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?

Sunday, July 31, 2011

lose confidence

Oh don't be fooled! I lose confidence
all the time. Leave it strewn
and scattered in my path,
for others to pick up and find!
If I only I could turn back,
I'd find the confidence I lost.
But at what cost? Friends, at what cost?

Thursday, July 28, 2011

neatly done, with practiced strokes

when I was small, I thought a soul had bones
your bones
it's anchored on
and when you die, here comes the knife
to cut through soul, and slice
along each white, long bone
slides blade. It pares
away the ligaments
and shears
connective webs.
Your soul is freed
and flayed
and laid
to weep and bleed
on tray, with sheets
- translucent, white -
of dry wax paper. Pray,




There is no real rush
with poetry! No crisis,
no urgency - it's not a limited
opportunity, the available words
are not going to change.
There are not better words now
than will be there later.
You are not creating
and special words,
in this magic moment,
that you must seize - or else
whatever you mean
will forever be irrecoverable.
Those words are there. Waiting.
They will exist
later, because it's their
fucking job to.

is to pick and choose. Choose right? Perfect!
But there is no real rush. Choose wrong - choose
the not so perfect word? So what!
So what. The perfect word, if there is one,
will be there,
to come back for. Later on,
that perfect word occurs
to your notice - kill! That poem
you thought was done. Insert,
with surgery,
the perfect one.

Like Edgar Allan Fucking Poe. Do you know
how many times he wrote "The Bells"?

So take your time. Why not?
Choose well.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

a stirring breakfast metaphor

Life's a bitter bowl of grits, but
it's hot at least. And if you put
a little honey in - it tastes
pretty sweet! Or if you prefer salt,
you can salt to suit your taste. Grits
are flexible like that. Unlike, say,
Corn Flakes.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

no hard feelings?

you want my life
to work out right
it's not your call
we're letting go
you know, you know
you just don't want to be the one
I look back on and say,
"That jerk's the turning point -
my whole path turned upon,
went wrong!"

You want to be the one
I want to think and look back fondly on

and say "She was a positive experience!
She built me up. Despite
how all things end, and all
I'm so glad
we began.
Yup, yup"

Yeah, that's the kind
of thing you'd like to think
I'd think of you someday,
when looking back.

Let's hope for that!
Meanwhile, just get out
of my way.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

follow soon

follow soon,
as soon as you can -
I'll keep the sheets as straight as slices
warm as loaves

you do your best.
And do your work
and know I am
ahead of you
yes, just ahead
I've gone ahead
to make things soft
and square - our bed

as best I can
to lie in it

until you're there.



just keep me from cancer,
and heart disease,
and help other people, God



baby, don't

Well you're helpless inside your head
and wherever it aches
you can push all your needles in it
acupuncture with hate
but if all of the poison comes out
you'll be pouring more in
until all you can cling to is doubt
it's a sin,
it's a sin of pride. You
think you can take
someone so great as you
and break her down, and cave her in, babe it's true
babe it's true, don't do it
baby, don't

baby don't

baby, don't

baby don't

Well, you'll follow inside your head
to wherever it leads
it seems lately the stair's winding down
you count all of the bad advice, twice
but you turn a deaf ear
to all the people who say things so nice - are they blind?
or just insincere
ask yourself. Because you know better, hell
you've been around
your whole damn life
to beat you down, baby

baby, don't

baby don't

baby, don't

It's not the mirror, the mirror tries
to show you beauty. It's your eyes
when did they stop seeing truly?
Did you ever see you truly?
Have you ever seen your beauty?

Because you're helpless inside your head,
and wherever it aches you can push all your needles in it.
Acupuncture, with hate. You count all of the bad advice twice,
but you turn a deaf ear
all the people
so desperately
say things so nice

Are they blind? or just insincere.

Saturday, July 16, 2011


the sweetest high I ever had
to take your good and turn it bad
that sweet and pure persistent bliss
from innocence turned cynicist
and now you give me such a smirk
as we join in, to evil plans
turn in, in turn - corrupt the world
step in, in step - encircle, dance

bewitch bystanding innocents
the beauty of the dance we make
the fascinating web we weave
our bodies, lines, and souls at stake
and you do more than half the work
you've taken up the lead from me
this dance I planned is in good hands
you stole my choreography

me, too

you turn into crazy - when you drink,
and you think what you think is so true
and so deep
when we wake, you would pay
all the price of that pain
to remember one thing
that looks good to you

Friday, July 15, 2011


the calendar's a map of states
all perfect squares, with borders drawn
in all one color, day to day
the interstate runs through

and time and space cooperate
to move conflicting dates around
to blank, adjacent squares, and clear
the way to this engagement

but there's no way to stop the car
we're moving on, we can't delay
I'd love to get out, build a house
and settle down on this
one day

Sadly, we're just passing through
the interstate runs through
one-way. At least we're where
we want to be
right now!


bitch, please

I try to be polite and stuff
your ignorance back in your face
your medicine - my compliments!
you're welcome, bitch.

How does it taste?

