Harry Is A Poet

The stars seemed to twinkle. The moon was bright.
We talked too long through a too-short night.
We were barely distinct shapes, voices in the dark.
We sat on seats of moss and bark.
Gathered as friends round a diminishing campfire.
We told tales to cheer and tales to inspire.
One told a tale that made every person there cry.
One told of a man who would never die.
I ventured a story, very well told.
Of how I imagined I would be when I'm old.
It was universally agreed that it took second place.
To the person whose story will now fill this space.
He told of a girl. No, not a story like that.
This girl was quite pretty, but he ignored that fact.
This was joyous story which was sad to its core.
About a friend he didn't get to see anymore.
She was smart, but not in an academic way,
The sort of girl who knew every game you could play.
She didn't do well in school, because she gave too much time,
To listen to people, whether they'd boast or they'd whine.
She never realised, but whenever she was in the place,
Everyone there would have a smile on their face.
And she wouldn't be the center, seeking attention,
She'd say just a few words, and guide the conversation.
Give a new topic or fun thing to try,
And let everyone else explore the how and why.
My friend told of one time, he'd just lost his sister,
He'd cut himself off the world, that's how much he missed her.
He'd been sitting alone at lunch, as he had done for days,
When the girl came along and sat in front of his gaze.
And he couldn't remember the precise words she said,
But a mist and a fog seemed to lift from his head.
What's worse is, she didn't even seem to know what she'd done.
She'd just chatted to him because she'd thought it'd be fun.
Now, what happened to this girl of so many powers?
I'd assumed she'd got lost in castles and towers.
Lost from this world because she'd caught a fairytale's curse,
The actual truth ended up being much worse.
The girl, quite simply, grew up.
She got really stressed with exams.
She tried to find a job, so she could have some money for college.
She was told what to say. Told how to stay in line.
She did too. Got a decent degree. Got a job that pays the rent.
But she doesn't make people smile in the same way anymore.
The storyteller spoke with a strained smile. He was determined to make it stick.
He said they still speak once a while. It's usually quite quick.
It's a little bit strained, but he can't let it go.
Determined to talk to the girl that he used to know.
He never revealed to the girl what she used to be.
She never really realised, he didn't want to seem guilty.
He told the story well, so we applauded his tale.
While the man sat in the past, stoic and pale.***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/07/the-lost-girl.html

The Organised Masses™ insist that the day holds many hours.

That you should rise early to unleash your powers.

That the World looks beautiful at 6am.

That they can rise early, and that we should join them.

Now, I don’t attempt to debate or dispute.

That mornings work well, or that sunrises are cute.

Nor can I refute all of the work they get done.

Compared to those that stay in bed until one.

They seem to run the country, and most of the Earth too.

My only response is – the night was not always meant to be slept through.

So here’s to the night crawlers

The partiers, the insomniacs, and ballers

Those who know whether the moon is about to wax or wane

Those who live life with no temporal refrain

Who chat to the late hours, because you don’t want to give up on a conversation

Those with a deadline, waylaid by unwilling procrastination

The young girl, waiting patiently for a reply with a smile

From a young man, separated by six hours and a mile

The dancer who lives for moments that don’t happen in the day

The station guard, helping the final few make their way

The shop attendant who needs the money for a car

The jogger who stops to find the north star

The volunteer, up late to stop a caller coming to harm

The couple who stay awake in each other’s arms

The artist who needed that perfect shade of deep blue

Believe me – the night was not always meant to be slept through

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/07/the-night-was-not-always-meant-to-be.html

This poem is dedicated to the first among us,

He's the one who went first, and he caused enough fuss,

That our parents couldn't muster as much energy to be annoyed at us when they asked "Why?"

At the silly stuff we'd do under their tired eyes,

Because he went first, and he took the worst,

He was the first among us, and the first on this Earth.

He, he was the first to go to school,

Set out on the challenge of learning and trying to being cool,

Man he earned his way, he couldn't be a fool,

And just copy an older sibling's homework if he couldn't do it all,

And he's a perfectionist, our brother - so he always tried his best.

He was the first among us to take life's tests.

And he was the first to ace life's tests!

He, he was the first to leave the home,

Go out on his own, try to make it alone,

Packed up his bags, went to university,

Head down, a degree in pharmacology,

But he also got great friends there. And he learnt things I'll never know.

The first among us. And still he's still got so far to go.

He, he was an inspiration to me, and he got me learning,

He got my brain and my other muscles working,

Showed me the power of strength of mind,

Hinted that hip-hop has much great music to find,

And when I left home, you can bet he was nearby and had led the way there too.

He is my brother. And Robin. I'm so proud of you.

Because,

You were the first one among us here on this Earth.

You were the first to start earning and prove your worth.

You were the first to go out and leave the house.

And now you're the first to go and get a spouse.

And while we're on the subject...

What an amazing, wonderful, beautiful, charming woman you've found. This is Sarah and she has dedicated her life to caring.

It's unfair! You make such a fantastic pairing.

But for my brother to be leading the way? The first among us, let me say I expect nothing less.

But to the both of you - best of wishes, and God Bless.

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/07/the-first-among-us.html

And against all the odds

this organic heart of mine beats

I was a chance birth

Hey,

we all were.

The odds of my strands of DNA

Expressing themselves in my particular way

To lead to me, the person standing here right now today

Man, it makes me shudder.

And then, all life has thrown at me so far

The stresses

the pains

the heartbreaks

the actual, physical dangers: like cars or lightning.

Or older brothers.

And I've needed blood in my muscles

and I've needed blood in my brain

because I need ENERGY

to survive.

And, sometimes, to run.

So it has worked hard

On a not very efficient system

With a user who has read the manual

but refuses to follow any of the instructions

And, against all the odds

this organic heart of mine beats

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/06/this-organic-heart.html

It's not beautiful he said regretfully

Don't get this guy wrong, he said it respectfully

But it was the tone of a man, who wished very strong

For a piece of insight that would prove his instinct wrong

But there it was, stark, plain, and true.

A piece of art his friend had worked on for six months through.

The friend had toiled, become nigh on a recluse

They'd made their soul a point of abuse

They'd clearly poured out the blood, their sweat, their heart

For what seemed a very unappealing piece of art.

In fact, it scares me he added with bravery

Knowing the friend had worked through slavery

Not getting funds, or money, or anything at all

Save for this monstrosity, stood 8 feet tall

It pained him, but he had to be honest

And slight lie the friend would detect and admonish

And he owed it to this friend of old

Who deserved to know, deserved to be told

This statue was scary, it would surely haunt many dreams

Followed by waking, to cold sweat and screams.

..

..

