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David Harris

Early Works - Old Books

Crumpled pages read and read
the authors words in someone’s head.
Knowledge of by-gone days
hidden under dust on the shelf.
Faded pages, dogged corners
what may their secrets hide?


8 October 1980

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Early Works - People On The Move

People on the move
a tidal wave of faces
and a carnival of colours
a rumble of voices
a mass of bodies moving
on a seemingly endless trek
going anywhere and no where
people on the move.

14 July 1995

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Our Daily Lives

In a logical world,
everything would be OK,
but we do not live in a logical world
and nothing is OK.
We can only live day by day,
by whatever is presented to us
within our daily lives.

3 December 2008

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No Crime in Passion

There is no crime in passion,
only if jealousy perceives it be.
Passion means love,
an outpouring of emotions there.
The green-eyed monster
only arises
if an angry confrontation flares.


(18 June 2007)

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Merry-Go-Round

Multi-coloured horses,
frozen in flight,
going up and down,
round and round,
day and night.
An organ plays a constant tune,
as young riders smile with joy,
as they ride around,
on this merry-go-round.

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Haunt The Horizon

The spectres of those
who once lived long ago
haunt the horizon
and walk until dawn.
We see them briefly
before they melt away
to return again
and reveal their presence
on another day.

22 October 2009

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Links

Memories are our links
to our jaded past
of days when we were happy
or when tears clouded our eyes.
They are the transport
we all take from time to time
to connect us to a world
we long ago left behind.

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Early Works - My Very Special Valentine

For many years,
my tears have kissed the wind
but never anymore
for now, my arms hold a love
that will last for more than time
and it’s this love
I wish to be
my very special valentine.


Date unknown

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Early Works - Morning Bird

Across the silver lake of dreams
sails the morning bird
a wanderer of the freeways in the sky
alone above stilled landscapes
it glides on snow coloured wings
a messenger of a newborn day.

8 February 1982

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Sad Poem 2 (Little Poem)

I wrote a little poem
I thought was so nice
Filled with love, sugar and spice
Figuring no one would want to read it
I committed a writer’s sin
I screw it up in a little ball
And threw it in the waste paper bin

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