"Still Life with Pocket Watches" by Irina TeliusPoem in Your Pocket Day 2019 Poems (Rhyming!) The Society April 4, 2019 Culture, For Educators, From the Society, Poetry 25 Comments 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. Sample: 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! Views expressed by individual poets and writers on this website and by commenters do not represent the views of the entire Society. The comments section on regular posts is meant to be a place for civil and fruitful discussion. Pseudonyms are discouraged. The individual poet or writer featured in a post has the ability to remove any or all comments by emailing submissions@ classicalpoets.org with the details and under the subject title “Remove Comment.” Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) 25 Responses Qutbuddin Loren Smith April 4, 2019 A bird’s flight? It is Your Mind…the image-nation is democratic! Reply Sathyanarayana M.V. S April 4, 2019 MOTHER (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! Reply Sathyanarayana M.V. S April 4, 2019 I hired my own assassins … cigarette and wine! Reply rohini sunderam April 6, 2019 I liked this a lot Reply M. V. Sathyanarayana April 6, 2019 Thank you Rohini ji. Namashkaar. David Paul Behrens April 4, 2019 Moonlight 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 Reply Alan Sugar April 4, 2019 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 Reply Grace F. April 4, 2019 Tell Tale Tell tale, tit! Your tongue shall be slit, And all the dogs in the town Shall have a little bit. Multiplication 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 Reply C.B. Anderson April 4, 2019 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. Reply Mark Stone April 4, 2019 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 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. Reply C.B. Anderson April 5, 2019 Heh-heh. Reply Bruce E. Wren April 5, 2019 Witty! Reply Alan Sugar April 6, 2019 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. Reply Tony Damigo April 8, 2019 Mark, I agree with Alan Sugar, and think CI is cleaver. I also like the way it rolls off the tongue. Reply Tony Damigo April 8, 2019 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. James A. Tweedie April 5, 2019 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. Reply David Watt April 5, 2019 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! Reply B. L. Pérez April 5, 2019 Portuguese from the Sonnets III Mine, with pulses, beats double thine; Thine double, beats pulses, with mine. Reply James Sale April 6, 2019 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. Reply Rohini Sunderam April 6, 2019 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’! Reply Sathyanarayana M.V. S April 6, 2019 FREEDOM If freedom means self-indulgence swines well define slashing in sewer Iines. Reply Tony Damigo April 8, 2019 MIGRATION 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. —- AGELESS BEAUTY 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. Reply Sathyanarayana M.V. S April 9, 2019 I yelled silence Culled nothingness. Reply Esther Bunny Brown April 18, 2019 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 Reply Mary Embree May 1, 2019 I THINK 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 Reply Leave a Reply to rohini sunderam Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.