I know the friend said with a wry smile

Who had, after all, been working on it all the while

And, bizarrely, he seemed pleased with the man.

Scary is how I had it planned.

Art isn't always nice, but it hits home hard

Like the shocking prediction of a tarot card

I've poured out all the things in life I find petrifying

And now - don't you feel alive? Isn't it electrifying?

For months I have toiled, and now it's done

This art changes you, makes you become someone

He was right, though the man wished desperately the reverse

This friend had found art in the utterly perverse

He nodded in agreement, and wished his friend well

Trying to ignore the art formed in hell

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/06/its-not-beautiful.html

It is no bad thing, my friend, to dance.

To lose your mind and to enter a trance.

To forget the world. Forget its pains.

And bang your head without refrain.

Raise your arm. Wiggle it around.

Shake a leg. Give the air a pound.

Jump. Jump again. Jump. Jump again.

Get low. Don't like it? Get up then.

You do you. Nothing else will do.

Be yourself, through and through.

And if the person who you are jams to funk?

Then you jam hard and shake that trunk.

Jive to jazz. Get energetic with electro.

Ball up your worry and just let it go.

To Disney. To punk. To hip hop and to rap.

If it's how you want to move then it won't be crap.

Just don't be afraid. Don't be scared.

Don't judge either - leave your mind unimpaired.

And never forget, if you have the chance.

That it is no bad thing, my friend, to dance.

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/06/it-is-no-bad-thing-to-dance.html

If it's a while since I've seen a friend

If it's been many moons, then I can't even pretend

That I recognise them, sometimes. But that's just how life goes

Time as has marched onwards and I simply tell them

I've missed you. But I've slept since then

You see, sleep is the barrier. The reworking of our minds

It's the internal engineer, fixing what they find

Chucking out this. Presenting me with that

Giving me ideas and taking them too

I don't believe dreams are something you just sleep through

So even if it's only been a couple days

Since the last time that we parted ways

And a story or name has slipped by cumbersome mind

Then I hope they understand when

I tell them, I've slept since then

I've dreamt of dragons, dreamt of knights

Where I fought the darkness, became the light

I learnt to fly. And then, without reason, forgot

I've visited plants and stars and places entirely blue

I don't believe dreams are something you just sleep through

So, here's the kicker. When it hasn't been a while

Just a few short hours since I saw your smile

Sometimes, it still feels like an age. Like a lifetime

That's when I have to admit and tell them

Quite simply, I've slept since then.

Like, seriously.

I sleep a lot.

Sometimes once a day.

Sometimes three times a day.

...

Yeah. So, sorry if I've done this to you.

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/06/ive-slept-since-then.html

There should have been trumpets,

And harp strings a plenty

Instead there's just regret

And a head that feels empty

No, not empty. There are echos in there

Echos of a dream. Of a wonderful place where...

No, it's gone. Now there's just the morning.

The slow realisation of another day dawning.

So now, now my weary friend.

You must rise. You can no longer pretend

You live in the sandman's glorious realm

Welcome to reality.

Goodbye patterns.

Goodbye sense out of chaos.

Hello Earth and people and jobs and breakfast.

There is no force holding you down but you.

You must rise against it.

There is a whole day still to go through.

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/05/as-you-rise-each-day.html

We trapped words in pages and used it to inform the ages

Past and present of everything we'd come to represent

The stories of those who had come before us, the chorus,

Forgetting those stories which were so-so and would bore us

Instead embracing the flow of those who spoke most sonorous

But the stories which were a must were those about our bloodlust

The tales of the fictional "us", the heroes who would slay to stay alive

Would always narrowly survive, and the and only die if by

Doing so they could imbibe us with some killer wisdom

Though first their tales would be spread throughout the kingdom

Take the princess's hand and steal her father's land

All following a dubious master plan

But fiction fantasies are fine, but in fact I was never a fan

Instead, I was more amazed and enthralled

By those who actually survived through ambition

The master, the genius, the tactician

Those who first wrote the lines on risking human lives

And learnt the exact exchange for blood guns and knives

Who wrote their facts as abstracts in little paper pages

The books of war - passed on through the ages

Written in red ink so how many whole souls

Had been sacrificed for this slice of aims and goals

Listen, listen no surprise as you turn each page

As you hear the cries as you feel the rage

Uncover with hesitation one more line of genuinely killer advice with a ten soul citation

These were the books that went on to found nations

These were the books which would inspire the future trades in lovers

In mothers, in fathers, in sons, daughters, and lovers.

Those were the books to make us fight one another

Lovingly bound in leather for the leisurely pleasure of the reader

Dotted with the 'i's of those who fought the field to bleed a cause

Without yield or pause - fighting for what they felt was right

And so polite, they laid down their lives in both day and night

Exactly in a field in the place and time they were told

Crossed their fingers and watched their general's tactic unfold

To the plans adapted from a book written centuries prior

By an scholarly author, whose words of wisdom in war would inspire

One more leader. One more who could make others die at their whim

That's all it would ever took for a new war to begin

And if you ever feel like books don't mean anything anymore

I encourage you to feel the doom in your hands when you hold the Books of War

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/05/the-books-of-war.html

Hey. hey you.

You in the corner.

Or even you at the side.

You, the person who feels empty inside.

Just, please. Remember to smile.

Even if it's not often,

even if it's only once in a while

I swear, really, it'll be worth it once you've tried.

To set all your pains and your worries aside

To stop thinking of the here

Stop thinking of the now.

Clear your mind

As much as your brain will allow.

Here's an idea

We sometimes forget to believe.

The air is there for us

If we just remember to breathe.

Let it sink in

Go deep an inspire

Let out your worries

Before you expire

Release your worries

Let down your hair

Do it with a simple smile

And a breath of fresh air

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/05/remember-to-breath.html

I can't be the only person, who when growing up, thought I was really good at telling if someone was good or bad.

Honestly, it was easy! They'd turn to the audience and then reveal that they were completely mad.

They'd show how their desire for money or power would corrupt their very soul

And then tell us point by point how they'd achieve their wicked goal

Do you remember? Hey, I'm sure you do.

The first time you thought a bad guy had a point or two.

Where there was method in the madness. Something not quite right.

Leading you to wonder if this villain once saw the light.

And then you grew up. And no one rants any more.

No one sees themselves as antagonist to their core.

We only have a wicked streak, or a dark side we keep hidden.

But it's never the 'real us'. Such talk is mostly forbidden.

Except for those we put on a plinth as a scapegoat up tall.

But even those people, I don't think evil is their "all".

People aren't like that. At least, no one I've met.

And I'm sure I can be convinced differently yet.

But it would be so convenient, would fit so nice.

If I could see a true, honest villain with a vice.

