A song in your heart, a poem in your pocket

The charms of poetry have long been lost on me. Other than the odd Robert Frost offering - "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening", for instance - most poems leave me perplexed. And not pleasantly so.

Did I sleep through that class in college? Or am I just a philistine? Probably both. I will embarrass myself further and confess I'm fond of poems that rhyme. Or at least kind of rhyme. At least make "sense."

Then again I like my song lyrics to make sense. Is that too much to ask?

So I was going through a stack of books on my desk the other day and came across "Poem in Your Pocket", a new book from Abrams Image. Makes sense. April is National Poetry Month.

I was about to toss it aside when I looked again. It's a book designed to be torn apart. It even says so right on the cover - "Tear out a poem and take it anywhere!"

Have poem. Will travel.

U.S. Poet Laureate Kay Ryan wrote the introduction and says being alone with a poem is quite the good thing.

So I bit. What did I have to lose? I don't Twitter. I have pockets.

And there they were. Just waiting for me. Emily Dickinson. Gertrude Stein. Edwin Arlington Robinson. Walt Whitman. Shakespeare. Sylvia Plath. The poems, which are divided by theme - Love & Rockets, Friends & Ghosts, Eating & Drinking - went on and on.

And so I did what I was supposed to do. I tore one out and carried it around in my pocket. Read it. Then read it again.

Then I went back the next day and tore out another. And another. It was addictive. Like Thin Mints but without calories.

So get ready. April 30 has been designated National Poem in Your Pocket Day.

Just a warning. There are poems about Styrofoam cups (I don't have a clue), poems about watermelons (I actually got it) and there's even a poem titled "Poem", which didn't seem very creative to me. Then again, I'm not a poet.

A short offering from Edna St. Vincent Millay - "Grown-Up" - ended up being my new favorite.

"Was it for this I uttered prayers,

And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,

That now, domestic as a plate,

I should retire at half-past eight?

"That I understood perfectly.