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, February 04, 2016

"pass a note"

I'm so sick a me
hit in on
Make a fist!
of my heart! POUND
POUND 'til I've bruised it blue, I'm

sick a me
hit in on
take the shot
Take! the Shot!!
no! you don't even seem to
move. You don't seem to feel no,
impact no pain no
no distortion
catch spark - no flame,
I'm so sick of my poor battered
battering ram
of the skull
to the wall
papered all in vain, not - say,
what am I,

I'm so sick a me
hit in on
Make a fist!
of my heart! POUND
POUND 'til I've bruised it blue, and for you
- not a scratch, not a dent
not a crack! not
a vent, this volcano's blowing over
all the smoke's been spent, but yet

oh, here it goes again. No,

here it comes again. No,
here it comes again and will you even notice

There appears to be some rule
of the universe, here. We are Force Equals
mass times whatever, it's clear
where the object irresistible
hits immovable force - "hey man, do you like,
like me?" Who me? Well,


Of course.

What are you trying to SAY?

Speak more plain, please.

(drum solo)

I'm so sick of me hittin on you!
Like a fist
to the heart pound, thump
skip, beaten and through, I'm so sick of me
hitting on you, this is not, really my kinda style of
strict kung fu, and I'm sick of me
hitting on you.
Knock it off!
Cut it out,
man. Even Bruce Lee can't outbox
a rock statue of Muhammad Ali.

Two particularly quite sexy men, by the way, but don't kid
yourself Ali's statue
isn't even going to notice that dead Chinese guy

flailin' at him.

He's just that stoic. Take
a lesson from a poet, or - if you must!
remain in school, and maybe pass a note! Man up,
Grow up, and
pass a fucking note up the row,
or something


Cause man? That's childish man. Childish

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