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.

Wednesday, December 30, 2015

I BEAT WIVES!

I BEAT WIVES!

I BEAT WIVES!

I BEAT WIVES, I CHECK MATES AND THEN I MAKE THE MATES KING ME
IN CHECKER GAMES, THEN I BREAK THE RECORDS THEY BRING ME,
CUTTIN' SCRATCHIN OFF THE NAME OF EVERY HUSBAND'S CONSORT
THEN I WRITE MY NAME IN OVER, THAT'S A NEW HIGH SCORE
AND I'M A VERY GOOD SPORT! AND I SHOOT, AND I DUNK,
AND THEN I FAKE HER OUT HER SHOES, AND EVERYTHING ELSE, PUNK!
AND THEN WHEN VICTORY'S DECLARED IT'S LIKE "SO WHAT ELSE IS NEW?"
I'M ALWAYS RUNNING UP THE SCORE ON YO WIFE, SHE'S ALL THROUGH
FINALLY THROWING IN HER TOWEL AND YEAH, WHATEVER ELSE, HELL
I BEAT WIVES!! AND THEY LOVE IT CAUSE I WIN SO WELL!
I DON'T KNUCKLE, I PINOCHLE EVERY DAMN MAN'S SPOUSE
AND SHE'S LIKE OOH, WHAT WAS THE WAGER ON THAT?

THE WHOLE HOUSE!!

I BEAT WIVES!

Explanatory note: this is the latest smash hit from M.C. Ogynist, a satire rap persona

"A Lucky Man"

He who finds
a woman true
to stand by him, 'til forever is through
She puts his needs
ahead of her own,
and he'll do the same for her,
'cause he knows

He is a lucky man.
He is a lucky man,
and all that I can do is
pretend to be him,
for a little while.

He who finds
a woman fair,
with right and wrong so strong in her stare
For him she'll choose
for better and best,
and he'll do the same, 'cause he knows
he's blest, oh

He is a lucky man.
He is a lucky man,
and all that I can do is
pretend to be him,
for a little while.

He is a lucky man.
He is a lucky man.
All I ever do is
pretend to be him,
for a little while.

And when I find
a woman good
to treat me right, like I wished someone would
For her I'll strive,
and I'm the best I can be,
until she finds a better man than me, and

he is a lucky man.
He is a lucky man,
all I ever do is
pretend to be him,
for a little while.
Oh, he is a lucky man.
He is a lucky man!
Girl you know you made me
believe I was him,
for a little while.
For a little while,
oh for a little while, I was

a lucky man.

Tuesday, December 29, 2015

reason to

I've been told
there is reason to believe, and I don't
see anything but
I trust the source. Whatever's ahead
could well cut off mine.
But if asked, I will say
I believe. Of course!

Monday, December 28, 2015

Brightens As It Destroys

To hell with the cracks
in your perfect fa├žade
that goes all the way down
is that all that you got?

Because that would be odd.

I have something for that,
it's corrosive, it blinds,
yes - you guessed it - it's love

it was all I could find,
but it sure does the job.

Irish Wedding Blessing

Wherever you stray, may you bring them love,
And when you return, bear love back home.
May your fields grow green under gentle rains,
Surrounded by walls of white fieldstone
And may nothing but good ever come through your gate.
Wherever you two lay heads to rest,
May sweet night's sleep be your only dark,
And the light of each day shine on better and best.

Wednesday, December 23, 2015

maybe soulmates

Maybe all soulmates
are born in regrets:
missed you this time, babe
catch me next

Tuesday, December 22, 2015

"Pretend We're On Fire"


We have seen the future,
and it has passed us by.
And you watched it going
until it burned your eyes
and you can think it over
about a million times,
all your life
'til heaven and hell burn alike
We thought we'd burn forever
and never turn to ash
now we can find the answers,
but no one's going to ask
and we can rake it over,
but all the coals are spent.
All your life
if you could believe in it, again

We could pretend that we're on fire, again
burn twice as bright as normal life
see the glow reflected in imaginary eyes
We can pretend that we're on fire, again
You and I remember what it's like
And it will never be, again
but we can pretend

We were so amazing,
We knew it in our hearts -
and the world was crazy
but we were really smart.
We could see the future
was just about to start,
just about
when everything else fell apart
and as it fell around us,
we knew that we'd shine through.
We were burning so bright,
and everything was fuel.
Every fresh disaster,
we'd turn it into light -
until life
diminished, and faded from sight

Well we can pretend that we're on fire, again
burn twice as bright as normal life
see the glow reflected in imaginary eyes
We can pretend that we're on fire, again
You and I remember what it's like
And it will never be, again
but we can pretend

We were meant for greatness.
We knew it in our bones,
and the world acclaimed us
in ringing golden tones.
All our dues were paid up,
we called in all our loans.
It was time.

The future would bloom like a rose

Friday, December 11, 2015

brain like a book

Your garbled plots so think and dense and twisty don't make any sense
I see them spelled out plain as day, in squiggly lines on matter gray
I can read your brain
like a book
I can read your brain
like a book, but it's gibberish, dear
you should try to think more clear

the first few chapters lost their hold when you gave up on the lies you sold
between the lines I read out loud to your increasing shame and doubt,
I can read your brain
like a book
I can read your brain
like a book, but it's gibberish, dear.
You should try to think more clear.

I can read your brain
like a book
I can read your brain
like a book, but it's gibberish, dear.
You should try to think more clear.


What if you really wanted to put it out there in ink?
What if you came out and say what you try so hard not to think?
Why do you try to conceal, when it's spelled out plain to see?
And I -

I can read.

I can read your brain
like a book
I can read your brain
like a book, but it's gibberish, dear.
You should try to think more clear.

spice

Regret is a bitter spice, fit only
to season dishes prepared in the past
by the master chef called Spite,
for future consumption cold
during solitary banquets of colorless dolor,
in the impeccable oneness of years to come,
handmade by our own dumb complicity,
as we sit motionless marching through minutes
of exquisite dimness, folding into hours
of powerfully harrowing shallowness
before listing, and toppling listlessly into days
of sameness, piling up into weeks
of plain, dull pain,
until finally

- anesthetized by an endless injection
of the sumptuous numbness of numberless months,
we succumb, and conclude
that in the end -

regret is a bitter spice,
and we ought to find better
ways to season our food.

Thursday, December 03, 2015


Here in my heart, and
everywhere else,
you and I always
will have the future -
which we turned
away from years ago
- or at least,

I will. And you did. I know
you had all of that future, too,
back then, when you broke into mine
(it was an inside job) and we built so many
roads and plans, and all different dream homes,
and every stretch, every stitch,
every stick still stands.

You can't abandon a future so dreamed-
and lived-in that you see it in front of you
every day, while everywhere you walk,
you walk away.