On a day when cold winds bitter
batter at your soul, my dear.
In some night you find you’re captive
trapped by some unending “IF…”
With patience failing, faith receding,
You start to think you cannot hope –
Now close your eyes, and hum a tune.
Recall your dreams, and let them run.
Now turn your head toward sou’west
and smell the sails before the mast
so full and white against your sky
and listen to them with your eyes
and let them fill with tears.
And sail on through the water,
and sail on in your dreams,
and as you pass the island, dear,
then wave a kiss to me.
Ah, Patti! Her first name was actually Patience, which I no-so cleverly fold into this pseudo-poetic gallop. (I also weave her last name in here, but I won’t tell you what – don’t want anyone trying to track her down today.) We were a couple at the time (in secret, since we worked together), going through a rough patch, and she was going through a separate, even rougher patch. And, yes, she could sail a small boat.
(Old “Poems”: I’ve been writing these little ditties, verses, near-poems since high school. Many are pedestrian; others are real stinkers. Some I still love. I worry that they’ll expire with the inevitable demise of my hard drive, so I decided I’ll put them out here, in the harsh, blistering, stinging, way-too-public cloud to live forever, for good or shame. (To write and self-publish is to court shame. Oh, the hubris!))