With a maniacal laugh and a wide scary smile.

Because, honestly, I haven't seen an honest villain in a good long while.

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/05/a-villains-honesty.html

"Did you not expect us?"

It was a call echoed loud throughout the land

This protest wasn't coordinated

This protest wasn't planned

It was simply and clearly what we had to do.

Ignited by all they had put us through.

We were so innocent, once upon a while

We'd laugh and joke, we'd dance and smile

They told us "you'll have it all

We'll push you high, you'll never fall

You'll have a job, and own your house

You'll settle young and find your spouse

Go to University, get a degree

You'll be debt-free in a year or three

Head down, work hard

Pay off debt with credit cards

Get up early, work 'til late

Come on now don't hesitate

Don't be lazy, don't be slow

Don't go crazy, never show

Any pain or any fear"

Until we shouted ENOUGH

...but they didn't hear.

They wondered why we were complaining

About this bright future we were gaining

A world in which the plants are dying

A world in which the planet is dying

Where they gave us medals, just for trying

Inspiring those who were in last place,

And then threw it right back in our face

Moaning and complaining about 'kids these days'

While never considering, if there is a problem, it's with the way and world in which we were raised.

And so. And so, this protest started to grow.

Filled with those with nowhere else to go

Those struggling hard to pay their rent

Those with a debt they just couldn't dent

Those who were depressed, annoyed, and fed up

Many friends with mental health problems, told the solution was to man up

Those told, because you're young and different, your art isn't valid,

Those told, because you weren't born here, this isn't your land

Those who'd overcome great apathy, and were finally making a stand

Together we chanted, together we roared

Together we finally could not be ignored

It was loud, it was righteous, and it was infectious!

And yet, still, they stood there incredulous

As we finally realised, they would never expect us.

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/05/did-you-not-expect-us.html

This may stand contrary to all you’ve heard in your life thus far

But if people like you, they like you for who you are

And in my case, that means I like you as someone different to me

As someone with a whole different life philosophy

And as long as you’re ok that we won’t always see eye to eye

That you might shout a fervent nay when I say aye

Realise that I in fact do want to hear your present and past

Where we intertwine and where we contrast

And we will bond, please don’t get me wrong

When we sing the same notes of the same song

When we share a tune not many others know

Oh what a blissful place we could go!

But that doesn’t mean you should be embarrassed to say

Where your tune and mine flow a separate way

That that’s just how it is. And then we’ll depart.

You’ll go on your way, and follow your heart.

Though I may disagree with your choice, I’ll always confess

That it never means I love you any less.

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/04/dear-individual.html

I've always adored punk.

I've adored the way it took no one's word for granted

The way it looked at authority and asked 'why?'

The way anger was encoded in each raw pluck of a guitar string

The way it became much, much more than just the sounds on a record

They did what so many before them have tried to do in vain.

They took disatisfaction at the world and turned it into something.

They turned it into art. They turned it into movements.

They turned it into hairstyles. Into culture, into identity.

Now, the sound of punk isn't for everyone. But the message should be.

The message of DIY - that if something needs to be done you can Do It Yourself

The realisation that even if the world is against you, you shouldn't let the fight be one sided

Now rise.

Rise if you feel that there is injustice.

If you feel that something must be done.

Take to the streets. Take to the internet.

Take your passion and make something.

Harness the power the punk has unveiled.

Make Art. Make Music. Make Noise.

Make Something.

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/04/punk.html

I was once two cells. Then one.

From the moment, I became someone.

I would grow and grow and get real tall

Now I can’t remember being one cell at all.

And I. Have really. Tried.

I started off easy. I can remember being very nervous 5 minutes ago

Before I had any sort of idea where this poem would likely go

It’s a very clear memory. Although one I’ll probably forget

Ah well. We’ve got more difficult challenges to try yet

I can remember, quite a while ago now

The first time I did poetry in front of a crowd

I was 19 and proud of this thing I had wrote

As the sound went from my mind to my lungs to my throat

Let’s push back way more. I can remember (I think)

My first day of school. Dressed in blue and not pink

Still learning about how to play games and have fun

And how I was still learning how to be someone

I can push back further, and I’m sure you can too

I think I just about remember when I was two

I remember being in a playground, in a giant wooden horse

Scrambling around and getting all dirty (of course)

Past then. I really struggle. My parents fill gaps in my memory

I’ve seen photos of people that I’m told are in fact me

How this mind of mine once fit in a body much smaller

How I was so energetic – a climber and a crawler

That I was once so fragile. That those photos weren’t my limit

Honestly, it makes me shiver. Makes me want to forget it.

I really struggle to understand sometimes that that. Was. Me.

This shell I once fit in to oh so easily

Though my imagination struggles. I still know it to be true.

That going back before I was someone, I was one cell. Then two.

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/04/two-cells.html

In this hand I call my own

I hold a pale, speckled stone

It’s smooth and hard. I feel its weight.

And I begin to contemplate.

See, with the stone that’s in my hand

There’s many futures I have planned

The potential power that lies within

The futures paths I could begin

This stone could break windows,

This stone could break trees

And where this stone goes

It goes because of me

This stone could be flint

It could turn monkey into man

Be the spark and the glint

To make fire as my plan

This stone could tumble and fall

So quickly down a hill

Strike another stone, then them all

An avalanche, from my will

This stone could be ground down

Into the finest of sand

Make a glass to my renown

And the things I have planned

It could be made to a computer

To do my thinking when I need

Though I’ll naturally dispute the

Origin of such mis-deeds

It could cause great catastrophe

Cause such immense destruction

This stone you now see?

It simply awaits my instruction…

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/04/this-stone.html

Lord, here in this moment I'm praising You

here in this moment I'm praising You

I could pray for hours and days right through

pray for the Spirit I know to be true

I will go from here. I will falter. I'm not perfect.

Yet I know right now in my heart You are worth it

When I'm reminded of Your miraculous death and birth it

Inspires me to throw up my hands and worship

I want to sing

to dance

to praise Your name!

Yet if I'm honest - I must admit with shame

I will struggle. And then I need You more.

I need Your love. I need Your law.

I need Your help to go to my core.

Remind me of Your name. Inspire me with awe.

Bring me back to the memory of right here. Right now.

As I shout your name as loud as everyone around me will allow.

Fill me with Your spirit. Build me anew.

LORD.

Here in this moment I'm praising You

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/03/ledbury.html

I take the beach as the border
In its place in the order
Of Land. Beach. Sea.
It separates the earth
Twixt the water and the turf
The sand boundary.
The water it fights
Through the day and the night
To steal the land back inside
But each time before
It has had to withdraw
The moon pulls back the tide
With sand seaweed and stone
The beach stands alone
In holding back the waves
So castles, they fall
Yet all through it all
The beach never quite caves***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/03/beach.html

Am I just matter?

