Recent Poems

by Alan Harris
2018-2019

Haiku with a View

Contents

If worldly searching brings no lasting joy
or grasping ego causes loss of friends,
come home to Christmas.

If monetary loss appears long-term
or health is gone and only pain remains,
come home to Christmas.

If grief or sadness overwhelms your soul
for no one can replace a loved one lost,
come home to Christmas.

If winter in your life hides warmer times
and no one seems to feel the cold you feel,
come home to Christmas.

If family has disappeared from view
and memories offer nothing but a void,
come home to Christmas.

It is an inner place where calm awaits—
a comforting and ease for misery.
Come home to Christmas.

Above poem is included in Christmas Reflections

Drifting Floating on this inner river Surface always supporting Not needing oars or rudder Inward becoming onward Glancing against soft bank Returning now to center Moving always forward Assuming no destination No one giving guidance Fragrance wafting in Effects unveiling causes Shadows weaving slowly Friends seen floating by Saluting and passing on Permanence giving way Memories all smoothing Keeping in and keeping on Down merging with up Dreaming hidden ocean

PDF for printing

Ball Game He came home from school and slammed the front door from habit. “Mom,” he called. “Yes?” “Where's my baseball and bat and glove?’ “I don’t know. You’ll have to look for them.” “Okay.” He rummaged in the kitchen closet for a minute or two then walked heavily across the kitchen. “Did you find them?” he heard from upstairs. “Yes, Mom. Thanks.” He walked out the back door empty-handed and walked due north for what seemed to be two or three hours. He kept his path as straight as he could and climbed over fences and other obstacles. He even swam across a creek or two— or waded, one. He sort of flapped his arms and sort of flew up above the whole town and sort of looked around and was glad that he could fly and no one else could. But then all of a sudden the novelty sort of fell off the whole thing so he flew down and landed in the back yard and walked into the house and slammed the back door sort of hard and she said did you have a good game and he said yes.

Tilting When fall falls in, Nature's eyes grow dimmer into the sleep of winter. Does anyone think to ask "Why?" Oh, you say, the earth's axis is 23 degrees tilted, and as it revolves around the sun, the seasons cycle. But why 23 degrees? What tipped the earth? Are people tipped 23 degrees inside, causing hot and cold emotions? Are our dreams for the future tipped 23 degrees from coming true? Does our day tip 23 degrees before evening? Nothing seems exact on this physical plane, nor is it exact on the mental plane. Exact triangles are hollow. Exact circles become spirals. If I try to think straight, I'm about 23 degrees off, tipped to the side by self. But whatever created 23 degrees, bless fall and its beautiful falling in.

To Be a Butterfly

Butterflight A new monarch just out of its cocoon flits over the yard over the city park over sweet marigolds over two boys playing catch over a white-haired man working on his 1966 Chevy over an Amway salesman with his bulging briefcase back and fitfully forth dodging into a rose bush sipping necessary nectar flying quickly up again over lawns and fences never to be seen twice by surprised admirers along its jerky flight to a final destination farther away than anyone can imagine

Dream The universe turns over in its sleep and dreams a trillion "big bangs."

What To Do Place your center in the Center— the who-most of your core in the God-most of the Cosmos for the Now-most of Forever.

Urge From ego-egg of separateness we someday hatch because we must.

Arrangements Dogs fuss with their beds— people take out mortgages— for a place to sleep.

Illumination Full moon through the trees reflects the Lord of Being— some just think it's neat.