Is that a poem in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me? 😉

Image borrowed from
Image borrowed from

All month, we have been celebrating International Poetry Month. Today, we’re celebrating Poem in Your Pocket Day here at The Bardo. This event truly is a neat way to introduce and share poetry with just about anyone. One of the best things about pocket-sized poems, is of course, that they’re portable! No matter where you are, if you have a pocket, you can share, too. This page even has pre-made, down-loadable ‘pocket-sized’ poems in .PDF formats, so all you have to do is download them and print! Or here is another template from that you can use on which to put your own poem. How easy is THAT? 😀

Image borrowed from
Image borrowed from

Probably the hardest part of participating in this celebration is deciding what poem to share. If it’s too long, it might not fit on a smallish, pocket-sized piece of paper. (Although, you can always print it out and then fold it up). It should be a poem that means something to you, whether it’s one that you’ve written and want to share, or one by a favorite author. The point is to get out there and share what you love about poetry! I combined this day with a couple of the other ideas I suggested back at the beginning of the month, to post poetry in unexpected places and take a poem to lunch. I utilized Post-It notes for the first one (both because of their stick-to-it-ness properties and because they could fit in lots of unusual places). I even recruited some friends to help me place the poems all around campus. I decided to use Haikus, because they are short and easy to write on Post-Its, and I don’t think they (Haikus) are properly appreciated these days. 🙂 Post-It Haikus As you can see, I printed the haikus with the authors’ names on them and taped a small note to the bottom which said, “Celebrate National Poetry Month all April!” I chose orange because it’s a high-contrast, noticeable color. I only actually witnessed the result of one of the poems I had placed…on the inside door of a restroom stall where I work…(captive audience and all that…hahaha). The young woman came out of the restroom holding the post-it in her hand with a big smile on her face. One of my friends posted one on the inside of the elevator door, so that you didn’t see it until the doors closed and you were in the elevator on the way to your floor. “Unexpected places”, indeed. When I “took a poem to lunch” I invited my mother to go to lunch and asked her to bring a poem, too. I chose Emily Brontë’s poem, “No coward soul is mine” (which had to be folded up to fit into my pocket, by the way) and my mother brought “If” by Rudyard Kipling. It was a wonderful addition to our delicious lunch. In fact, we enjoyed it so well that I think we may even do it next month, too. 😉 Have fun today sharing the poems in YOUR pockets. You never know, you may just inspire someone else to do the same! And please join us by sharing your poem with all of us here, in the online world, by using Mister Linky. © 2014, essay, Corina Ravenscraft All rights reserved





IF YOU’D PREFER. Thank you! 

effecd1bf289d498b5944e37d8f4ee6fAbout dragonkatet Regarding the blog name, Dragon’s Dreams ~ The name comes from my love-affairs with both Dragons and Dreams (capital Ds). It’s another extension of who I am, a facet for expression; a place and way to reach other like-minded, creative individuals. I post a lot of poetry and images that fascinate or move me, because that’s my favorite way to view the world. I post about things important to me and the world in which we live, try to champion extra important political, societal and environmental issues, etc. Sometimes I wax philosophical, because it’s also a place where I always seem to learn about myself, too, by interacting with some of the brightest minds, souls and hearts out there. It’s all about ‘connection(s)’ and I don’t mean “net-working” with people for personal gain, but rather, the expansion of the 4 L’s: Light, Love, Laughter, Learning.

21 thoughts on “A Poem In Your Pocket Day

  1. Pat, that is a wonderful poem. It is a lot deeper than one imagines on the first read. Having re-read it several times, now, I think the book from which it came is probably a good one and have added it to my “must-read” list. Working in a library makes it easier to find the things on my list (although it also makes it longer all the time). 🙂 Thanks very much for sharing it with all of us!


  2. Jamie, I had not even thought about how mobile devices, being pocket-sized are just perfect for this! What a great idea. Thank you for sharing the video, for allowing me to host and for answering comments, too. 🙂 I will be by your blog shortly to see the links you shared.