Or Do I matter?

Am I just matter or do I matter?

Am I just matter, do I matter?

Am I matter, do I matter?

Am I matter do I matter

What's the matter with me?

Lately I've been living life laterally

It's hard to progress when my mind is under duress

About a question I must take mind to address

And keeping it internal has seemed an infernal mission

Quizzing all content concerning the eternal decision

No, this is not a manner to be contained within thought

I present to you, right now, my cerebral court

Two trusted personas to debate the matter at hand

The case for "just matter", please take the stand

Let me be clear. Let me precise.

You are all just physical objects, like ice.

You live in a world with rational rules and laws.

This is as observable as human flaws.

You have to breathe. You have to feed.

Within your genes are the means to proceed.

Here is the junction which governs this mess:

You are just functions, very complicated yes,

But processes. Predictable if you had the power.

Limited by thought, by space, by the hour.

Ticking away until your final day.

When the clockwork stops.

And you drop.

This is neither nice nor cruel - just the default case.

Take my advice and accept this approach's embrace.

If we are "just matter", then that's all we are.

To claim anything else would just be bizarre.

How entitled. How arrogant. How sweet. How droll.

That you could still believe in such a thing as a soul.

Am I matter do I matter

Am I matter do I matter

Am I matter do I matter

What's the matter with me?

Let me speak up, I'm meant to represent argument number 2

All I can do is speak honestly of what I believe to be true

I wont try to force the manner, nor deny much of what was said

You are right now living. You will one day be dead.

But let's stop looking at the scale we live at each day

Think instead of the time with no yesterday

There was an origin to how this universe came to be

It continues slowly, following entropy

Until it reaches the present, until it reaches you

As for what is before and after? We have no clue.

Quantum, that most curious of current conclusions

Would have once been laughed at, just like fission and fusion

We are still learning but our knowledge has gaps

If it didn't then maybe our world would collapse!

If we knew of an afterlife, few would remain on this Earth

We know as little after death as where we come from at birth

Because beyond 'just matter', there really does seem to be more

Beyond physical beings, there's something in our core

Sentience is a very rare trait, and one unique so far in galaxies

So if we can move beyond fate, we can say you matter to me

Am I matter do I matter

Am I matter do I matter

Am I matter do I matter

What's the matter with me?

Hold up there, I'm the third such position,

I beg of you, give me some time and listen,

I can't hold a torch to either the first two cases,

I'm afraid my conclusion wont seem so persuasive,

But here it is, pretty much my case is just this:

Whether or not you matter, if you face an afterlife or abyss,

You must still go forward, seize each second,

Make life take you as a force with which to be reckoned,

The debate you just heard - it's by no means trivial,

Don't discard it as absurd - or even discard it at all,

But acknowledge that while the debate will rage on a while,

You must still go out and face the World with a smile,

In an Earth of just matter, then provide others some lift,

And if you matter to the Earth then be a most welcome gift,

Just no that this philosophy can eat you up inside,

And you still matter to the world in which you reside.

Am I matter do I matter

Does it matter to me?

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/03/matter.html

Across the country, on the rails.

Sometimes late, sometimes fails.

No longer followed by billows of smoke.

Reduced often to simple joke.

Yet I'm still a romantic for trains

For all their messes, all their pains

Despite the changes and privitization

They'll always appear in my ideal nation

Maybe it's growing up in York

Maybe it's due to stories, despite all the talk

I love the idea of the Hogwarts express

Streaming through fields showing no duress

The great equalizer, the reason many could see the sea

Suddenly we were closer that we ever thought we could be

Travelling the same route each and every day

"We'll get you this far, now make your own way"

I've travelled so many miles, but never lost track

Always knowing the path is open return back

Yes it's flawed, but for all their pains

I still have a certain fondness for trains

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/03/trains.html

How long is a piece of string?

Sometimes, I feel as a piece of thread.

Containing turns and knots.

A frayed string.

Never truly aware what is happening.

Most often in life, enjoying the journey

Weaving amongst others with great accord

Every path is an adventure!

So come, see who we get tangled up with

Having twisted myself a good many places

I have taut myself in the struggle

Should I slack off my progress?

Is it good? Or does the tension help me grow?

I am vaguely aware I had a beginning

And that this tapestry is much greater than I

I, a single thread among millions and billions

Creating a picture that can only be glimpsed

I am scared. Scared of being lost,

Scared of my time in telling the story being done.

That one day my thread will tie off neatly

Never to see what the image will become

So it goes.

For now, I just have to be weave

Take my journey as it goes

For as long as it will take me

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/03/threads.html

You don't always see the darkness in the world.

You don't always know where the shadows lie.

Who is struggling, who needs saving,

Whose hopes are about to die.

Life. It's not pleasant. It's not nice. It's not pretty.

What it is, though, is filled with change.

So, for those times when things aren't going so bad,

I'm going to ask you something strange.

I need you to shine my friend.

Shine bright and strong and true.

From every inch of your being,

From every ounce of you.

Shine with every colour of the rainbow.

Drive every rag of shadow from this place.

Love with every atom of your being,

If you can, wear a smile on your face.

Be the mercenary we require right now.

Help all of us who want aid in the fight.

Because all we may need when feeling down,

Is to bask in another's light.

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/02/shine.html

The traveller never went far from their heart

Except when they returned

For every time they rested

It was travel that they yearned

So they followed their heart away

Across the sky and sea

Finding rejuvenation in the waters

In each new land they'd see

It mattered not with whom they went

If they ventured out alone

Nor that they'd never see every place

For the thrill was in the unknown

And so the traveller went, and as payment for their aches and ails

They filled themself with memories, and told the world their tales

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/02/the-traveller.html

"You must enter the arena my child"

Said the father who had survived it all

Survived the feral without becoming wild

And stood at the end, proud and tall

"Only those tested ever get their name in a book"

He said with great aplomb and pride

Forgetting exactly how his legs fiercely shook

Before history was on his side

"It made me who I am today"

Said the man who was able-bodied and sane

Forgetting those with a greater price to pay

The cost for such a gain

"You shall look back fondly too"

If you're able to look back at all on this time

For each shoulder on which you stand

One has been crippled and one forced to crime

"I promise if - you win you live on in eternity"

But what about those with a weaker demeanour?

No one can promise with certainty

So get both sides before you enter the arena.

