Yesterday was “Poem in Your Pocket Day.” Sorry if you missed it—so did I, if that’s any consolation, though I had a note-to-self and everything. But since it’s National Poetry Month all the way through April, any day is a good day for carrying a poem in your pocket—on paper or electronically. I think this is a neat concept, even though I still live in the virtual dark ages and can barely enter new numbers in my cellphone—still haven’t figured out how to retrieve voice-messages (so if you’re calling me, don’t bother leaving a message. If I see that I’ve missed a call from you, I’ll call you back).
What poem(s) would I carry in my pocket? I propose a choice of two, in case of mood swings:
and this sonnet by John Milton:
When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He returning chide;
“Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?”
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need
Either man’s work or His own gifts. Who best
Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best. His state
Is kingly: thousands at His bidding speed,
And post o’er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait.”
What poem or poems would you put in your pocket?
“I propose a choice of two, in case of mood swings”
haha! love this! i second your proposal. i, too, missed it. i can’t believe it. i had written notes-to-self too! indicative of my mental state, i suppose.
i heart your choices — the milton brings back many college memories. i would have a very difficult time narrowing down the choices to just one poem. so many mary oliver poems, several madeleine l’engle poems (especially from _the irrational season_), and so many others…such a choice to make.
and as i’m rereading the milton sonnet again, the last line jumps out at me wildly. i’m reading a book entitled _when the heart waits,_ by sue monk kidd. so fitting and appropriate to consider the necessary waiting of life. thanks again for posting this.
How strange to stumble across your site and this entry. Three weeks ago, for reasons I couldn’t begin to explain (and knowing nothing about poetry month or the suggestion that we carry a poem about), I scribbled out the “When I have fears” sonnet by Keats, determined to re-memorize. Not far from Milton’s, and Keats no doubt had it buzzing in his head.