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, November 20, 2014

"return trip"

You think your costume angel wings, and faith
are just enough to hold you up, until the pixie dust
runs out of magic, out of luck. And just
before you start to fall - you flap your arms,
a sad cartoon

with eyes squeezed shut: "no place like home!"

think wonderfully,

you'll be there soon

Wednesday, November 12, 2014


I keep track like a track star,
under my feet it slides by
Without a thought as I win
the meet.

"any feedback would be appreciated"

I've always been too happy
with what I write and I suspect, not entirely
with justification. Criticisms, appreciations; appreciations,
suggestions; suggestions, complaints - where would I be
without them

but where I am?

Without them: drifting
in a wide, spacious void of my own
making, created by shockwave from the center
of an impact crater, or

a spreading wake from the dropped stone
that is a piece of work
- my work.

listlessly now,
to the bottom
without raising so much as a bubble.

The surface's smoothness returns.

Echoes of diminishing ripples
finally reach onlookers gathered by the shore, who
gape out at the point where the dive fell through
and, catching each others' eyes,

observe "My.
Must be pleased
with himself."

But I can't hear you.

I was pleased, but now
I am sinking down

to where there's never been any air.

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

"Send down your rain"

If you send down your rain, I will send up our sun -
it is ours, yours and mine. It's no good for just one
to be under these skies of impossible blue - when
I'd rather be soaked to the skin, next to you.