Two Doors

A long time ago in a land far away,
a stranger appeared from nowhere.
He had journeyed through a portal
that govern time and space.
It pulled him through to a place
of which he knew not where.

On his arrival, he was arrested
and sent before the King
who was a wise old man,
and who loved to play games.
He looked at the stranger,
asked where he had come from.
The stranger could not say.

To say he did not know
was a crime throughout the land.
It was a plea of guilty.
The King looked at the stranger and said.
The punishment for your answer

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poem by David Harris
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A Simple Man

A simple man with simple ideas,
that’s what he, thinks of himself,
but others look differently at him.
They say that he has a heart way off the charts,
for all the things that he does.
For the words of comfort that he says,
and the support he brings to all he meets.
He cannot see it though;
to him it is just something
he has always done naturally.
To him there is nothing special,
in all that he does.
Being kind is no special trait;
everyone can do it.
Loving everything and everyone that comes his way,
a lot of people out there can do that too.
So why do people choose him?
He is only human after all,
no more thoughtful than most.
Some even think him as an angel,

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poem by David Harris
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Early Works - Cries

Early Works - Cries

A cry of help from a distraught mind,
a cry ignored for too many years,
but in the midst of desperation
threats of violence rears its head
scenes of anguish and conflict fare
in a soul, which wonders if anyone really cares.
Far from being a lonely cry
hundreds, maybe thousands
the fate of this lonely soul share.
We ask ourselves how can this be.
Sadly, the welfare of us all is held
in the hands of faceless persons playing god,
they are those who wanted the Midas Touch.
They demolished the neighbour help relationship well
pulling down communities, isolating them in little boxes.
“For the better welfare of us all.” They cried,
then countless jumped from tower blocks and died
and the faceless ones went on their way

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poem by David Harris
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When Will They Ever Realize

The sound of silence filled the air,
just before the dawn.
The sun’s streaky fingers stretched
forward on the fading night sky.
I walk in desolation,
for reasons I know not why.
The chorus of the morning birds
has yet to break the spell
of the unstrained silence,
which on everything had befell.

I tried to remember yesterday,
when the oyster of the world was mine.
I tried to see the smiling faces,
of those I loved and left behind.
The war was not mine or theirs,
but always someone has to go,
to do the battles for the sake of someone’s word.

An order given by a faceless person

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poem by David Harris
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Written Somewhere (Mini Biography)

My friends are strangers
My family is the world
At one time, I sought fame
Everyone to know my name
Praise for what I did
But as the years came around
No fame there was to be found
So I turned my back on it all
Feeling crushed and insignificantly small

Years folded into one another
And soon became a score
Still I had no wish to return
To find the fame that I so yearned
But fate had a hand for me to play
It said you still had something more to say
An old school friend from a different time
Was sent one day when I was down
To reconnect and turn my life around

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poem by David Harris
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Just My Luck (Fun Poem 73)

I went to the dentist
for the first time in twenty years.
Sat in the waiting room
waiting to get my call.
Finally, it came
and I reluctantly went in,
hand shaking and nervous as can be
and was surprised to find
the dentist looked
like she had just walked out of the centrefold
of a Playboy magazine.
She was blonde
and dropp dead gorgeous.
Instead of a man looking like,
he had just walked out of a rugby scrum.
Trust little old me to gets this beauty.
I sat in the chair
took out my false teeth
knowing she wouldn’t want to see them
and opened my mouth wider

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poem by David Harris
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A Little Chimney Sweep

For Duncan Wyllie
Who suggest I write this in a comment he once made.

Back in the 1800’s
in a large city in England
there lived a seven year old
and I will call him Tarn.
His hair was matted with soot,
his face and hands were black.
His clothes were old and cast offs
and didn’t fit too well.
His trousers had holes in the knees
and the elbows of his shirt were gone.
His skin was black from head to foot
from climbing chimneys
each and everyday.
He could work sometimes sixteen hours
before he finished for the day.
He never got educated,
nor did he play with friends.

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poem by David Harris
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Therapeutic Animals

The story I am about to unfold
is the truth the way I was told.
We have often been told that dogs and cats
can help people in times of illness
that sometimes threaten their lives.
I have heard many stories how a daily visit of a dog or cat
on a hospital ward can improve patient’s health.
As I occasionally help with people,
who are mentally handicapped,
and I often talk to their carers.
Once I was told of a young girl
who was suffering from depression rages.
The medicine they gave her would quell them for a few days,
but had no lasting effect.
Someone suggested she might like to help care
for the animals they had.
Farm livestock such as pigs, sheep and goats
and for some reason she seem to have a special bond
with the sheep and they let her help with them.
As the months passed,

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poem by David Harris
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Mistaken Identity

There are many times I have been mistaken
for something I am not.
People mistake me as an ordained priest,
but in fact, I am not.
You could call me an actor
who just happens to live the part.
Admittingly I do most things
a real priest would in their lives do,
give comfort to the sick and dying
and other things do.
However please do not be mistaken
that is not acting, its just part of my personality,
something I have always done
even before I got the part.
Those who needed my words of comfort
always seemed to find me,
and I would never turn them away.
Don’t ask me why I am this way;
there is no answer I can give you.
I hate to see suffering

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poem by David Harris
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And Santa Got Stuck In The Chimney

It was Christmas Eve
and across the rooftops,
he flew, popping down chimneys here and there
delivering presents and good cheer.
Awakening the dreams of better days
as he and his reindeers and sled
sped on their way.

He came to a chimney
whose opening was small.
As he tried to get down old Santa got stuck.
He wriggled and struggled,
but to no avail.
He was firmly stuck
in a chimney on Christmas Eve.

Oh my, what was he going to do?
He still had lots of presents to deliver.
He whistled for Rudolph
the bright red-nosed reindeer

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poem by David Harris
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