Three Poems for Poem in Your Pocket Day

Happy Poem in Your Pocket Day! The point of this day is simply to share poetry with others. Some people like poetry. Some people don't. To the latter, you just haven't found the right poem, or the right poet, yet. Be patient. There are plenty of poems in the poetry ocean. Today, my partner, son, and I are carrying around the following poems. Maybe you'll like one. Maybe you won't. Either way, I encourage you to go out and find your own pocket poem. Feel free to share it with a friend, coworker, or stranger. You can even post it here under the Comments section. Enjoy!

The following poems are from Poem in Your Pocket For Young Poets: 100 Poems to Rip Out & Read, which I purchased last year and will last the three of us about 33.33 years if we only use it on Poem in Your Pocket Day. We'll see.

Kevyn's Poem (He's a softball fanatic.)

Instruction by Conrad Hilberry

The coach has taught her how to swing,

run bases, slide, how to throw

to second, flip off her mask for fouls.

Now, on her own, she studies

how to knock the dirt out of her cleats,

hitch up her pants, miss her shoulder

with a stream of spit, bump

her fist into her catcher's mitt,

and stare incredulously at the ump.

Niko's Poem (He likes to play but is also very thoughtful.)

Lots to Play by Gary Snyder

Lots to play

in the way things work,

in the way things are.

History is made of mistakes.

yet - on the surface - 

the world looks OK

lots to play.

My Poem (I usually have a very strong dislike for e. e. cummings - SORRY! - so I thought I should give him a chance today.)

maggie and milly and molly and may by e. e. cummings

maggie and milly and molly and may 
went down to the beach(to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang 
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and

milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing 
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and

may came home with a smooth round stone 
as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose(like a you or a me) 
it's always ourselves we find in the sea

Translations are Grrrreat!

I'm still milling through last year's copies of Poetry magazine. I'm currently reading the June 2011 issue, which is devoted to translations. This issue is my favorite yet. I love the following poem: 

Animalistic Hymn

The red sun rises

without intent

and shines the same on all of us.

We play like children under the sun.

One day, our ashes will scatter—

                                           it doesn’t matter when.

Now the sun finds our innermost hearts,

                                           fills us with oblivion

intense as the forest, winter and sea.

By Edith Södergran

Translated from the Swedish by Brooklyn Copeland

One and a Half Weeks Left of National Poetry Month

National Poetry Month is almost over. I admit that I have been fairly preoccupied this month and totally slacking in the poetry department. Recently, though, I did find The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens (Vintage Books, 1982) tucked into a hidey hole nook of our bookshelf. I realized I had bought the book years ago but never read it. WHAT?? Sad but true. I haven't finished it yet, but here's a poem written nearly a century ago, yet retains a timeless beauty and relevance. Please enjoy.

Sailing after Lunch by Wallace Stevens

It is the word pejorative that hurts.

My old boat goes round on a crutch

And doesn't get under way.

It's the time of the year.

It's the time of the day.

Perhaps it's the lunch that we had

Or the lunch that we should have had.

But I am, in any case,

A most inappropriate man

In a most unpropitious place.

Mon Dieu, and must never again return.

This heavy historical sail

Through the mustiest blue of the lake

In a really vertiginous boat

Is wholly the vapidest fake. . . . 

It is least what one ever sees.

It is only the way one feels, to say

Where my spirit is I am,

To say light wind worries the sail,

To say the water is swift today,

To expunge all people and be a pupil

Of the gorgeous wheel and so to give

That slight transcendence to the dirty sail,

By light, the way one feels, sharp white,

And then rush brightly through the summer air.