Poem In Your Pocket Day

Put a Poem in Your Pocket Day
Put a Poem in Your Pocket Day

This is Rachel's Selection:
Terence, This Is Stupid Stuff
To hear such tunes as killed the cow! Pretty friendship 'tis to rhyme Your friends to death before their time Moping melancholy mad! Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad!" Why, if 'tis dancing you would be, There's brisker pipes than poetry. Say, for what were hop-yards meant, Or why was Burton built on Trent? Oh many a peer of England brews Livelier liquor than the Muse, And malt does more than Milton can To justify God's ways to man. Ale, man, ale's the stuff to drink For fellows whom it hurts to think: Look into the pewter pot To see the world as the world's not. And faith, 'tis pleasant till 'tis past: The mischief is that 'twill not last. Oh I have been to Ludlow fair And left my necktie God knows where, And carried half way home, or near, Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer: Then the world seemed none so bad, And I myself a sterling lad; And down in lovely muck I've lain, Happy till I woke again. Then I saw the morning sky: Heigho, the tale was all a lie; The world, it was the old world yet, I was I, my things were wet, And nothing now remained to do But begin the game anew. Therefore, since the world has still Much good, but much less good than ill, And while the sun and moon endure Luck's a chance, but trouble's sure, I'd face it as a wise man would, And train for ill and not for good. 'Tis true, the stuff I bring for sale Is not so brisk a brew as ale: Out of a stem that scored the hand I wrung it in a weary land. But take it: if the smack is sour, The better for the embittered hour; It should do good to heart and head When your soul is in my soul's stead; And I will friend you, if I may, In the dark and cloudy day. There was a king reigned in the East: There, when kings will sit to feast, They get their fill before they think With poisoned meat and poisoned drink. He gathered all the springs to birth From the many-venomed earth; First a little, thence to more, He sampled all her killing store; And easy, smiling, seasoned sound, Sate the king when healths went round. They put arsenic in his meat And stared aghast to watch him eat; They poured strychnine in his cup And shook to see him drink it up: They shook, they stared as white's their shirt: Them it was their poison hurt. --I tell the tale that I heard told. Mithridates, he died old. Alfred Edward Housman

This one comes from Amy:
Annabel Lee


It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Edgar Allan Poe



This is from Joey, she likes Shel Silverstein and didn't choose a special one, but I remember her liking at least two of these and I think all three.
Boa Constrictor


Oh, I'm being eaten
By a boa constrictor,
A boa constrictor,
A boa constrictor,
I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor,
And I don't like it--one bit.
Well, what do you know?
It's nibblin' my toe.
Oh, gee,
It's up to my knee.
Oh my,
It's up to my thigh.
Oh, fiddle,
It's up to my middle.
Oh, heck,
It's up to my neck.
Oh, dread,
It's upmmmmmmmmmmffffffffff . . .

Shel Silverstein

It's Dark in Here


I am writing these poems
From inside a lion,
And it's rather dark in here.
So please excuse the handwriting
Which may not be too clear.
But this afternoon by the lion's cage
I'm afraid I got too near.
And I'm writing these lines
From inside a lion,
And it's rather dark in here.

Shel Silverstein


Where the Sidewalk Ends


There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

Shel Silverstein

And I think this is one my Gran Mitchell loved.

Crossing the Bar


Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For through from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.

Alfred Lord Tennyson

This is the one Gran taught me when I was very young and I always loved it and we read it together many times.

Little Orphant Annie





1 Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,
2 An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,
3 An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,
4 An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;
5 An' all us other childern, when the supper-things is done,
6 We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun
7 A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,
8 An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you
9 Ef you
10 Don't
11 Watch
12 Out!

13 Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn't say his prayers, --
14 An' when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,
15 His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl,
16 An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wuzn't there at all!
17 An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,
18 An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'-wheres, I guess;
19 But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an' roundabout: --
20 An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
21 Ef you
22 Don't
23 Watch
24 Out!

25 An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,
26 An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;
27 An' wunst, when they was "company," an' ole folks wuz there,
28 She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!
29 An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,
30 They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,
31 An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!
32 An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
33 Ef you
34 Don't
35 Watch
36 Out!

37 An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
38 An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!
39 An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,
40 An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away, --
41 You better mind yer parunts, an' yer teachurs fond an' dear,
42 An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,
43 An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,
44 Er the Gobble-uns 'll git you
45 Ef you
46 Don't
47 Watch
48 Out!

James Whitcomb

And this is my favorite and I have lived by it all my life.
Believe in yourself!

Believe in yourself!

Believe you were made to do any task without calling for aid.

Believe, without growing too scornfully proud,
that you, as the greatest and least are endowed.

A mind to do thinking, two hands and two eyes
are all the equipment God gives to the wise.

Believe in yourself!

You are divinely designed and perfectly made
for the work of mankind.

The truth you must cling to through danger and pain;
the heights others have reached you can also attain.

Believe to the very last hour, for it is true.
That what ever you will, you've been gifted to do.

Believe in yourself and step out unafraid.

By misgivings and doubt be not easily swayed.

You've the right to succeed;
the precision of skill which betokens the great
you can earn if you will!

The wisdom of the ages is yours if you'll read.

But you've got to believe in yourself to succeed

So everyone have a wonderful Poetry Day and thanks.