It's All ....in the Pocket

trying...something different... dedicated to those who ( Beat the Streets )

 

Pockets…

 

Yellowed pouch with the torn corner

in the front of Grams’ housecoat

where she tucked crumpled Kleenex, coupons and scriptures

folded by gentle mighty hands,that sought Gods advice

Praying one of these …would change things

 

 

Pockets…

Spaces that grow, between Mothers and daughters

we're talking chasms here

spaces deep enough, for all manner of life's doings to fall in

and fill it enough to s-t-r-e-t-c-h it wide

till it groans

but not high enough to climb out

 

Traded-up for jeans

with tiny wanna-be pockettas

so tight

she had to carry  house keys, and pacifiers

as she pushed baby carriages along the sidewalk of

Mothers' predictions

 

Followed by second chances

As she slid notebooks and term papers into diaper bags

Next to Grandmas coupons tucked in with a few dollars for the baby

on the way to night school

 

Until….

Business plans and meeting notes

filled Coach briefcases and bags

That cost more than the rent

Of that old apartment

 

Pockets …

Born to grow a boy to a man

Big enough to hold slingshots, Marbles, baseball cards and lucky talismans

Gave way …To sag jeans

That held love notes, Condoms

and  failed quizzes to be signed

 

Grew badder …

Stuffed with  cell phones and 9mm pistols

overheated by fifteen years of rage and despair

 

Till they overflowed ,with folded funeral handouts

As he went to church with his boys, for the very first time

they cried like men

 reaching ….to take the Kleenex from Grams mighty hands

 

Pockets ……

Hoodies Stuffed with cold hands, dreams and late-nights

As he hustled across campus for finals

 

Evolved to, sewn-shut pockets

of expensive suits,hung on brass hangers

In offices

He....called the shots in.

 

Pockets…

He counted them…. the pouches, behind the pews for Bibles and hymnals

As he walked down the aisle

to stand before Grams for the last time

Kneeling only long enough to tuck a folded yellow scripture

into the pocket of her dress

He took his seat next to the woman with the coach bag

Kissed her forehead,took the baby from her arms

And thought.......

        How prayer changes things.

 

 

Blesssssss

 

 ©2007 bythewurd J Hampton

Reviews

[Emily B]

Never really looked at pockets quite this way before. . . I was struck by the frayed pocked on the granny's housecoat. That's an image that really drew me in. The circularity of the pockets struck me and I wondered what Gram thought of the in-between times. But, then, maybe we are told by that line about how prayer changes things.

Looking forward to seeing how this progresses. . .

[Lydia Shutter]

Using pockets to portray the circle of life and adding just the right pinch of spirituality along the way made this such a touching read for me. Uniquely wonderful work. Lydia

[Mr. Deft Diction]

...and you say you love my work. J, this is one of those poems that I'm going to read, again and again. I love the imagery; I can identify so closely...this tale. You're going to keep working on it, but it's not broken by any means.

Beautiful, thought-provoking write.

Keep scribing!

[Antony]

Wow! this is an amazing piece of work, you made a story out of the memories we carry throughout life in our pockets, and I am one of those who has a fetish about what always goes in my pockets, particularly in my right pocket, for the last 30 years, you will always find, five miraculous metals given to me by my grandmother when she was still alive, I go nowhere without them they go from one pant pocket to the next every day, this struck home with me and thank you for this pocket full of miracles.
Tony

[Roy L. Pickering Jr.]

Intriguing concept that makes one think about how greatly we change over time, yet there are aspects of our natures that remain unaltered because they are unalterable, but simply shift in shape and form depending on the particular point we have reached in our lives. The contents of one's pockets is as good a way to quickly judge someone as any. It's certainly more informative than a mere glance that leads to incomplete conclusions based on superficial observations. The road is long from baseball card to condom to obituary cut out of local newspaper. We're always carrying something with us, but the specifics and weight of those somethings sure do ebb and flow on our journey from cradle to grave. Please be sure to let me know once this "work in progress" becomes fully realized as the gem it is no doubt destined to be.

[Rain]

Pockets. Just plain everyday things we see each day. But, in your creative and unusual way you transform them into a deeper and more profound meaning. The reflection of a great writer. I think this is one of the most interesting and compelling pieces I've read. I also wait to see where else this may go. Rain..

[Kelley Pascoe]

I always like reading your stuff! This is great so far! Keep it up(smile)
Kelley Frost

[Gabrielle E. M. T.]

This is a great poem. Very interesting piece. It's pockets in a way that I've never seen them before. Everyone knows what a pocket is, so simple, yet it's meaning can be as deep as you can slide you hand into one. Very love. Excellent flow of words. I loved it. Wonderfully written. Great Job!

[Forest Green]

The final line sews it up nicely...this is worth your time.

People like you are what keeps the world intact.

Thanks for the submission.

FG

[Chloe..Across the Unive..]

This is very inspirational and i have never thought of pockets in this way..
This is one of your best that i have read.. i enjoyed it and the lesson and message.
I am going to add this to my favs if you change it i will add it again.. i think it is very good as it is ..sometimes the right image is so hard to find ..

Blessings your way and extra one's to our friend Rain and his family.

Chloe
xoxo

[Lyonezz On Point]

Oh Jen, I feel this piece. I feel it. You are on point I would not change a thing....as far as an image I think the fact that your words are so powerful in their own right an image might be limiting.....and not highlight your art in the manner it can do on its own.

"Yellowed pouch with the torn corner

in the front of Grams' housecoat

where she tucked crumpled Kleenex, coupons and scriptures

folded by gentle mighty hands,that sought Gods advice

Praying one of these �would change things"

Those pockets that would become so valuable. the stroller, the bags, the baby things. The scriptures that seemed foreign and not connected become so vital.... to the survival in the interim and the end.
The flow of this poem makes me pause and reflect.
Thank you for that vision Jen