Today is Poem in Your Pocket Day.
This day appeals to me for two reasons: I love poetry, and I love pockets! I love bags or bureaus with many drawers or pockets and the small pleasure of tucking things away, and later finding something long forgotten. I used to put my hand in coat pockets and pull out money, now I pull out used tissues, crayons, forgotten toys.
This morning I put my hand in the pocket of my sweatshirt and discovered this tiny matryoshka doll. How delightful. This is the wonderful thing about poetry, and pockets, and life, you never know what you mind find.
Today I am keeping this poem in my pocket. I think Ruth introduced me to it on her blog a while ago. I just love it.
Looking back now, I see
I was dispassionate too often,
dismissing the robin as common,
and now can't remember what
robin song sounds like. I hoarded
my days, as though to keep them
safe from depletion, and meantime
I kept busy being lonely. This
took up the bulk of my time,
and I did not speak to strangers
because they might be boring,
and there were those I feared
would ask me for money. I was
clumsy around the confident,
and the well bred, standing on
their parapets, enthralled me,
but when one approached, I
fled. I also feared the street's
down and outs, anxious lest
they look at me closely, and
afraid I would see their misery.
The rest of the poem is beautiful. Read it here. And don't forget to keep a poem in your pocket.
Keep a poem in your pocket
and a picture in your head
and you'll never feel lonley
at night when you are in bed
The little poem will sing to you
the little picture bring to you
a dozen dreams to dance to you
at night when youre in bed
kepp a picture in your pocket
and a poem in your head
annd you'll never feel lonley
at night when youre in bed.
-Beatrice Schenk de Regniers