Faded Pages
Recently I started retyping
a manuscript of short stories
I had written twenty years ago.
The pages were faded;
too much time being opened to the sun.
As I typed, I smiled
at the things I had written
and the dialogue I had created.
The stories are about a cat
and looking at the world
through his eyes and thoughts.
I had even created him a language
that I had to write a glossary
at the back of the book to explain
what some of the phrases meant.
There is a vast array of characters
and most have a funny turn.
I also remember what prompted me
to write the stories long ago.
My original intention was to write
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poem by David Harris
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Watch For Me At Midnight
A long time ago, I kissed her
on the step of our front door
then marched away with other men
off to a foreign country
to fight in a distant war.
At first the letters came frequently
slowly diminishing to a few,
which got me thinking and worried
that in my long absence
I was slowly losing you.
Then I got a letter from your brother
that explained things to me
you were sick in hospital
and I should not worry
about our son and you.
The letters then stopped coming
each mail run I looked on in despair
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poem by David Harris
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The Old Man
The old man sat on a park bench
just watching the people pass by.
He did it day after day
alone in everyone's eyes.
He would smile occasionally
but no one ever knew why.
Everyone who saw him
wondered why he sat so still
and just looked out
at everyone who passed him there.
The old man sat in repose
from dawn until dusk fell.
He sat there in the summer sun
and as winter's bleakness fell.
He looked for some face
he might remember from his past
so they could reminisce for a while.
Sadly, the years slipped away.
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poem by David Harris
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Asking Myself Why
I sat down to write a letter
to an old friend of mine,
someone I had not seen
for thirty or forty years.
Only realizing as I put pen to paper
how the years had flown by,
though it only seem like yesterday
we had met on the street
and had a long chat together.
I realized then to my regret
that I did not know if
they were alive or dead.
If they were gone,
yet another thread to my past
had disappeared forever.
A curtain of sadness fell over me
as my memories re-enacted
moments from so long ago,
moments that will never return.
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poem by David Harris
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No Harm Done
Whenever I sit on a park bench,
someone will sit down beside me
thinking I look like someone they know.
They speak to me as if I'm an old friend.
When they realize their mistake
they want to apologize,
but I smile and quietly say.
"No harm done." As they begin to leave.
It always happens when I'm alone
and some think that I mind,
when in fact I do not mind at all.
Most just, feel they need to talk
whether it is a stranger or friend
and I must have a kindly face
that attracts them all the time
and I do not mind that at all.
My motto is very simple.
I might feel like them one day
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poem by David Harris
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One Hundred
To all those who have read my poems,
this poem is just for you.
This is my hundredth poem this year
and I feel like celebrating too.
You see for years and years,
I did not want to write anymore,
until I came along here and met all of you.
For some reason I cannot explain,
you took me under your poetic wing.
You made me want to write again,
with your comments by the score.
You brought life back to me,
took my hand,
and guided me from the wilderness,
from which I ran.
You gave me injection,
and my confidence once more flowed.
My pen was put to paper again,
and out the poems came,
one after the other,
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poem by David Harris
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A Case Of Edible Underwear (Adult)
This comes with a Public Health Warning
as not suitable for children under the age of twenty 0ne.
“My dear Holmes this case is very puzzling as the young lady in question is not dead.”
“Just a simple case of edible knickers my dear Watson.”
“But how do you know that Holmes? ”
“Elementary dear Watson, elementary. As you can see by the teeth marks on her bum.”
“By Jove! Your right Holmes, I didn’t see that! ”
“And my dear Watson there is also you will notice the chew marks on what is left of the knickers.”
“Who would do some fiendish thing like that? ”
“A rampant lover who loved the chocolate flavour. Do you see dear Watson he has only left the skid marks. We are after someone who loves his chocolate.”
“I see Holmes, but the question remains who is he? ”
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poem by David Harris
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Technology
Technology at times can be a blessing,
but there are other times
when it can be a monster
thriving after your soul.
When technology is working properly,
it is a blessing in disguise.
However, let it go wrong
and your world disintegrates around you.
The monster reveals its fangs
leaving you longing back
for the days before the monster came.
The more you try to fix it,
the more frustrated you get.
This is when the monster
has you firmly in its grip.
The best way to deal with it is,
just simply walk away
and let the monster play its silly games
only coming back with a clear head.
The prospective of the problem
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poem by David Harris
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Hors-d’oeuvre
Long ago and far away
lived a knight not so bold
and he often considered
how he would rescue a damsel in distress.
Not being bold or handsome to
the knight wondered what he should do.
Then came a day
when his lady fair was kidnapped
and the knight was perplexed
at what he should do.
Mounting his steed he galloped
to the castle where she was held.
The walls of the castle
seem to stretch to the sky.
How was he to save her
and rescue her virtue from these wicked men?
He could not scale this fortress
and breech its stone walls,
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poem by David Harris
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And He Decided To Join Us
Sometimes things happen
and they surprise everyone.
As I held my Sunday service
in the main street of our western town,
we had a quite a few visitors
who had come along.
Some of them had dogs
and one had a beautiful Husky.
As we began to sing our first hymn,
All Things Bright and Beautiful
the Husky decided to join us in the choruses.
It was the first time I’ve had
one of the creatures great and small
join us in our service.
He sang or howled his heart out
along with us all.
He didn’t sing in the verses
they were left to us,
only the choruses were his treat.
He thoroughly enjoyed himself
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poem by David Harris
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