  3. Brian, I have read the poem you shared three times and still do not understand all of it. >.< Would love to hear you or someone read it with a Scottish accent. 😀 I love it. It kind of reminded me of the Jabberwocky…which is one of my favorites. Thanks so much for introducing me to a new poet!


  4. Thanks so much for letting me host this and to all of you for such excellent shares! I am so pleased with all of the participation and poetry goodness here! We have such a good community here at The Bardo Group. I’m going to try and get to each poem individually for comments. Weekends can be hectic for me so many thanks to Jamie for fielding comments in my absence! 🙂 This has been such an outstanding month of posts I think it will be hard to beat. Again, thank you all for making it so special.


  5. I just love this idea Corina…so I am going to share here and on Mr Linky. It is a long poem…but I loved writing it.

    Aethelfrith (C) Jo Bryant 2011

    At Degsasten, under a cloud-murk sky
    Aethelfrith’s force-at–arms lay quartered on the fens.
    Each brave man slept deep.
    It was widely understood that on the morrow,
    they faced a full company of men-at-arms.
    Outnumbered ten-fold on the field they would,
    undaunted, face the minions of Aedan, protector of Dal Riata.
    Morning came to the land,
    Aethelfrith’s warrior-band made ready.
    Bending low before their hastily built pagan shrines,
    they offered slain beasts, and swore to uphold ancient laws,
    would that the Gods were to protect them, and that which they would fight for.
    Addressing the men, Aethelfrith, son of Aethelric, spoke:
    “Truth is, even the mightiest man may lay mangled on the battlefield.
    Many warriors, valiant and venturesome, went on their way at Catraeth.
    I believe you are a loyal troop. I hold out my kingship, that this danger we will defeat.
    So go ahead with your war-graith and gear,
    and you shall be remembered throughout the land as our nation’s killing-sword.
    Inspired with thoughts of glory the warriors went forward,
    young men marching in war-shirts and woven chain-mail.
    Some to be tested, their first time as fighters –
    having pledged loyalty to their lord of the nation –
    beside battle-weary thanes,
    together under a blaze of burnished helmets wielding scroll-worked weapons.
    Hard-edged blades designed for death and destruction,
    a rose red sea of bladed arms, mirroring the rising dawn.
    Aethelfrith, riding forth in magnificence,
    the shepherd of his people,
    recklessly led his band of retainers into the clash of battle.
    They stood four-square, facing their foes,
    a blood-lust welling, unleashing the killer instinct
    to carry them into combat.
    Pushing his mount past his warriors at a punishing speed,
    Aethelfrith, brandishing his banner of gold and red called out:
    This day shall Aedan learn we are not to be trampled upon;
    he shall not humiliate us in the heat of battle.
    Aedan’s campaign indeed was fated to be overpowered.
    Such was the regard that the kinsmen and men-at-arms held Aethelfrith,
    his band of retainers rode in excitement toward Aedan’s force.
    The king himself, their treasure-giver,
    rode to the fore, fighting fearlessly, dealing death with his hard edged blade.
    The men-at-arms resolved to prove their courage in contest was as great as their lord’s,
    they drew themselves high behind the cover of their shields,
    and followed the burnished helmet and war-shirt of their fabled shepherd into mortal combat.
    No coward’s path would be taken this day.
    Pouring forth in coats of mail, woven by the smith,
    their bloodied weapons sang of victory.
    Dealing death at each stroke, unyielding, and roused to a fury,
    they struck terror in the enemy.
    Blades flashed and slashed, and the fields ran wet with blood.
    Each man’s fighting hand came to his kinsmen’s aid, lunging,
    every man acted throwing his whole strength into each sword-stroke.
    So it must be that men shall act so,
    to be at hand for those needful of their strength,
    to be inspired by thoughts of eminence,
    stay resolute in their defence,
    and to bear arms in defence of their gold-giver.
    Though the going was heavy,
    good men lying dead in the mayhem and horror of the harrowed field of blood,
    the Almighty exacted a great price from Aedan for his wages of war against Aethelfrith.
    Sorrow was to follow Aedan and his retainers,
    as they slithered away from the battle-field,
    beaten, battered, a broken guard of men.
    Favoured by the fortunes of battle,
    Aethelfrith cried out to his warriors to return to the
    seat of their nation, bringing with them their dead and wounded.
    From astride his horse he said:
    “Good men, now that the killing sword has done its worst,
    and we are not over harmed through
    the clash of battle, let us be guided home.”
    So they marched,
    stern-faced, and battle-weary,
    Aethelfrith guiding them the shortest way
    They kept to marching order,
    their war-graith grimly covered in blood,
    ringing out its metallic song as they moved.
    Seeing their glittering bawn settled in the dale,
    glowing amidst the green glade and timber dwellings,
    each man’s heart welled to be granted this sight.
    Aethelfrith dismounted;
    walking within the walls of his hall-building,
    he saw the rich wall-hangings covering the stoutest hardwood
    that reached high into wide gables.
    Stewards ran between tables and benches
    bearing large jugs of ale,
    placing cups so that the thanes could quench their thirsts.
    Above the great carved throne hung a golden hilted sword,
    a relic willed to Aethelfrith from his father, Aethelric.
    Beside the great throne’s wooden feet lay Aethelfrith’s two great beasts,
    bred only for those of noble birth,
    they barked their joy at their master’s return.
    Aethelfrith, sad at heart, saw none of this.
    He ordered that the news of the battle be carried to those left behind.
    The troops gathered in the great hall. Aethelfrith addressed them,
    “We have been victorious and beset Aedan with our small band of warriors.
    Now it comes to us to honour those who did not return.
    My loss is as great as some of you.
    My own brother, Theobald lay bloodied, his war-gear bought low.
    He fell among the great forces he commanded this day.
    My pride, my kin, is laid dead,
    though I hefted my sword it was for nothing.
    I was not to save the blood of my blood.
    Let us build funeral pyres for the dead,
    Theobald among them.”
    Aethelfrith watched as they built the pyres,
    Theobald’s stood out among them.
    The warriors laid him atop, his torque resting on his shining armour.
    Aethelfrith carried the flame,
    fumes and smoke swelled;
    blazing fires bore company with weeping.


