The Poems in My Pocket

Yesterday was national Poem in Your Pocket Day, a wonderful tribute to an everyday love of (and need for) poetry.  It reminded me of the very first poem I ever memorized (thank you 5th grade teacher, Mrs. Weber), one that has been in my pocket since 5th grade and was turning over and over in my head yesterday:

"Keep a Poem in Your Pocket"
Beatrice Schenk de Regniers

Keep a poem in your pocket
and a picture in your head
and you'll never feel alone at night when you're 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 you're in bed.

So--

Keep a poem in your pocket
and a picture in your head
and you'll never feel alone at night when you're in bed.


This poem still makes me smile, but, as my Facebook friends can attest, it's not necessarily my favorite.  That's the beauty of poetry.  Each day brings a different mood and, with it, a different favorite poem.  These are just some of the favorites that were rattling around my brain yesterday.


This first poem is for my friend Julia, who loves Emily Dickinson and is the greatest defender of poetry (and Emily Dickinson) that I know.  She knows I'm not a huge fan, but this poem is still one of my very favorites:

"Why Do I Love You, Sir?" - #480
Emily Dickinson

"Why do I love" You, Sir?
Because--
The Wind does not require the Grass
To answer--Wherefore when He pass
She cannot keep Her place.

Because He knows--and
Do not You--
And We know not--
Enough for Us
The Wisdom it be so--

The Lightning--never asked an Eye
Wherefore it shut--when He was by--
Because He knows it cannot speak--
And reasons not contained--
--Of Talk--
There be--preferred by Daintier Folk--

The Sunrise--Sire--compelleth Me--
Because He's Sunrise--and I see--
Therefore--Then--
I love Thee--


This second poem is one that I would use to introduce persuasion to my students.  Inevitably, I would just end up depressed when I was the only one laughing:

"Why I am Not a Vegetarian"
David Oliveira

It's not that I love animals less,
a case could be made I love them more--
and it's not that I love vegetables less,
I love them rare,
nothing more savory than raw celery
clawing and kicking its way down the gullet.

What I find hard to stomach is vegetarians.
If there is a vegetarian at the table, we all
get called to be witnesses at a police lineup.
Cheese, eggs, fish,
each suspect paraded for identification--
pronounced innocent, guilty,
please take two steps forward.

And it's not like there is just one canon
for the good host to worry about.
Each vegetarian comes with a different menu.
Most won't eat anything that had legs,
though many eat fish, a fin nothing like a leg,
And eat shrimp, that have legs
which count as fins since they come from the sea
and taste so good in a Newburg sauce.
Oysters are problematic, without legs and from the sea,
but mostly eaten alive, like carrots.
A few pass on eggs because of the latent leg potential,
though pasta is usually okay,
the potential hard to realize under the marinara.

One friend doesn't drink milk
but asks for extra au jus
for his mashed potatoes.  I don't have the heart
to explain what kind of vegetable the "au" is
or how many get squeezed to make a cup of "jus."

Don't misunderstand,
I admire those who stand on principle,
however vague, who doesn't admire
the resolve of, say, a Jerry Falwell,
to bear the weight of so much conviction
he can hardly walk to church.
Praise the Lord for limousines.
As my other would say,
"Live and let live--
Just keep the details to yourself,
And pass the ketchup, please."


This final poem is my favorite from the new generation of spoken-word poets/performers.  August used to do somersaults in my belly whenever he heard it.  He's always had such good taste.