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?

Thursday, August 29, 2013

Authorship Revisited

You're writing a book
in the library, you found one
whose bindings and faded but sturdy
fabric cover you liked, the once-
golden letters of the spine now
tiny bits clinging, flakes
barely filling in edges
of the letters that originally
had been stamped in. Title, author
you have pretty much scraped
these off. Identifying marks,
rendered nondescript. Then,
surreptitiously you smuggled it out,
bleached and dried the insides, every page,
both sides almost clean slate white
- a faint palimpsest at best of the old book's
letters in a near light gray off white
- providing the guide.

You make new, straight lines
writing in bold, neat hand
your novel, the story of
your life. Every day,
you return early, and pull it
from the shelf to write. You go through
your elaborate routine, first - card
catalog, twenty minutes making notes,
pull five to seven other books as well,
all from different sections, huddle
yourself in a carrel with books open
in front of you, and a notebook, as if
researching diverse questions but
- really, all you do is to camouflage
what you are here to do: to write
in this book, that you have made
your own.

Today's part done, back it goes
to a shelf in the very wrong
section.

One day it will disappear,
you hope. You could start
another. Or else, one day
you will be found out! Discovered! Local
author; mysterious, reclusive, unusual and
his book, too. Seeks female librarian, but
not that one. Every day you write the book,
a story of your life. But you begin
to feel the white in your knuckles
as your writing right hand grips the pen -
you are almost to the part where the going
gets hard. You are chapters away,
at most,
from the place where the star
central character, antihero unconventional
omniscient protagonist - decides

to write a book.

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