Original:
Monday's child is fair of face
Tuesday's child is full of grace
Wednesday's child is full of woe
Thursday's child has far to go,
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
And the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.

Our version:
Monday’s child will be a superhero – ABIGAIL
Tuesday’s child never gets a zero – JULIA
Wednesday’s child loves to smile – ASHLEY
Thursday’s child is kinda wild –
Friday’s child is so nice and likes to play –
Saturday’s child is true and won’t betray –
And the child born on Sunday, so happy, –
Is an angel with a great personality. –

A collection of ‘Love is…’ Poetry
Song


Love is Monday.
Love is Tuesday.
Love is Wednesday.
Love is every day.


(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

oh how i want to feel
that love was something

someone built for me in their tree house
with makeshift tools and daisy chains

intricate
and even flawed because love,
love is imperfect.

oh how i want to feel they built me the sun.

One hug was all it took to send me reeling.
Our hands grazed and I wished you'd grab mine
My thumb touched your palm as we flipped the pages of a book together,
sitting so close - our thighs side by side.
Your eyes light up when you talk about art
and your smile brightened the dark museum.

As we said goodbye, your opened your arms for an embrace,
I ran into your arms and it felt right.
Our hug was long, it was comfortable.
I wish i could stay in your arms.

"Humpday" has arrived
and Thursday is looming.
"Happy Hour" now beckons
and business is booming.

So, go with your friends
belly up to the bar
But make sure someone else
takes you home in your car.

Two days till the weekend,
and a lifeline's relief.
But don't get caught loafing
or your job may be brief.

16 | 31 Poems for August 2017

Have you ever met someone whose smile could make sunflowers grow?
She has an affinity for hip-hop music and any good pair of clean sneakers.
You should hear the sound of her laughter on a warm Wednesday morning.
I swear I’m intrigued and obsessed with the little things about her that the world fails to appreciate.
Her fingers write the most alluring words on the blank pages of my heart.
Constantly reflecting beauty as she speaks, she is simply a paragon of art.
She knows that I’m a hopeless romantic who insists on remaining hopeful.
In the morning, she smells like strong black coffee, cocoa butter and good intentions.
I still want to hold her heart like the lonely autumn trees hold the fragility of clinging leaves.
I think I finally understand it now, I’m a hopeless romantic who insists on remaining hopeful.
I’d love to feel my heart beating to the rhythms that are foreign to my existence when I’m sitting next to her.

Rushing through never seemed so lovely
Do I have to do this again?
How much time until it ends?
Phase through the routine and
Put up with the words spat in your face like venom
Who can blame you for being lazy?
It isn’t laziness making you this way
This is a universal feeling that no one knows how to explain
A lot of people don’t even know it’s there
Like
A poison slowly seeping into the gases we breathe
So subtle we barely even notice as it overtakes us
Controls us
But we are all under the veil of a lie that this is just how we are
Maybe it isn’t this day making us all mindless robots
Maybe it isn’t just enhancing our already full glass of depression
Maybe it’s ******* away at the energy of before
And maybe it’s doing nothing at all.
Since time is a concept, we just all search for things to blame for our own faults
Are we doing the same with this?
We have so much to look forward to.
That’s all we truly care about.

A self centered shallow cry for excitement that we buzz through what we could also be making exciting
We treat this day like a ghost fogging up our glasses when it is truly an opportunity smacked down into the middle of it all.
We all need a break, yes.
But what are we really taking a break from?

For the past couple of weeks,
I have had the privilege to talk to an older man every morning at 9:30 AM.
Andy is extremely learned,
And very pleasant to speak to.
Our conversations are honestly about everything, and nothing.
From how our days have been to what The meaning of God is.
The time goes so quick when speaking to him.
By 11:30 AM I personally have to go to my room to catch a quick nap for my class or I run the risk of falling asleep in class and missing vital information.
Nonetheless he is sweet and understands that college life isn't easy.
Everytime I have to run,
It always ends with "thank you" from both sides.
We part ways, and oh man I can't wait for next Wednesday.
Hopefully I have enough sleep so I can stay longer.

I didn't ever write a
Journal entry about last Wednesday night.

It was strange, the dampness
In the air and the cough in
My throat, and the whole world felt
Empty and deadened.

She didn't really want to
Go, and I guess I didn't either, now
That I think about it, after
All I could have been writing a paper.

But I had my alterior
Motives, which fell through and
I wanted to get out of the
House, to clear my stuffy head.

So we walked, like two girls who
Can survive on their own mistakes
And then after awhile
We walked back.

But we walked to the little
Playground instead of home because I guess
For nine-thirty at night we were
Both a little unsettled.

And we talked about God and I
Looked at the leaves on the
Pavement and thought about how different the
Uniform Methodist windows were from ours.