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Recent Poems
by Alan Harris

We age in years, but we mature in moments.





Contents

(Click on any divider between poems to return here.)

A Flower for Manly P. Hall
Her Grace Returns
Paths
Old Hair
Poetic License
Jazz
Body
Sudden Entrance
Material and Soul
Atlantis on My Mind






Water lily

A Flower for Manly P. Hall

Unschooled in universities
yet flowing forth with lore and love,
he offers glimpses of the One
to aid the faltering and the fallen.

He weaves his generous writings
with threads of seeming gold
combined with rainbow shades
of truth and mirth and faith.

His lectures brim with eloquence
and kindle smiles at subtle wit.
His homely wisdom can be sensed
by any who have ears to hear.

On finding such a mind
as broad and pure as sky
a grateful soul is moved
to offer up a flower.




Her Grace Returns

When one's Muse returns
from a multi-year absence
in undisclosed locales,
the avenues in the mind
host a parade of images.

The inner church bells ring,
confetti flutters down
from open windows,
mothers hug the children,
fathers hug the mothers,
and it is just a dandy time.

Her Grace rides elegantly
in the back of a convertible,
waving, throwing candy
to eager running children
and kisses to everyone else
on both sides of the mind.

After the parade is over
she enters one's abode
and seats her welcome self
within the heart of the soul.






Path through forest

Paths

Found in May 2012 when cleaning
out my old wallet from 1986
Scanned original

Each path leads to another path
And that one to a third,
And on and on path leads to path
Until the way seems blurred.

The beauty of this path lies in
Its trodden permanence--
It beckons us to wear it thin
While traveling whence to hence.

This path winds gently left and right
As if ignoring straight--
Perhaps its founder had no sight
Or trod it very late.

Or did he follow waves of sound
That most folks fail to hear,
Which led him up and down and round
As far-off goals came near?

How paths begin we'll never know
(The woods will never say),
But all who have a place to go
Are thankful for The Way.




Old Hair

Some say
I am old
but at least
my shadow's
hair is still
black.




Poetic License
Bearer is guaranteed
the freedom
to write anything at all
or nothing at all,
in any form or no form,
in any color,
at any angle,
on any subject
or no subject,
using words
real or coined.

Bearer must endure
all consequences
of said writing,
for this is how it is.




Jazz

Jazz is
freedom
in a box.




Body

If you have
a body,
you'll be fine.

If you are
your body,
trouble ahead.




Sudden Entrance

Down below the library's
lowest level
we came to an entrance
brilliant white and ellipsoid.

My companion looked in
and called "Anyone in here?"

We began to enter but then
my companion put up his arm
to stop me.

We listened for a moment.

My companion whispered to me,
"He wants to come back
as flower drops."

Whereupon I awakened.




Material and Soul

Those captivated by materialism
Are walking and driving and flying about
Blind to the soul, to the essence. Why?

Things that can't be seen aren't there,
they aver. The very substance of us
and the Universal Divinity--denied.

Self trumps Soul in their being,
but all Self sees is Self and Matter
and billions of threatening Others
to impress or compete with or kill.

Soul, being One with Unity, is missed.
Bombs explode. Snideness burgeons.
People bounce and hit and hurt
like a pinball in its machine.

Awaken, humans.
Be.




Atlantis on My Mind

The existence of Atlantis,
like that of God,
is debated by the wise
and the foolish.

I could think that evil
was powerful enough,
when really horrid,
to pull down a continent,
with God's able help.

Kings are human enough
to go completely sour,
and priests corrupt the boys
to Papal tones of "tut-tut."

Evil isn't overlooked, but
is tucked away in cosmic
folds for later outworking
as with a storage battery.

Atlantis had a big problem,
and we here have our deeds
of various darkness and light,
unable to weigh the whole.

We have and will have help.






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