I just discovered that today is poem in your pocket day! As part of National Poetry Month (by the way, April is national poetry month — I also just discovered that), we are supposed to carry a poem in our pocket on April 17th and share it with friends. The thought is that: “Poems from pockets will be unfolded throughout the day with events in parks, libraries, schools, workplaces, and bookstores.”

There is a pocket poem event today at the Library of Congress (in person at noon, online from 2-3, plus a gift shop discount for all poem-carriers, sweet). I can’t attend the LoC event, but I am going to carry around a poem in a desperate hope that the farm bill markup will break out into a wild poetry exchange. Do you think Sen. Grassley is carrying a poem today? Oh goodness, I hope so. I might ask him.

I am going to carry two poems, so they can keep eachother company.

This daffodil verse from William Woodsworth has been running through my head ever since those cheery flowers started to bloom:

I wandered lonely as a cloud by William Woodsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company.
I gazed–and gazed–but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

I also just found the below poem on a another blog. I fell in love with the poem and will carry it too:

Coming Home at Twilight in Late Summer by Jane Kenyon

We turned into the drive,
and gravel flew up from the tires
like sparks from a fire. So much
to be done—the unpacking, the mail
and papers…the grass needed mowing….
We climbed stiffly out of the car.
The shut-off engine ticked as it cooled.

And then we noticed the pear tree,
the limbs so heavy with fruit
they nearly touched the ground.
We went out to the meadow; our steps
made black holes in the grass;
and we each took a pear,
and ate, and were grateful.

*Get your dose of poetry appreciation here — really cool site.

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