A Fisherman in Blue

A poem

Harry Hogg
3 min readJan 22, 2024
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You all have seen the lost poetry guy
Or seen some traveler who knows who
Goes walking way past the burning sky
He’s a loner through and through

Keeping his troubles locked inside
Won’t inflict them on another head
He’s got more than an ounce of pride
Leaves his troubles back home in bed

He’s the poet writing on every shoreline
Not afraid to be the day’s sandy clown
He knows when comes that leaving time
Up and leave you without a frown

You filled completely November’s glory
Words curled up on the sky’s front page
From Sausalito to Tobermory
He wrote to you in his poet’s language

There is no discontent in how he feels
Even when your sleep had locked him out
There was always the calling of ideals
The poet, the mystery, and his self-doubt

It’s just a loving that tastes good at the time
How your breathing softened when satisfied
I’ll write about it in a verse of rhyme
First your orgasms and then you cried

In the morning it was all sails up the main
The days we cajoled and cavorted now so few
San Francisco is not poetry but only giant cranes
I must do it, write, and for a time be without you

Mint chocolate always tastes good at the time
Like you are laying there free of the covers
And I lay my weight upon you
Having closed all the windows and shutters

I will forever know your the smile on your face
Ice cream and your wide blue eyes
Not just here in Sausalito but in every place
Anywhere I settle to write my poetic lies

I must walk without imagining it is you
Have a coffee before I take the ferry
Not remember the gully’s I sank into
As you lay, naked, on the beach in Miami

When love ends there is little salvage to be had
Broken nails and late nights I came to you
If I had wiser eyes they’d be sad
I’ll never be a poet just a fisherman in blue

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