April 18, 2019 is Poem in Your Pocket Day, part of National Poetry Month. On this day, people are encouraged to carry a poem in their pockets and share it with others. This day is primarily used by teachers and their students.

The Society of Classical Poets has a number of delightful resources for Poem in Your Pocket Day. Last year, we offered a variety of rhyming poems by poets past and present that you can access here. We also have poems that are shorter and perhaps more fun, which have been collected in our Couplet Contest and our Shortest Poem Contest (you can access more by scrolling down and viewing the comments section here). Our Funny Food Poetry Contest winners (more in comments here) may also be a resource.

We invite you to put your own Poem in Your Pocket Day poems in the comments section below. This could be poems that you have written yourself or classical poems. However, we ask that they meet a few requirements:

  • They should contain rhyme (ideally meter too).
  • They should be short: 2-14 lines only, please.
  • Keep in mind that young students will be reading them to each other.



My Voice

Smarter than a smart phone
(It cannot lose its charge),
Hear my voice’s ringtone—
Your mind it may enlarge.


Post yours below in the comments!


NOTE: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who disrespects you. Simply send an email to mbryant@classicalpoets.org. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Please see our Comments Policy here.

25 Responses

  1. Qutbuddin Loren Smith

    A bird’s flight? It is
    Your Mind…the image-nation
    is democratic!

  2. Sathyanarayana M.V. S

    (Petrarchan sonnet)
    When tired I returned home, without a thought,
    I rested Ma, in your decrepit lap
    and slowly went into a pleasant nap!
    I realize now, with love, how much you’re wrought!
    At eighty five, you walked a mile with taut
    muscles; your head in flimsy sari wrap;
    brought wool and knitt’d a lovely cap
    for me. A mother’s strength, a Gordian knot!

    Late your demise I listen now, to grim
    inner murmurs of guilt O’ Ma! I know,
    I didn’t hold tight, your hands during your slim
    years of age and bring a joyous glim
    in you. A son’s avowals are billows low
    O’ Ma…but mother’s love, a deep, sans brim!

  3. David Paul Behrens


    Moonlight glimmers on the ocean,
    Dancing with the water’s motion.
    Ancient waves roll up on the shore,
    Before we came, forever more.

    David Paul Behrens

  4. Alan Sugar

    The Bat

    By day the bat is cousin to the mouse.
    He likes the attic of an aging house.

    His fingers make a hat about his head.
    His pulse beat is so slow we think him dead.

    He loops in crazy figures half the night
    Among the trees that face the corner light.

    But when he brushes up against a screen,
    We are afraid of what our eyes have seen:

    For something is amiss or out of place
    When mice with wings can wear a human face.

    — Theodore Roethke

  5. Grace F.

    Tell Tale

    Tell tale, tit!
    Your tongue shall be slit,
    And all the dogs in the town
    Shall have a little bit.


    Multiplication is vexation,
    Division is as bad;
    The Rule of Three doth puzzle me,
    And Practice drives me mad.

    Little Boy

    When I was a little boy, I had but little wit
    It is some time ago, and I’ve no more yet;
    Nor ever ever shall, until that I die,
    For the longer I live, the more fool am I.

    source: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32415/32415-h/32415-h.htm

  6. C.B. Anderson

    These will definitely fit in your pocket:

    Extended Coverage

    Necessity’s the mother of invention,
    And brevity is deemed the soul of wit;
    But where are all the ounces of prevention
    Supposed to keep our minds and bodies fit?

    High Stakes

    The overarching sum and substance
    Of sane terrestrial existence
    Consists of unalloyed persistence
    Among committed wives and husbands.

    Assembly Required

    Unless we meet the world with open hearts,
    The Master’s nonpareil munificence,
    Like some complex machine with missing parts,
    Has no particular significance.

    Bottom Line

    Rebellious supplicants who think impunity
    Is theirs for having asked, forget that there’s no savior
    Empowered to dispense complete immunity
    From consequences of their ill-advised behavior.