  6. My poem for your pocket comes from one of my favorite books, The Book of Qualities, by J. Ruth Gendler.


    Courage has roots. She sleeps
    on the futon on the floor and
    lives close to the ground.
    Courage looks you straight in the
    eye. She is not impressed with
    powertrippers, and she knows first aid.
    Courage is not afraid to weep, and
    she is not afraid to pray, even
    when she is not sure who she is
    praying to. When courage walks,
    it is clear that she has made
    the journey from loneliness to
    solitude. The people who told me
    she is stern were not lying,
    they just forgot to
    mention that she
    is kind.


  7. I love what you’ve done with this Corina. Thank you!

    It occurs to me that now that many folks have smart phones, a poem in a pocket cold be a video recitation. So, on the light side, one of my own cheerful faves:


  8. A modern Scots classic by Hugh MacDiarmid, The Bonnie Broukit Bairn, re-read just this week and instantly cast me back forty years to Mrs Campbell’s English class at school, giving me just about the only piece of literature that’s stuck with me from those days

    Mars is braw in crammasy,
    Venus in a green silk goun,
    The auld mune shaks her gowden feathers,
    Their starry talk’s a wheen o blethers,
    Nane for thee a thochtie sparin,
    Earth, thou bonnie broukit bairn.
    – But greet, an in your tears ye’ll droun
    The hail clanjamfrie!.

    Braw-handsome, crammasy-crimson
    Wheen o blethers-lot of foolishness
    Greet-weep, drown
    Hail clanjamfrie-whole mob

    In its concision just about the only poem I can rattle off from start to finish. That first line, the “crammasy” it just feels so much redder in Scots than the pinking sound of crimson.


    1. Wow! I agree about “crammasy.” It’s a bit of a challenge for this American to read, but I love it and we appreciate you for sharing it here. Now I am off to look up this wonderful poet and learn about him. Do check back here later to see what others have shared. Happy day, Brian.

      Warmest regards,


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