A Flying Cow

Millie Moo Cow was grazing
in a field on day
when her fairy godmother
came to pay a visit to her.
Millie you are a good old cow
and your days are not yet through.
If I had wish for you
what would that wish be fore?
Millie chewed at her cud
and thought for a bit.
I would like a pair of wings
so I could fly like the birds
and then I could find the green fields
with all the tenders shoots to graze upon.
The fairy godmother waved her wand
and on Millie, two beautiful wings grew.
Millie flapped her new wings
and into the sky, she flew.
As she, few around she caused quite a stir.
Looking down she remembered

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poem by David Harris
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No Conclusion Can Be Laid

A long time ago
in a land far away
lived a young boy
whom in his tomorrows
many tears he would cry.
In his heart, he wished to fly,
soar near the heavens
where the eagles gather.
His talent was criticized
and rebuked by his family
and even some of his friends joined in.

In the shadows of his world
each night where no one could see
he shed his tears in private
deep in the loneliness he felt.
Many years have passed
and his friends have become fewer.
Age stripped away his youth,
but his talent remained.

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poem by David Harris
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A Legacy

Sometimes we meet someone
through a family member
and immediately there is an attraction,
not a physical one,
but something much deeper.
As time passes, friendship ensues
and the person teaches you things
that you will never forget.
They help you through the awkward years
from teenager to adulthood.
You mature beyond your years
without losing your individuality.
I know this is true as it happened to me.
There was no song and dance,
just two lonely people meeting,
taking a chance on friendship,
gathering memories as they went.
Then illness overtook the elder
and they had to move away.
The younger never got the chance

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poem by David Harris
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Follow Me

You’re hanging over a precipice,
looking down; you know you are going to fall.
At the last moment, a hand grasps yours.
A stranger whom you cannot see.
Slowly they haul you from your fate to be.
Their face you still cannot see,
but their words echo around you,
come on my brother follow me.

Foot holds come one at a time,
safety is now assured.
Slowly you move upwards,
one-step at a time along the way.
At the top the stranger is waiting,
his face blocked by the sun.
His voice is gentle and serine,
come on my brother follow me

You climb to your feet and follow,
as he begins to lead the way.

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poem by David Harris
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Confessions Of A Pretend Preacher

Being a pretend preacher
is almost like being the real thing.
People come to me in times of trouble
and who am I to turn them away.
I cannot and never will do
for reasons I cannot explain.
I hear their confession readily
an even relate to some.
I try to help wherever I can
with words that I can give.
Sometimes what you hear
can take its toll on you.
You never admit it though,
but keep on trying to help
wherever help is needed.
There are times you hear something
and it plays on your mind
over and over again
that you feel you will burst.
You never betray a confidence

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poem by David Harris
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The Final Shot Is Fired

The moonlight danced across the waters
where the breeze made ripples there.
Nothing stirred the stillness
except the lonely hoot of an owl.
It was as if the place
had desolation in the air,
but all that was deceptive
as the earth trembles
of men marching somewhere.
As the night grew longer,
the marching stirred the silence
that had been there before.
Soon voices barking orders
had ears erect.
Slowly the resting animals
now began to flee.
Somehow they could sense
two predators were about to start a war.
Rifles were cocked and ready,
their muzzles extended from each bush.

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poem by David Harris
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Christmas Presents Treasure Hunt

Every year on the first of December
the annual Christmas presents treasure hunt begins.
During the January sales, my wife and I buy
our Christmas presents for the on coming year,
buy them and hide them
and each year we forget where we hid them too.
One year I had a bright idea,
I would draw up a little map,
then my wife decided on a spring clean
moving furniture from one room to another
which rendered my little map rather obsolete.
Hence, the treasure hunt began
and when we had found most of them,
another problem then arose
about who were the presents for.
We drew up a list of everyone
and attached a present to their name,
but nothing is straightforward in our house,
backward maybe.
The list was binned

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poem by David Harris
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Birds Never Sang Or Flew

The dawn awoke one morning
to start a day brand new
but there was something wrong
outside no birds sang or flew.
The skies that normally teamed with life
on the day before
now fell silent empty and abandoned
by all that flew there.
While in a great city
twin towers crumpled into dust,
its plumes of agony stretched
high up in the air for the world to see
that a new demon with a cancerous soul
was about to scourge the earth
to corrupt others to follow him
into the damnation of hell.
Was this the Armageddon that was prophesied,
in which the world as we know it died?
As the tentacles of this demon,
who dressed as a man

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poem by David Harris
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A Soldier Home From A War

Daymare demons spiral your head.
There is no rest in your soft bed.
Images of death reveal.
The guilt you hide, but feel.
A war of shadows.
Where you once fought.
In back gardens where children play
For only peace you wished and sought.
The grass green hills of your childhood remain.
But there, there was no death sign

Wife and kids you greet at garden gate.
They don’t see your inner hate.
They don’t see your embroiled conscience,
or know the infliction you bare.
They’re only too happy to have you home.
Home to love and share.
You are a soldier home.
A soldier home from a war,
Trying your guilt to hide.

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poem by David Harris
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A Silly Poem

They flew on a moonbeam
and danced on the stars
the giraffe looked at the kangaroo
and said how do you do.
Old Mother Hubbard got into the act
when she went to the cupboard and found it bare.
“Sorry guys there is no food in there.”
Tom Thumb jumped up, said I’ll play mum,
and with that pulled out a plum.
They sat round the table
the giraffe, the kangaroo,
and the giraffe asked what you eating roo?
Caterpillar stew because wise guy
I hate to see butter fly.
Pinocchio stuck is nose in
like he likes to do
when suddenly it grew and grew.
A passing elephant looked in,
“Hey Pinocchio can you play a tune on that like I can do? ” Therefore, the nonsense band was born.
They played all night causing a bit of a storm,

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poem by David Harris
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