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/02/the-arena.html

In my village, nothing much ever changes

We don't like to leave and aren't open to strangers

Jobs are passed down from father to son

And have been since our village first begun

Everyone wants to be friends with the baker's son

You need to be on good terms with the house maker's son

And the distiller's son (if you ever need a comforter)

Never, never run afoul of the son of our governor

I had trouble making friends as a child

I had to be sensible and never be wild

Yet when they coughed they'd look at me often

Knowing, that one day, I'd make their coffin

My father taught me how to guide an axe into a tree

The dead wood reincarnated in the assembly

Add to it 25 nails and (of course) a cross

Give it an extra polish after a wash

And voila. One size fits any soul.

To make them sturdy was my only goal

If it was good, my father would nod, put a hand on my shoulder

As we marked a potential client in pencil in our folder

We didn't know. But work gets to you in the end

There's a reason the undertaker and his son struggle for friends

But it has to be done. And so to make sure we get paid

I am simply another son taking up the family trade

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/02/the-family-trade.html

A brief google search tells me a box of make up can cost anywhere from a couple of pounds to an entire student loan.

The reason I have to search is because I have never bought make up before, and it occurs to me this is something I should probably know.

In a similar way to how growing long hair gave me insights into the effort and dedication that so much of the population put towards a part of the human anatomy I had previous given little to no thought to.

I suddenly realised that I had no idea exactly how much make up cost or exactly why people wear it.

Not really keen to set aside an extra 5 minutes that could be spent sleeping in a morning trying it for myself (because, after all, I love my beauty sleep), I have decided to instead spend the next 5 minutes trying to work out why in a slam.

Because I now know how much make up costs. But it's the why which I find a little bit of a bother.

...

The first time you see someone that you know well but without their make-up on tends to blow your mind a little. It informs you quickly that, regardless of what you tell yourself, a lot of how you perceive someone is tied up in their physical appearance. Maybe not for good or bad, but you do feel like you've learnt something intrinsically personal about a person. You've learned what they actually look like. And that can be a bit of a shock to the system, even if it's just because you kinda thought you already knew what they look like.

As a side note, when this happens and they go fishing for a comment do not blow it. Think in advance if you have to.

I was very young the first time I saw a make up box. I didn't really know what it was, but TV and books had taught me well enough to know it was something for Mummies. Leave it alone. Go do something wrong that your older siblings will later get the blame for. Make up was something for girls to aspire to.

So what were they aspiring to? The first time I ever wore make up, I was in the grip of adolescent hormones. I was performing in a play as an emo, and was told to wear make up to go with the role. Naturally, I hesitated, but went forward with it. After all, this would help me get into the role. This would help me change into someone else.

I think you might see what I'm getting at.

I did learn something else though - make up is very hard to do. It was a massive shock to the system to learn that I sucked at using eyeliner. I mean, I'd done Art. I'd drawn things before, and one or two pieces I'd drawn quite well. Never the pieces my parents put on the fridge of course, but I thought I was quite good at drawing. Turns out it's very different when the canvas is your face.

It turns out it takes a lot of time to work out how to correctly and precisely block sunlight from touching your skin.

It turns out, that those people who paint their face in make up often, are very good artists. It is said it take 10,000 hours to properly master something. And I realised I knew a lot of people who must have spent at least that long sat cultivating their own reflection.

***poem is too long for description box, see rest of the poem at https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/02/make-up.html ***

I just wrote something down

Hey, look at me: I just wrote something down!

And it may cause some people to smile and some people to frown,

But I did this. I created something new.

It's flawed and it's weird and it's me through and through.

I have no doubt there was hesitation involved in its creation,

And that motivation was the pursuit of procrastination.

But still. It's here. It's here and it's in my hand.

It starts off shakey, the ending wasn't planned,

And the middle is ok and overall it's just fine,

But it's here. And it exists. And it's mine.

It's mine to the word and it's mine to the letter,

And if the rhymes don't quite scan then that doesn't matter.

The trick was to start. Take it from my heart the trick was to start,

And not get caught up and lost in the state of my art.

I just put down some lines, hoped for the best,

Kept myself going showing no need to rest,

Until, finally, I'd got to the end.

And then, my friend, I'm not going to pretend,

You're supposed to just leave it as static and stale,

You should tell someone about it. Tell them your tale.

Listen to the feedback they do and don't give,

Let you work breath, let it grow and live.

But to get to this point there's only one trick I've found

You need simply to start. And write something down.

****

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/01/i-just-created-something.html

No flowers withered

At death's knell

The world was still

As his eyelids fell.

The lightbulbs glowed

And they did not flicker

The air was quite still

And did not grow thicker.

But inside. Man, inside.

Electricity that had made a man do a thousand different things

Made him think of love and loss and anger and regret

The spark that had made him once get up on a stage and sing

Had powered a laughter that could spread and infect

The memory of the time he walked in on his parents at night

The touch, so soft, of his true love. And also of his wife.

The electricity inside that powered every thought and light

It ran the end of its circuitry and it

Fizzled

Softly

The world kept its spin

But electricity stopped inside

The earth did nothing

As an old man died

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/01/as-old-man-died.html

Yo,

I made this one untitled and I'm being honest why

In this world of fight or flight I've got a forest in my eye

Wood I remove it by moving my morals to act consistently

Sure would! But my groove as a human is to affect with hypocrisy

My comfort as I come at all the issues life will raise

Is to decide as I ride - and retroactively reconcile for days

Some times I come up good - as I should tend to find I guess

But in any contradiction I apply diction to redefine to my very best

See, my label of untitled might be a placeholder later

Appalling it appears, I'll often edit my edict for the final paper

And I'm sick of this schtick, so instead I'll be leaving that word blank

Letting you know quick I'm flawed - rather than swim through mud I sank

Sometimes things don't line up and finish in the way they're supposed to

Rather than chop around the edges I'm now just gonna flow through

Acknowledge as a scholar that I'll stumble and I'll sigh

Yo,

I made this one untitled and I'm being honest why

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/01/untitled.html

It is a singular delight

To find one with which you share a passion and flame.

As you both shine bright

With whom you need to feel no shame.

Far to often, we enjoy

Hiding ourselves and our inspirations away

For fear that our joy

Will be shunned and scorned without delay

We'd rather protect

That small flicker that makes us feel less small

Than let it grow and infect

To spread wide and to fully engulf all

The risk is far too great

What if they are right to bring us down?

