but aren't they all random?



A Pocketful of Poesy was a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog* up until the great derail of 2013. The impossibly-high standard of quality proved impractical to keep up, without a book deal. But don't take my word for it: click RANDOM and judge for yourself! And feel free to offer your critique.
*based on poem rate for calendar years 2009-2012. Also, kidding about the book deal.

Monday, September 15, 2014

ahold (of)

I'd love to linger
forever in this world
, honestly. I love it. I'd love to strike
sweet deals with higher powers that be, to keep me

vigorous and incorruptible

on a permanent basis, on a non-metempsychotic
bodhisattva vow of some sort. And oh,
I would do my part! In exchange, I'd do

- oh heck who am I kidding, it's to do

my part

that I want the deal.

But I know that won't happen.
This world is not our final home,

I'm afraid.

But I can see
that this world is the place to be,
this world is the forge - we create who we are,
and who we will be. From, as has been so beautifully said:

babies.

We're born into raw materials, a
tiny gurgling thing, and with circumstance. As we grow,
our grasp on self takes hold, and we
begin to direct who we are and who we will be
-come. Through our own choice, our one chance,
our true self is, and takes shape. Makes itself, self-made
, every choice defines us, that we make. Can we
do anything? Anything we will? Anything we please?
Please, no. No, our circumstance and our raw material will
impose some limits. Yet

we can and do make every choice we make. And every day,
this is how we create
a self.

just one

This life,
just one

- is an incredible gift. And even if it turns
out there is no Giver, our self is the gift
we give back.

Let us remember we are dust, let's make love
and make war, and make God damned sure
our dust is not all we will leave

behind.

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