I nearly forgot Poem In Your Pocket Day today. I LOVE poetry. I once thought of myself as a poet (and actually still believe it's latent in me, my poet-ness, waiting for a moment to step out). In the meantime I enjoy any reason to read, share or talk about poetry and its indirect transformational powers. I think we should make congress speak in poetry for a few days and see if more compassion, clarity, and wholeness emerges where hate and vitriol seem to have taken root.
When I started searching for my poem for my pocket today, I had to change my clothes in order to have more pockets. Here are some of my favorites:
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 seahere. OK, I'll stop now.