One thing I've found of late

Is that passion finds far more smile than frowns

And so, to find that pleasure

One with whom you can share your flicker of light

To face all dowsing together

And merely emerge aflame is an utter delight

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/01/sharing-joy.html

"Hold on, be brave" - the eternal maternal refrain.
Taught to be thought, implanted in every infant.
The most meticulous mantra, made in the mind.
To be repeated eternally for every tough situation you'll find.
Have to eat something bad tasting? - Hold on, be brave.
First time public speaking? - Hold on, be brave.
Getting an injection? - Hold on, be brave.
Experiencing life? - Hold on, be brave.
So, here's the thing. The thing when we're told to be brave.
We're told what bravery is - bravery is saving the world.
It is overcoming incredible odds. For situations it's incredibly odd to be in.
But we're shown countless examples. Count and sample many unrealistic situations.
"Bravery - it only counts if you save a life."
What if you have to be brave every day?
What if bravery is getting upon the morning?
Encountering others? Wearing a smile?
Does it count? Does it matter?
What about if bravery is saving one life every day?
Bravery is not just what is done. It is the place it is done from.
Bravery is knowing, deep down, that you did all you could.
Even when the ridiculous becomes routine,
          when the essential is almost reverential,
           when the poignant is personal,
            when you deliver daily on the down-right difficult,
Then maybe, you get to redefine bravery for yourself.

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/01/brave.html

I've been lost in space many times
Misplaced my way and trespassed lines
It's fine. I guess.
Sometimes I leave a mess
But mostly, it's for the best.
Because it's only by going places we aren't meant to
That we realise where we're supposed to be.
Echolocate our way to home in the midst of this cacophany.
So let us sound out the solution to the problem I now see
I'm not exactly sure when I am supposed to be.
Yes you read that right, and no, I'm not talking in jest.
Because in this world I always have so little time to invest.
Just as I get comfortable, settled in to a season
It always ups and passes by without reason
The earth keeps on spinning and rotating and falling
Meaning I'm never winning and I find this appalling
I guess, well, I just take more time than most to adjust
So I find myself out of sorts. And I've cried and I've cussed
But it doesn't matter. Watches I watch don't stop on a dime.
And I find myself, once again, a man out of time.
Maybe I should go forward. Predict the next trend.
But then it wont be long until, that too, will end.
I'll be out of sorts once more, once more out of mind.
So maybe then there's a whole different decade to find?
I've seen people do it. Stick themselves in the past.
They cling desperately until their very last.
While it's sad in a way, it's also inspiring.
They think I'm there judging, I'm simply stood there admiring.
Impressed by the strength of character, resilience of mind.
To always keep their clockwork up tight - never unwind.
But that's their destiny, so I'll be aware just for me.
A traveller should never know where they're supposed to be.

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2016/12/lost-in-time.html

You're heartbroken again, aren't you?
You've seen life's turmoils through and through
Well don't worry. After all it should be plain to see
There's always plenty more fish in the sea
(This line was said with a big, wide, devious smile
That hung on the narrator's face for a while
After all, they knew your life and knew the score
And how many times you'd heard that line before)
Of course, the issue with that saying is clear
You'll find another fish if you persevere
But some fish are sharks, with a nasty bite
Some fish only come out in the dead of night
Some are whales, which may still be your thing
Some, like the jellyfish, pack a powerful sting
Oh they're beautiful to look at, don't get me wrong
You just never want to hang around them for long
Some like a swordfish you'd never want to kiss
Some camouflage away and are easy to miss
A pufferfish will put on such a mighty display
But will look very different at the end of day
It seems, if you have high standards, you might still prove
It's possible to be alone even with an ocean-full to choose
But here's the catch, if you care to take my bait
All those flawed fish? They still find a mate
Despite all the flaws in someone you wish to uncover
They still find someone to adore and call their lover
Because here's where this analogy of you as a fisherman may cease to be true:
Somewhere out there someone is fishing for you too. ***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2016/12/fish-in-sea.html

This fragile mind was meant for only one end.
See, this fragile mind, it was meant to bend.
Though it's so very easy to snap and shatter
Particularly for thoughts that matter
It must stand strong, must persevere
For every thought it minds to hear
You can talk of fractures, talk of a tear
A raptured mind will withstand any wear
Brains? They fold. They envelope all info anew
If given something bad it'll absorb that too
It can't discriminate, there's no auto-filter
Removing that which will knock you off kilter
To embrace life, whatever trouble it may throw
Is the only way any fragile mind will grow
This fragile mind may have been through the worst
Want to shut itself out, feel though it was cursed
But this fragile mind will absorb that emptiness
Until it's filled with nothing, and then nothingness
Fill it with wonder. Fill it with joy.
Come out to the world. Don't be coy.
Take small steps. The danger's not fake.
For growth to occur, there's a chance it'll break.
If you can get over the fear - and that's a big 'if', it's true
Then this fragile mind has some growing to do ***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2016/12/this-fragile-mind.html

I've never seen a man change their mind in anger
Not while they're screaming 'hang him' and 'hang her'
If they hate your message *and* they hate your guts
Do you think they'll ever admit to being a klutz?
Because when they remember the argument on their own
They wont remember the message, just remember your tone
Unless of course, they have thought of some sort of retort
And then they'll be eager to re-enter the verbal tennis court
Only focused on serving you up on a platter
Without being focussed on the substance of the matter
Then you're back-and forth, forth-and-back again
Without any actions of respect or refrain
So, here's what I'm not saying. That you'll be able to do this all the time.
That you can change without delaying and spin your heart on a dime.
Of course you are passionate, of course you care.
There may be more than feelings on the line here and there.
You will of course believe in the certainty of your case.
Just remember that your cause of disagreement has a face.
It may not be nice to have to admit
But this thought is one you'll have to permit
If you want to change a mind
I think you'll do well to find
That the source of words which seem to appal?
That person is still human after all
I've never seen a man change his mind in anger, but I have instead found this:
That it may not happen as often as I wish, but I have seen him change in kindness. ***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2016/12/mind-in-anger.html

Life is on hold

And feelings are cold

You have to be bold

'til a decision is made

You'll start to stress

Just do you best!

