Hey, Sailor, Make Hay

Believe it or not, I learned this poem sophomore year of Catholic high school. To date, this remains one my favorite naughty poems. Do keep in mind this is posted by woman whose husband is away at sea…

(ponder,darling,these busted statues
of yon motheaten forum be aware
notice what hath remained
–the stone cringes
clinging to the stone,how obsolete

lips utter their extant smile . . . .
remark

a few deleted of texture
or meaning monuments and dolls

resist Them Greediest Paws of careful
time all of which is extremely
unimportant)whereas Life

matters if or

when the your-and my-
idle vertical worthless
self unite in a peculiarly
momentary

partnership(to instigate
constructive
Horizontal
business . . . . even so,let us make haste
–consider well this ruined aqueduct

lady,
which used to lead something into somewhere)

ee cummings

Hey, Sailor…

You know, after all this time, I have no idea if Sailor reads this blog? I’m pretty sure he doesn’t. I know I wouldn’t want to know the inner workings of my twisted mind anymore than was necessary. This blog is best read by strangers.

But Sailor is away on another high-seas adventure. I’ll see him for a few weeks in March and then, not again until July. Such is life of a college student and her mate.

And Valentines Day is this week, I’m feeling all soft and mushy. So I am dedicating this next week of poetry posts to the man I love.

I am deeply, deeply, sorry for this y’all…

Harlem Night Song

Langston Hughes

Come, Let us roam the night together
Singing.

I love you.

Across
The Harlem roof-tops
Moon is shining.
Night sky is blue.
Stars are great drops
Of golden dew.

Down the street
A band is playing

I love you.

Come,
Let us roam the night together
Singing.