I, the World’s Worst Poetry Spokesperson, invite you to celebrate Poem in Your Pocket Day 2017 on April 27th. If you aren’t familiar with the event, the experts from the Academy of American Poets have an excellent explanation and links to downloadable pocket poems at their website.
Poetry reminds me to keep an open mind about things. It reminds me to give things I may not seem to like an honest chance. It reminds me the best horizons are the ones which expand the experiences. Put a poem in your pocket and a smile on your face for this special day.
In celebration, I like to rehash this personal poetry story for Pocket Poetry Day.
Back in sophomore honors English, my teacher, Mrs. Goheen, gave us the assignment of memorizing and reciting a poem in front of the class. I was not a huge fan of poetry to begin with, even though this IS getting better as I mature, so this was an assignment akin to flossing and brushing the dog’s teeth. When I saw poetry in books, the words got fuzzy and began to dance around in a deadly vortex. I readily admit now there are several poems and poets I really like: Shel Silverstein, Jack Prelutsky, Greg Pincus, Poe, Frost, etc.
Well, anyway, completely true to my young academic form, I forgot all about the memorization assignment until late evening the night before we are to be thrown to the wolves. I searched frantically through our home bookshelf, listening to the “I told you so’s” from my dear mother and the taunting coming from my brothers. All in the Hays House went to bed that night thinking old Mike was toast in the morning when English class rolled around.
I sat in class the next morning waiting to be called to the gallows. When my name was finally called, I could feel Mrs. Goheen anticipating my impending epic failure like a hawk eyeing a lone field mouse in the pasture. Honestly, I was probably the last over the cut line to get into honors English. I was a seat filler, a butt in the seat. The dumbest kid in the smart group. And, let me tell you, being a decent athlete did not help me one bit with the “honors” class teachers.
So, there I am, standing in front of the class trying not to make eye contact with anyone. I cracked my knuckles and cleared my throat for a little slapstick comic relief, took my best Shakespearean stance, and began…
by Ogden Nash
Behold the duck.
It does not cluck.
A cluck it lacks.
It is specially fond
Of a puddle or pond.
When it dines or sups,
It bottoms ups.
I can’t remember what grade I received on the project. The audience seemed entertained and Mrs. Goheen unexpectedly seemed satisfied with the selection.(Note: She saw me as a dumb jock up at this point in our relationship, and I didn’t really do anything to convince her otherwise until my late year cutting-edge, incisive book report on a Bob Dylan biography.). I am sure it was probably a B+. I do recall Mrs. Goheen asking why I picked that particular poem. I lied. I told her it was my favorite poem. But in all reality, the poem fit when written on my tennis shoe. You know, just in case I got stage fright.
It’s probably fitting “The Duck” became my favorite poem and, to date, the only poem I have burned to memory. In its 30-word entirety!
Thank you, Ogden Nash.
Do you have your own personal version “The Duck”? A poem that holds a special place for you.
What poem do you carry around in your pocket and in your heart?
Please share in the comments and/or write a one-line poem to celebrate the day.
Happy Poem In Your Pocket Day to one and all!
Poetry gives us a different lens through which to view and/or try to explain the world around us.