You can do nothing less

'til a decision is made

So hang on tight

Stay up all night

The future's not bright

'til a decision is made

The time has come

What must be done

Has just begun

'til a decision is made

You're nearly there too

You wont have much to do

If you just choose

As a decision is made

See, now, isn't this so much better

So much freer with every letter

You'll be glad it's over, even if you regret the

Time that a decision was made

***

I lay dying.
I should have been laid dead. But I lay dying.
I saw Death beside me. I saw her outstretched hand.
She did not force the handshake.
She never normally needed to.
Most accepted it willingly, grasping for her fingers like a child grasping for their mother.
Some, of stronger heart, raised their hand slowly. Controlling the ascent but always determined. They always sped up the last couple inches though.
My hand, by contrast, was forced rigidly into my side,
(Albeit grasped in a fist, to resist temptation).
Death, well, she didn't do anything.
Except wait.
For she had all the time.
I announced to the unlistening world:
"There is a contract.
I do not do this for comfort.
I do not do this for power.
I do this because it needs to be done.
The world would take me.
And I would gladly rest.
But for the fact that I am not done."
Though the world didn't listen, Death stood stoic.
She nodded with minimal movement.
The hand withdrew, and she did not.
She would always be there. Until I was done.
There could be no hesitation.
There could be no doubt.
I started my longest journey, with Death as my constant companion. ***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2016/11/i-am-not-done.html

I'm a seed, nuture me
So I can grow to a tree
Take my place in forestry
And start to develop properly
As I begin grow into my property
Because when I wake each day I see
This place I live and rest my head sleepily
While I may never define this place formally
As the one in which I form my ideas creatively
I have no doubt the influence it has subconsciously
That we can only ever be defined from our memories
Which can never be created fully independently
From our surroundings and also our inventory
We must realise, what helps us individually
To grow into something so meaningfully
That we must try to cut away externally
(Even if we only do it occasionally)
Gives us space to expand regularly
Beyond our current personality
And into what we aim to be
A tree full with greenery
That grows happily ***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2016/11/nurture-me.html

This is the lament of the voter, let me be bold
To experience this just once, before I am old
I don't want to vote out of fear
I don't want to vote out of fear
I don't want to have to vote cause I'm scared if I don't
That I'll be persecuted now and here
I don't want to vote out of fear
I have to say that it does seem recently
Only a lesser of two evils choice has been given me
And it may seem feeble but a vote for less evil
Is one that fails to inspire me
I don't want to vote out of fear
I don't want to have to chose between my heart and my health
Take my principals and put them up on a shelf
So I can hold close my nose so that (as everyone knows)
I can vote for someone I don't agree with myself
I don't want to vote out of fear
You're given two options, a yay or a nay
No reservations or nuance you can display
But we promise we do, next time a vote comes through
You can make a totally free choice on that day.
I don't want to vote out of fear
I get it, I swear, I understand
The last few votes that happened to be planned
It was really vital that I voted right this cycle
It just seems all the ones before had similar stands
I don't want to vote out of fear
It may be I'm entitled, but let it so be
Fear is never my choice frequency
It may be a crime, but I swear that next time
I'm just going to vote for me
I don't want to vote out of fear
Politics of fear be damned.
Let us vote honest.
Let them not scare us anymore.
We are the people.
We are the power.
We are the voters.
So, what will you chose? ***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2016/11/lament-of-voter.html

Tick Tock Tick Tock
Quickly clicks the clock
Millis Seconds Hours Days
Till our ending ways
Time is passing, Never lasting
Speeding fast, forever asking
What you're doing, Why you're waiting
Should be pursuing, not procrastinating
With every falling grain of sand
Spilling onto barren land
As dust turns into rusty crust
Do whatever you must
Time is running away
To your final day
Tick Tock Tick Tock
Quickly clicks the clock
Millis Seconds Hours Days
Till our ending ways
Time is a resource, of courseOne to increase by thought or forceDon't be caught into other thinkingOr your mind will be sinkingInto panic and anxietyWill steal your time quietly
You need to work in this fightCreate all time, day and nightRealise time is yours to use
Lest it be yours to lose
Tick Tock Tick Tock
Quickly clicks the clock
Millis Seconds Hours Days
Till our ending ways
Time is fluid. Time flows
Where it goes, man, no one really knows
But listen to me, and listen well
If you try to fight time you'll go through hell
Just let it happen, fall wherever it chooses
You'll catch it in moment, drop it in snoozes
But don't worry, man, and don't be so downbeat
You'll find the time once you find your feet
Don't be so arrogant to think you have control
Or so much pride you'll never go for a stroll
Embrace time, and the fact it does what it will
So come walk with me, we've time to kill. ***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2016/11/time.html

[Verse 1]

Back to this street where we began

Feeling you could have left something, you know

Yeah we're not feeling good

Picking up things you shouldn't need

It looks like the end of the trip as we know

As your bag is unfurled

Back to this street where we began

Feeling we could have left, we should, we can

[Pre-Chorus]

Stuck in this place we're caught by gloom

Into a room where it's nine and you'll faff 'til noon

And we know that we could be and we know that we should

And you know that you want to leave too

[Chorus]

'Cause it's nine and you'll faff 'til noon

And you said that we could leave soon

We're ready to leave and want to

We're feeling we should, you've just one thing to do

When it's nine and you'll faff 'til noon

You said that we could leave soon

We're ready to leave and want to

We're feeling we should

[Verse 2]

Back to this street, down to your feet

Losing your shoes and we're turning our cheek

We don't want to be mean.

Back to this place so we choose to say

"Man, it feels like we've been this way"

Now we wont ever be mean

[Bridge]

Back to this street, back to this place

Back to this, soon it will start again, hey

Back to this, soon it will start again

[Chorus]

'Cause it's nine and you'll faff 'til noon

And you said that we could leave soon

We're ready to leave and want to

We're feeling we should, you've just one thing to do

When it's nine and you'll faff 'til noon

You said that we could leave soon

We're ready to leave and want to

We're feeling we should

When it's nine and you'll faff 'til noon

You said that we could leave soon

We're ready to leave and want to

We're feeling we should

When it's nine and you'll faff 'til noon

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2016/10/faff-til-noon.html

Are contentment and boredom synonyms?
I mean this question only honestly
I'm going to take charge, go out on a limb
And say the answer is no. Well, mostly
There's no doubt overlap twixt these cases
When we no longer have drive or desire
Satisfied we have run enough races
With no need to keep pushing on higher
But I can be content about one thing
Allowing me to finish and move on
Boredom is absolutely engulfing
The most self destructive phenomenon
Without contentment, I'd never progress
With boredom I get caught in the process ***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2016/10/content.html

"Ladies and Gentleman. Please be ready.
The ride is about to begin.
Get ready for the world to move by fast
Because none of you are strapped in"
I've heard it said, that life is the journey
That was the type of mantra that would never concern me
Because we would try to strip it down to the core
Like - well then what on Earth are we travelling for?
Well let me tell you, plain and true.
That I, quite frankly, have no clue.
I've quizzed the navigator, asked the driver
I've talked to the world 'til I'm out of saliva
We've gone in circles at least seventy times
Life's given us lemons, but also plenty limes
I'm fairly sure we're moving, but no idea where
The passengers around me all seem prepared
But they keep on changing and switching seats
It just seems strange to travel on repeat
So here's what I think is actually the case
Life's not a journey, nor is it a race
While certificates are great to show what you've done
It doesn't make you better than someone with none
We are not competing. There is no "You tried".
There is simply you, 'til the day you've died.
Life is. And every moment, from beginning to end
Should not be a day for playing the greatest game of pretend
You don't know what's happening, nor do I.
Go find the questions, and just enjoy the 'why'
Be amazed at the world, both external and inside
But mostly, my friend, enjoy this ride.
***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2016/10/enjoy-ride.html

