talking to you is like waking up
alive inside the mind of a bird, the taste
of the juice of a drought-sweetened peach; how
a sudden memory can astonish - like remembering
how you smelled as a baby. In Australia,
do pineapples roll uphill? It couldn't be true,
but it must be so. Gravity is what sugars the stars,
little ones and you'll know
when the dawn comes: flowers
open up in a tremble of birdsong
and for once,
it doesn't need to make sense
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.