    Make of them what you will.

  7. Mark Stone

    Since I see that more poems are coming in this evening, I figure I should participate, too. Here are two poems I recently wrote.

    Compound Interest

    A pittance saved weekly
    for decades, compounding,
    will yield a remittance
    that’s simply astounding.


    Peace exists when those who want
    what’s yours and plan to take it
    so fear the force of your response
    they change course and forsake it.

    • Alan Sugar

      Hi Mark. High marks for these!
      “CI” is a little Ben Franklin.
      Its clever rhymes also bring to mind the fabulous lyrics of Dismey’s “Mary Poppins.”
      This is one worth saving.

    • Tony Damigo

      I agree with Alan Sugar, and think CI is cleaver. I also like the way it rolls off the tongue.

      • Tony Damigo

        Cleaver? Clever? Oh me! Oh my!
        What shall I do? Perhaps I’ll cry!
        The word was listed in my post,
        As I too quickly tried to boast.

  8. James A. Tweedie

    A friend wrote this couplet when we were in high school. I actually carried it in my wallet for the next ten years.

    When in danger, when in doubt,
    Run in circles, scream, and shout.

  9. David Watt

    Friendship Outgrown

    I had a little crocodile;
    He kept me company
    Beside the waters of the Nile,
    When I was age of three.

    But as I grew, so did he too,
    Including teeth pearl-white,
    Until one day my fears came true—
    He tried to take a bite!

  10. B. L. Pérez

    Portuguese from the Sonnets III

    Mine, with pulses, beats double thine;
    Thine double, beats pulses, with mine.

  11. James Sale

    The shortest poem in my collection, The Divine Comedies. A rubber is an English word for what is now more commonly called an eraser:

    The Rubber

    for Joe, aged 4

    “I want my rubber to work,” he cried.
    And we did too; and knew he knew, Gran had died.

  12. Rohini Sunderam

    These are fun! I toss this one in for consideration…

    It amuses and confuses me
    How many “writers” seem to be
    Of spelling so darn unaware
    Not knowing there, and their and they’re
    Oh I know that that’s a joke
    But, come on all you writer folk!
    Will it really, truly kill thee
    To check that bleeding dictionary?
    And grammar oh my lordy Lord
    That one went just by the board
    What seems at least ten years ago
    That subject, number, verb did go
    The way of that extinct Dodo
    Agreement? Why that must be Greek!
    To all but a grammarian freak
    So, now it seems that paparazzi
    Have labelled us as ‘grammar nazi’!

  13. Sathyanarayana M.V. S

    If freedom means
    swines well define
    slashing in sewer Iines.

  14. Tony Damigo

    By Tony Damigo © April 6th, 2019

    Like birds in the winter, my hair flew south
    To make its nest on the cliffs of my chin.
    Now the tree from whence these birds were once found
    Is fruitless, baron, and nothing but skin.


    By Tony Damigo © April 1999
    (Written for my parents 50th wedding anniversary)

    Though seasons pass and years go by
    In twilight’s glow, I see.
    That time will never change Love’s eyes,
    Nor the vision it perceives.

  15. Esther Bunny Brown

    The following poem of mine is a biolet, a verse form introduced by Luso-Brazilian poet Filinto de Almeida (December 4, 1857-January 28, 1945).

    By walking on the wooden road all day,
    I look to tales of gods and their own deeds.
    Iwis, their means are meant to help the thedes;
    I stand before the Sun, and so I pray.
    I look to tales of gods and their own deeds
    By walking on the wooden road all day.

    Completed on February the Second, 2019

  16. Mary Embree


    I think, therefore I guess I am
    my life is like a cryptogram
    I speak as though I’m very wise
    I try to tell a few good lies
    I laugh because life is a joke
    I drink but I would never smoke
    Now I will focus on myself
    to keep from falling off the shelf

    —Mary Embree


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