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?

Friday, March 29, 2024

surface squall.

I break
no confidence with
soapcat by noting
one and all, to hear: I al'
'ready

apologized

to her, before, and bank on:
privately. At risk
of breaking confidence
with her, I will say this,

just
this: I was assured
I'd done no wrong
by her. That is
our way it is. No, she
had
not complained. Not fair?
Not her. As always, she-to-we
and now right here: apologize
proactively when meanings lie 
in any other brother's eyes, or 
just our whey, no cream inside. 
With she, I go-by Just

Per-case, and just in case my

one this-fit sophistonym,
to her
was deemed
by her

to be vulgar, obscene or otherwise
frontwise, always an inconsiderate
to say such thing? US? I? Eye this,
deep friends. I trust her forthright
candor now, and ever and anon

So, then. And fearlessness is far
too small. I trust her with my life,
me-tall. And if I were the lion-size
cat in her story: Lives, then. Lives,
and light as well, so Dandy goes 

I'd clepen Hell by retroactive own 
decree as "Hades" not in any code
before
she 
wreaks

such wretched noise
as pukes and speaks and we 
between us, struck discord
-ant gold. Raise antes up?

Unfold. I'm always swept up off from
my deck by her on hold, by her, by
things. I trust because her habit 
RINGS right rings around us 
living being the thing! She 
always then poo-poos, or
shushes down 

my weak sea-slush 
in foaming arc of wake 
on wave like cat'maran 
one-shell squalls hot 
or flip, or bust 

It is not WOO. From either
side or boat: just pitch, dark
-partly 'cause she cares, her own
care, deep. Consider it, and mis
-chievous propriety inspires, and 
inspires admiration, see? And 
yours on Roam, betimes. We always 

see each other's shines. And were I
capable of it, I'd trian my emulation
well, on her.  

It's not. I'm not thus capable. But public
assignation's hot in only eyes who wink
at suns too deep in skies to get

shit.

Done. 
__________________________________


Public callout deserves public response.
Not Monty-Pythonic NUDGE-NUDGE 
WINK "pubic" (so-read, so-soi disant)
between the lines and lying sighs of false
Greek odds and I declare

that so-called Zeus, "The Sky-Father"
is worst of rapists: 

first. 

He had a wife. 
He chose sunburst, 

and ripping women 
open 

hurts. 

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