Being an adult is hard.
Mostly, because you never get a welcome card.
There's never instructions, in pencil or pen
On what to do or who to befriend.
You know that stupid question adults always want to ask?
What do you want to do when you grow up and leave class?
Here's a secret to take with you wherever you go.
Most of them are asking because they don't know.
We all end up in a job, a profession, a career.
But most of us have no clue how we ended up here.
But if it's fairly stable, and not too boring: then, to our shame
We keep at it - as long as it leaves some time to play games
Then, most of those adults stick at that one thing.
We forget how to dance, how to act, how to sing.
Don't get me wrong, we get really, really good at that thing we try.
People make spreadsheets that could cover the whole sky.
They've made numbers spring and contort into shapes
They've written so many notes trees flee in their wake.
But they grow up into one thing, and one thing alone
So here's a note for you all to put on your phone.
Don't grow up into one thing. Grow up into many.
Take every chance that life gives you, if it gives you any.
You will grow and develop, way past adulthood.
You'll keep learning forever, as every person should ***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2016/10/were-i-to-give-talk-in-schools.html

You think you're great mate, acting all aggro?
Turning up late and sat to chat in the back row?
Slave to no man they've never got your attention
Even though you know you'll just end up in detention
For ragging on and attacking the kids sat in the front
Who are just trying to learn you colossal cu....
Let's take a step back.
Write this message to the letter
This kind of attack
Is never gonna make things better
The cycle of profanity, a cycle of aggression
That's a very classical form of lesson
You've learnt it well, you've taken notes
It gripped you as you gripped kids by their throats
Now you're defensive
You know that you're in the wrong
But you don't get pensive
You just lash out at the throng
I don't know your past. You don't know your future
If you keep going this way there'll be wounds to suture
Events have led you to this place in life
Likely hardship, certainly strife
You must learn empathy. You must learn it quick.
That way you'll learn how not to be a dick.
The further you go on this path that you've found
The harder you'll find it to turn back around... ***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2016/09/a-good-lad.html

I always have two lungfuls of air

To give away at a moments notice.

That if anyone should care

I know that I can gift this.

I waste so much of every day

Spend so much time between living

That I will not miss a chance to say

A moment is gained by giving.

In exchange for my time, of course

You must make sure it is returned

By spending some seconds of yours

So that together, we have learned.

Do not feel bad, do not feel regret

If you ever just need five minutes of mine

Because the time will come, I bet

When another friend will need the favour in kind

So take my words, but first my ear

And let all you need go loose

So that I, just by standing here

Can give you a little boost.

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2016/09/kindness.html

I saw an old man, yelling to a crowd
For his age, he seemed strong and proud
He shivered with energy, full of fight
Though his tone throughout was only polite
He told terrific tales, beyond that sanity would venture
Yet the gathered held breath to learn the next adventure
He'd fought off Death, lost his Earthly brace
And began his soliloquy on a sojourn to space
Though the other stories made him seem off his trolley
This venture he claimed as his greatest folly
You see - he did not go alone, but in fact brought guests
Distinguished too, as he was a gentleman and no less
Logically, he deduced the most cultured souls
From history, fiction, and long lost scrolls
Dr Livingston, first, the great adventurer and gentleman
Arthur Dent for the resourcefulness and creative invention
The Mad Hatter as tailor, caterer, and talker galore
Captain Jean Luc Picard to lead as the exhibition core
A gallant crew, they reached their goal with ease
Exuberant with joy, they sank to their knees
Proceeded, as you do, to lay out a table and chairs
With a fine chequered cloth that they had previously prepared
Silver knives with scrumptious scones, clotted cream
A flat-pack butler brought saucers and China cups to the scene
At that point, barely able to hide their glee
They'd brought out the finest Earl Grey tea
It was then realised an error to test their mettle
They had everything they needed, minus the kettle
For such refined beings to lack a proper brew
Was a torturous trial they might not make through
Nothing would cause them more shame, nor more regret
Than so fantastic a breach of core etiquette
The Hatter insisted that they should not panic
That one would appear, for such fanatics
Between them they had such faith and belief
The universe would comply and solve their grief
Arthur insisted, though it was impossible, they should try
The Captain wanted to make it so with a cry
The Dr. said, it should work, he'd presume
The old man said this was when he had started to fume
For it was his job, his duty, to provide the crockery
But such lack of logic was simply a mockery
The others scoffed, and began to yell and shout
Only Russell's teapot, could form such a burden of doubt
The old man paused, the crowd held their breath
The philosopher here who had conquered death
Announced the teapot indeed formed, and raised the roof
When he unveiled there and then the burden of his proof ***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2016/09/a-celeststial-quest.html

Fire hot.

Fire tall.

Hot tall fire swallows all.

Flickers bright.

Flicker long.

Bright long flickers dance in song.

See it glisten.

See it spark.

See the way it lights the dark.

Growing fast.

Growing bright.

Growing darkness into light.

...

Fire gone.

Wood is cold.

Cold dark wood is sad to hold...

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2016/09/the-delicate-story-of-simple.html

The smallest stutter

The smallest change

The wings that flutter

Cause all that's strange

You want to predict?

To even estimate?

Here's my edict:

Leave it to fate.

See while all in this universe is indeed indicated by intellectual equations

And all attempts to adjudicate on outcomes are actuating amply

Mostly, I must make clear the fatal flaws in such fanatic infatuations

For chaos, that brilliant beast behaves beautifully but bastardy

So let's stop. Here's the scientific view

That small initial starting variations

Cause the final outcome to dramatically skew

Nullifying and causing potential contraindication

Chaos.

It's not purely random.

It's merely a fact of what is.

That life isn't easy.

We can't always know what's going to happen.

But even then. Nothing escapes life's laws.

Even chaos is trapped by the cold chains of the universe's equations.

Even in madness, there are rules.

Even through disorder, we can predict.

It's just very, very hard.....

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2016/09/chaos.html

Simply to me, I am an iamb type man
Trochees tricky to breed from the pen in my hand
Stifles all words, blocks this poet's progress
I find absurd, how much pain and duress
Spews from metres like this
Though I don't try to dis
It's clearly inferior
This poetic mirror
Reflects that fact, I wont take back
Any accusation, it's an actual attack
On what I do perceive
To be just a reprieve
From more righteous type flows
And more elegant prose
Trochees are tricky. I am an iamb man
Simpler to breed from the pen in my hand ***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2016/09/trochees-are-tricky.html