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.

but aren't they all random?

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

rain check


if someone offers you a wish, can you really
do that? Can you turn it down? Surely a human,
luminous and unevenly split, physically earthy
and earthly, with muscular leverage, fit
and forearmed with things like know-how, wisdom,
possibly, and cleverness - this is an entity

with more to grant thee
than some minor piece of crap space rock

screeching through the blackened heavens at four
thousand degrees to evaporate into more or less,
a sneeze?

My records indicate I offered you 2 free wishes. (Out
of a possible 3 and you -
turned me down!

Parentheses, belatedly closed.

Well so be it, if so.
Good luck with your bad
attitude, miss! Good luck with
your bad attitude. That's like, remiss
on your part, cosmic-karmically, it strikes me
as "off" in some key respects,
some spiritualmagnetic principle,
it's as if you weren't aware that people like me
and you got pull

- and you must be aware, because
it takes one to know one milawsy!
It's ok, you can totally call me
milawd. We can employ broad
Southern accents, and free our inner gawds
and dawgs, to run around barking
up the tree of human misery, which is
assuredly the wrong one.

Odd -

so many human beings go through earth
and the universe with their mental mechanism
all blocked up with untucked, un-kissed goodnight,
unloved and unfucked but tragically
resented dreams.

But not we,


Our channel is open
to the abundance of the universe,
all clear to the cosmos. our account stands
at forty pesos and a bullet, and rising
fast and faster, for better or worse
either way -

Our intent holds behind it great force.
The universe changes in its charges and its
courses daily, and though we do not command it
we direct the ship's charts steering by our own stars
dip the oars set the sails at an angle dipped diagonal
towards galactic north, and we tear our roaring wake
through spacetime, its green-line-grid surface-waves
foaming to pixels at our prow, or else settling down
now, to a calm smooth pleasure cruise
depending on whether we hold back or hold forth, and how far out
we lean as we pull taught the rigging.

For if reality is rigged, it is we who hold the rigging.

Look. I'm not saying I can drop a mountain
on a plain, turn club soda into champagne
or spin wheatgrass into emeralds, but I can
damn sure make a tree stand on its roots and
hold me close. I can kiss the wind and it will blush
for miles as it brushes by others, distracted

- I am a Bard of the Olde Kinde, I mean
Original Flavor Advanced Dungeons & Dragons
Character Class, and I will see that respected! I am happy
to drop odes upon the unsuspecting
as I pluck beats and rhymes for nautical miles
from my electrum-strung lyre, singing plain
and plaintive truths. Not for nothing,
not for naught! Not in vain,
and with a smile -

That's the kind of dude I am.
And believe you me, there are quite significant things
within my gift. Changes I could ring, lions I could tame
into mice and rats, if the exchange rate's right
for that. Although perhaps,

What is within my gift may stand less
in your estimable calculation than what
matters and mass you yourself can quite capably,
competently shift. And so, perhaps

your rejection of a wish (or
two) was less of a rejection
and more a politic decline,
a gift in itself, a generous
inclination of your head
and heart as if to say sir, you
have greater need of the full
employment of your powers than I
- do you mind?

Well not at all, when you put it that way.

I wish you had said so the first time

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