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.

but aren't they all random?

Monday, August 29, 2016

Nostalgia Stories

Remember when we were young? And
you told me I Saw Your Girlfriend's Cunt
was a good band name? What kind of a fool
were we thinking of making,
with that kind of thinking. Now,
yons and yons on
it seems, we have between us
distance and perspective all out of
proportion, and you've grown so cold
where we used to be cool.

I don't mind that now. I mind way
back then a bit,
because it was a little deceptive, but
the truth is better
to learn, whether it proves beautiful or not.

When will we learn?

We still grow up.
When I grow up, the whole world
will know it from down.
And will you be down? I will kick it
with you, anyway or how, if so or if
God so wills, or anyhow: as long as you
do. Don't ask me why, but I never minded
a bit

what happened to us,

or what's happened to us since, or what
happens to be the case - it's what's in it
that counts, and we still have time
and you take up space.

What is the worst
that we could do,
to make you see
what a fool out of me you have made
A clown suit. Sharp
like a lawyer and carrying
a polka dot brief case, walking in
all grin with a grim face
despite certain knowledge
about the judge's taste
that leads one to belief:
the whole thing's dismissed
with prejudice, as a frivolity.
A conclusion we've all gone through,
that in this case, might as well
be foregone. Well, what
are you going to do?

It's his job, as he sees it.
Give a man a gavel and he
just has to bang something. You and me
didn't need to bring this case forward
- we're wasting the court's time
and the public's resources, did you expect
the justice up in this piece to find humor
in that?

It was deliberate, the way we all sat
down to figure all that out. And how
we were sent in as a jury, and we came out
hung. The gallows by the bailiff should have tipped
us off, luckily, it was con job.

For there was always a guy on the wall
with a gun, just itching to shoot us down.
Anyway. Now that that's all done, would it be
insulting? At this point? if I ask you out?

It's a lovely day for that sort of thing! Don't
let's be all boring and stuffy
about the house. We can shake
the leg out, do turns around the block
like a couple of fool kids, telling everyone
about the band they're about to get into next.
With hindsight and wisdom maybe, you could say
we've always been about the wrong business, but
at least only one of us ever minds. Never mind

The End.

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