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?

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

marble island

we were right on time
it was just too late

the ship sailed early
we couldn't wait
for the next one
no, we couldn't wait
for the next

it was a beautiful day
just a light grey chop
and the spray felt fine
so we both dove in
and swam

we couldn't wait
for the next one
no, we couldn't wait
for the next

we didn't know our strength
and it flagged too soon
we were saved by an island
at the less-than-halfway mark

we dragged ourselves ashore
it was barren, white, gleaming
and dull in the lowering dark

the day moved on
and we couldn't wait
for the next one
no, we couldn't wait
for the next

we awoke and saw
surrounded by stones
we couldn't tell which
way we had come
or in which direction we
should
proceed
slightly less-than-halfway
across the sea
we decided to stay
and work the stone

well, we ruined our first
and we couldn't wait
for the next one
no, we couldn't wait
for the next

stranded on a marble island
you and I making statues
to pass the time,
to stand for time
our craft improved
with patience and grace
'til the island was alive
with your laughing face
and my tender smile
hard, frozen in marble
we sculpted each other
all over the isle
we sculpted each other a hundred times
alone, or embraced, or
in pieces, lying
some without arms, as if
ancient, ruined
others so seeming alive
we could move
some dancing, but frozen in step
some wept
on each others' shoulders
snug deep into boulders
we smoothed into blankets and pillows
so soft
(to look at)

we never slept,

never touched,

never talked.

That life was over

and we couldn't wait
for the next one
no,

we couldn't wait
for the next

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