envelope, a portrait's frown

I breathe in earth's exhaling sigh
uncover sign and trace of us
but nothing more - there's nothing left
no locked-box treasure, sealed with rust

the past has swallowed all we were
and left just spreading roots and worms
the earth below broods rich and brown
the earth above

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