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David Harris

My Brother

Some moments are more momentous
than ever you could believe.
They are so great
that they take your breath away.
It started with a letter from an Aunt
who wrote and said your half brother Bill
would love to hear from you.
I did not have a half brother.
She had that all wrong,
the only Bill I remember
was adopted by my grandparents.
He was her half brother not mine.
However as it turned out
she was right and I was wrong.
For over fifty years,
his existence had been kept from me.
In the proceeding weeks that followed,
I found his address and then his telephone number,
then I phoned him.
For the first time in more than forty years,

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A Blank Page Blues

I know we have all done it,
sat in front of a pristine white sheet of paper
and got ready to write something down,
and then we are confronted
with the blank page blues.
The words of inspiration
then scurry and hide away.
You are left with pen in hand,
scratching your head
wondering what to say.
There is no cure for this syndrome;
writers get it all the time.
Some call it a writer’s block,
when nothing comes into your head.
You sit in front of a blank page.
You know what you want to write,
then someone disturbs you
and the words disappear out of sight.
How many times have we had that?
We sit down to write our masterpiece

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Happy Hogan’s Hotel

Welcome to Happy Hogan’s Hotel
with a bedpan under the bed
for when the call of nature calls
in the middle of the night.
We would not like you to get
cold tootsies walking on the floor
or stumble about in the dark
looking for the toilet door.
We include a tin of air freshener
in case the air gets noxious too
and a box of matches so you can wee straight
and not across the floor.
If you do, it will leak through the ceiling
and onto the person on the floor below
and they might not be happy
lying in a soggy bed.
Welcome to the Happy Hogan’s Hotel
your needs are what we happily cater for
and any complaint will be dealt with quickly
in the alley around the back,

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Only In the Winter

Why is it only in the winter
that we notice them?
The vulnerable on our streets,
the runaways and those
who have lost their way.
They are there all year around
in their cardboard houses
the places they call home.

Why is it only in the winter
that we finally become aware?
In the big cities, they are everywhere.
When the city goes to sleep
some huddle in doorway shelters,
where they sleep
covered in newspaper blankets
just to keep them warm.

Why is it only in the winter
we want to notice them?

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Not What I Wanted

How many times have you heard
someone say on Christmas Day
this is not what I wanted.
Ungrateful for what they received,
it did not cost as much as they had expected
always forgetting that each thing
is given with love from the giver.
It does not matter how much it cost or what size it is;
just remember the love that it holds
from the one who gives it.
Never be ungrateful for anything at Christmas time
for there thousands out there
who will not receive anything at all
and some who would be thankful
for some bread upon their table.
When it comes to Christmas Day
always be thankful for whatever you receive
and joyful someone thought of you.
Remember Christmas is a celebration
of God giving us his son Jesus Christ,

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Early Works - Feelings

In my mind and heart,
I find joy
knowing you by small words,
but never knowing
the way you feel.

Deep within my thoughts
I ponder
on the question
do your feelings
correspond with ones
my heart and my mind produce,
yet you know
little of my feelings really
for life and fate
has held me out of reach
of your life for so long.

Maybe between the small words
and quiet smiles

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Ghost Of Our Love

Watching the waves rolling to the shore,
as I sit throwing pebbles into the water.
The smoke from my cigarette
drifts over my head,
caught in the evening breeze.

Pictures of you move across my mind,
and I sit wondering
how many waves you will see
before you reach that distant shore,
where your new life will begin.

Tears leak from my eyes,
as I remember
why you were sailing away.
There was nothing I could say
to make you stay.

The storms were too long,
too dark in intensity,

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The Nag Complex (Fun Poem 105)

Yesterday I wrote about the Mumble Syndrome.
When the brain does the hundred-yard dash
and leaves the tongue trailing right at the rear.

Today I am writing about the Nag Complex
and no this has nothing to do with the wife.
This is when the brain forgets
to register something you have done
and nags you with doubt
until you recheck it out.

You leave to go to work,
you shut the front door
and get into your car and start driving.
When suddenly the nag complex begins to kick in.
Did you turn off everything?
You cannot remember.
Did you shut the front door?
You cannot remember.

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Our Town Ghost

Five of us were playing cards
while outside someone was banging
as if, they were constructing something.
I got up to see who it was,
but there was no one there.
I scratched my head and returned
to the hand I was playing.
About a half an hour later,
we heard someone walking about.
With torch in hand, I went again to investigate.
Again, there was no one there.
I shone the torch up and down the street.
The footsteps had stopped by now.
We could only guess it was the ghost,
which roams around our little town.
It hurts no one and no one is afraid of it.
Some say it our old friend Jock.
Other say it is someone else.
Unless one of us sees it, we will never be sure.
Whoever it is we wish

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Early Works - The Seasons

Sky clouded and morbid blue
with cracks for the sun to shine through.
Fields barren and dead
with leaves turning from green to red.
Birds on high winging south
as rivers flow from its mouth.
Sun shines a light of cold on the
ground as autumn approaching us surrounds.

The leaves of orange and red mould where they are blown
as upon us winder begins to grow.
After a while comes a white blanket of snow
covering everything that will grow.
The nights get long
and the winter winds blow strong.
Everything is frozen fast
and in this wintry waste, none must trespass.

Overnight comes the warmth of a rearing sun
bringing with it the spring,

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