Wednesday, July 13, 2011


I picked up this place for a song. The cost
was suspiciously far below market value.
But I knew about that. And I'd fallen far,
from loved to lost - the real estate agent
was perfectly honest:
she laid it all down.

So the deal was inked.
Three years ago, I moved into this house,
because I had heard it was haunted. And how
I would love to be haunted! - by anything else
but the absence of you, and the presense of what
you have left me without.

But your spirit moved in, too.
Despite the fact you're alive and well! Oh,
all too alive, all too well, I know. And
this whole house of ghosts has gone quiet as souls:
the memory of you permits no other holds.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Galactic South

The stars all hang differently
where you hang your hat
and your eyes must be full
of that light - but that's
not remotely enough
to explain how you see
all the world
how you hang it all up
in a breeze -
like magic lanterns,
strung on the ways

you catch it at play
and say, "Hey, look there!"
Well if God made all time
and space -

still: you have made this,
and so many more
of my days.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

to go sushi

soy sauce
squirts like ink from its torn, ruined pouch
onto a fluffy green wad of bile-hot wasabi
strength dissolved by weakness
for the sake of the absorbent rice

each plump clump of precision sliced
organic geometry,

convey to sauce
and thence to mouth
in rapid assembly line

I wield these sticks
like an intermediate-level
expert, still conscious of my skill
not yet one with this extension of my hand

people say raw fish is disgusting, well
they should have seen the first draft of this poem

Friday, July 08, 2011


are the perfect illustration
of why the world needs pleasures
on a different scale to sex

Wednesday, July 06, 2011


if you could put yourself in words,
could you read yourself aloud?
stand up straight, gesticulate
shake the crowd
and make them take
each syllable, so self-controlled
your meter, measured for effect
as words hit home, their meaning held
a pause
until released, into each listening brain
a spell -

a flower whose bloom would unfold like a bomb

and toll like a bell?

or would you
- with false aplomb -
hold forth with bombast,
whispers, with more show
than tell

explaining with your eyes, your voice,
your posture, how everyone should feel
about hearing your words?

and when you end,
run out
of the worst thing you could think to say

they all congratulate you on how brave
you are, and how powerful
it was

"Really?" you ask
because you are really not sure!

"Would you like one more?"

Tuesday, July 05, 2011


Sad suspense. We're done

our lives

A deep breath, and words plunge


Monday, July 04, 2011

happy ending?

sometimes I find myself reading a book
that could go on forever,
to judge by the cover
and somehow I can't skip ahead to the end
'cause that would be cheating
I can't cheat, my friend
but the story keeps going
just keeps disappointing
I want to believe
that it's going to get better
if only I could peek ahead
one quick look!
and I'd know, then:
keep going
close the book.

Sunday, July 03, 2011

"The Sweet One"

Sometimes you're such a bitch
but I'm not allowed to say that word
I'm not entitled to a simple curse
I think I'm going to be kept late at work
I bet I'm going to have to hear about it
do I exist compared to what you are?
I'm lucky if I ever got this far
I didn't mean to imply that it's hard
forget it all, forget it all, forget it

you're the sweet one in this
you're the bright one in this
you're the good one in this
it makes me sick, you know

it's just a pain, my heart has gone out to someone
so perfect and so deserving of one
so where were you when they were handing out them?
I guess you just must have seen me coming!
you know you'll never see me go away
you know I'm hopelessly yours for always
you know your better than the best I could get
you seem to know a lot of total bullshit,

you're the sweet one in this
you're the bright one in this
you're the good one in this
it makes me sick, you know

you've got a way with words and away with murder
I'll go so far, but you go one further
the wherewithal to make me feel worthless
you said to me that I'm your only weakness
I may be weak but at least I've got you
to point out all of the things I can't do
and all the habits I ought to run from
I look at you
I think you might have missed one

you're the sweet one in this
you're the bright one in this
you're the good one in this
it makes me sick,
you make me sick
you're the strong one in this
you're the calm one in this
I'm the wrong one in this relationship
it makes me sick, it makes me sick

you're the fine one in this
the kind one in this
you're the blind one in this
you make me sick, you know

Saturday, July 02, 2011

summer's overpowering smell

the world is perfumed
it's wearing too much!
and summer comes on like a slut
like a lush
like the girl with her head cocked
at angle obscene
with a smile in synch
with her hips
as the flowers you pass
in their thickets
make promises thick
the summer comes on
like a lick of the lips
it's putting it on
thick and sweet, like a scent
summer walks in, perfumed
with intent
it's wearing
too much
it's almost


I'm walking down the broad sidewalk
a little drunk
(beer festival)

I'm sure that I could launch myself
into the air
a somersault!
(with running start)

perform a stunt
tuck head right under
land, and roll
back up, to


in perfect form

but I would rather be


Friday, July 01, 2011

forked tongue

the tip of my tongue
is of two minds
and I'm dying
and trying to spit this out,

but the tip of my tongue is torn

what I know I should say, so clear
and clean - and the benefit
of what seems to be
in doubt