He does not here abjure ... nor break his staff. Some new poems by Harry; still prolific at 92


I sit down on empty evenings
And read the poems I have written
Over the long life years
And wonder from where they come.
The eureka thoughts tumbling
On to the tongue from a million voices,
Still echoing through the space of the past
And taken down like dictation,
Half understood as by a pupil
Listening to a teacher in a rowdy classroom.

(Written June 2011: Unpublished.)

In this falling of apples and conkers time
Before the wrap up Winter comes with snow
And I am blessed to make another rhyme
To charm reluctant readers how to know

The beauty and the music of a verse,
That's heard in tongues of all the world
And known in every lover's praise and curse,
Or in the secret soul of man and bird

When a song is sung for love or life.
Oh rejoice! you poets who can sing
For your spoken verses ring and bring
Meaning where there seems not any,

That mystery, where all love absurd
And poetry, at first, was heard.

(Written December 2011; musing on the sub-atomic particle that might travel faster than the speed of light))

Eternally I was there
At the the flying birthday of the stars
Believing how to bear
The miracle of living till my tears
Gave me eyes to see
What gave the light to all over all.
And when what was to be
I knew in the beginning with no end
My tongue told the word
To come as it had been for ever
In my ears and I heard.

And then I became.
Slowly taking shape, taking form,
Conscious of the claim
For my making in the me and mine.
Joining there the two,
Death and victory, beginning, end
Even as I grew
Into the one that was always
On the day of all
Days, before the flying stars were born.
I am eternity.

(Written September 2011 for Harry’s sailing club)

Catching the early morning tide
At five AM when the sun rising
Paints Portsmouth harbour in gold
And the anchored boats,
Still as a Turner painting,
Are glowing as though being blessed;
And all the world seems holy
In that brief moment of glory
Before you return to the task
Of setting sail.

(Written May 2011: Published in “4U&U”.)

The poems of prayers I’ve written
To the unknown god,
With all the phrases of praise
On the high altar of worship,
Were not for fame or money,
But for the pleasure
Of the thinking ages
On the pages of the book of time.