P is for: Poetry

Of course! Poem-in-Your-Pocket Day is coming, and I’ve started getting ready. For years now, I’ve gone around giving out poems — mostly at work, but not only at work¹ — so that people will actually have a poem in their pocket. Yes. Because no one ever actually has a poem in their pocket except me. It’s a shame, really. At my old job, people got used to this annual poem distribution behavior. And I realized the other day that some folks at my new job are already looking forward to it. Two people have mentioned that PIYP Day is coming, have asked if I’ll have more poems to give out.

I have a large supply of poems to share around that day — this is definitely not my first time at the PIYP rodeo — but my poem selection needs an update. I’ve been adding a new poem or two every year, but I think it’s time for a more significant overhaul. I’ve been grabbing some new things from poets I’ve recently come to love, but I want more. I haven’t lost any of my love for the poems that have lived in my PIYP grab bag for years — Langston Hughes and Dylan Thomas, Nikki Giovanni and Lucille Clifton will all stay in rotation — but I need more.

And I’m open to suggestions. Whose poems would you suggest? What should I add to the basket? Maybe you want to add something you’ve written to the group? That would be wonderful. So today, P is also for: Please share! Send me poems to look up, links to your faves, links to your work that you’d like to add to the selection.

Criteria for suggested poems:

  1. Must be something you absolutely love.
  2. Must be short-ish. I’ve noticed that people look daunted when they get a super-long poem. I’m not trying to trigger bad memories of the ways we were made to work with poetry with when we were in school, and long poems seem to do that to people, make them feel pressured in some way.
  3. Must include author’s full name — and that includes you if you decide to send me some of your work.

(It’s a short list. I really would just love to read whatever you suggest!)


Guess Again

I am not the one
the girl you can pass over
the woman who waits —
still, doll-like, in the corner.
No. I am hungry
and I will eat everything,
every everything
until I decide I’m done.
I will take handfuls
armloads of the finest bits
and they will be mine
not for sharing, not for you,
not for anyone
but me, myself, I, I, I.
Punto. Can you hear me now?

I have a surprising number of poems that have the same feel as today’s chōka, that have this same “I am not the one” thing going on. I should spend some time with that, thinking about what that is, where it’s coming from, who I’m talking to when I write it. Hmm … it’s an investigation for another time. Yes, because “P” is also for “Procrastination,” but more because I’m too tired to think clearly about much of anything at this moment. But definitely some exploration required. There are maybe as many as three other poems — maybe more? — that I’ve written in the last few years that run on this same path. Time to do some free writing, figure out what I’m thinking.


A chōka is a Japanese form poem with a specific syllable count per line. The shortest form of chōka  is: 5 / 7 / 5 / 7 / 5 / 7 / 5 / 7 / 7. The 5- and 7-syllable lines can repeat as many times as needed. The poem’s end is signaled by the extra 7-syllable line. The final five lines can be used to summarize the body of the poem.

¹ When I had my first knee surgery back in 2013, I knew I’d be in the hospital on PIYP Day, so I packed an envelope of poems in my hospital bag and offered up poems to everyone who came to my room that day and everyone I saw on my PT strolls around the floor. (And don’t think my coworkers missed out because I as in the hospital. I left a basket of poems behind for them to choose from. Because I am nothing if not obsessive!) When I was back in the hospital for surgery #2 in 2015, there were folks who remembered getting poems from me, including one nurse who had hers tacked up at the nurses’ station!


Tell it to my heart.*

Today’s Poetic Asides prompt is to write a ” tell it to the _______” poem.  Really not sure what to do with that.

It’s Poem in Your Pocket Day!  As ever, I have my basket full of poems to give out to people at work so that I can be sure they’ll have poems in their pockets as they go through their days.  Last year, knowing that I’d be in the hospital for PYP Day, I left a supply of poems behind with explicit instructions to have them given out on the correct day … and I brought a bunch of poems with me to the hospital to give out.  Seriously.  I offered poems to every nurse and PA who came into my room, gave poems to my room mate and her partners, and carried them along with me when I was taken out for my little physical therapy walk around the floor.  Many people seemed to think I was nuts, but I’m used to that at this point.

Today, I brought a few dozen poems with me to my morning meeting.  My morning meeting at City Hall with one of the Deputy Mayors.  I figured it would be good to have poems on me just in case.  You know, just in case someone asked.  Just in case there was a poetry emergency.  Just in case the meeting was chummy enough that it wouldn’t have been too strange for me to pull out my little plastic case full of poems and start offering them around. Sadly, the moment never presented itself.  The Deputy Mayor will never know what I was packing as I sat across the table from him.  Alas!

I’m still waiting for the day that someone on the street actually turns to me and asks if I have a poem in my pocket and if I’ll share it with her/him.

Tell it to My Heart

feeling — 
hidden, dense.
All my secrets
exposed. This time I’m
than last time,
than any time
you’ve been at my side.
stronger, hard —
the one thing I’ve
avoided knowing.

Not sure it worked as well as I had in mind.  I wanted to see if I could recycle some of the lines from last night’s poem, see if I could leave them in the same place they landed in my “place” poem but give them a totally different feel here.  


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An Arun is a 15-line poem with the syllable count 1/2/3/4/5 — 3x.  It may be a new thing in the world, made up by me last year.  “Arun” means “five” in Yoruba.

* And no, we can’t go there without going here: