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Harry Horsman's treatment was withdrawn over a week ago and they are making him comfortable, he is now in Hospice care.

Susan Ashly…we can only hope that Hospice care can keep Harry comfortable. May comfort be found in collective love. 

                            OUR collective love To You Harry

Harry won a Trophy for Best Poem
A Date With Milton

Death comes to all like a great shadow,
servant of reality when the truth of it sinks
in leaving the experience embedded on
one’s soul. Milt, given to remembrance
in his lifetime, moments flashing by, when 
the congregation gathered to celebrate his 
time on earth. But in the book of scrolls 
winter is definite in which age must give way 
to the new, one, he’d readily give for 
the sprinkling of innocence created to start 
life’s process all over again, with perpetual 
regularity. He would, from behind the thin 
veil of Ionna, bless and comfort the unfortunate, 
the depressed, the lame of an earthly lifetime in 
songs of praise. Leave a recipe for a foregone 
conclusion. Auf wiedersehen, we will meet again!
Copyright © harry horsman | Year Posted 2023

Harry Horsman Poem
The Old Oak Tree

         Oh I am but a simple leaf
         withering within the gutter
         one summer of bliss
         now! Just an autumn flutter.

                   For some; destine to fall
                   upon stony ground, a part
                   of life’s infernal gyration.
                   Yet for those that fall
                   within your reach, to live
                   on within your soul!

         While limbs that stretch
         towards the solstice, create
         vivacious veins as channels of hope,
         a pledge of foliation continues
         to endure what spring has
         furnished; autumn expires. 

                   Yes! If we can but learn
                   from nature’s complex simplicity,
                   that life be of a cycle
                   from the seed we are conceived,
                   then let spring be my beginning
                   winter my exultant eve!

         Let our two cultures
         merge as one, the
         decomposed humus
         to become the sustenance;
         our transfusion the
         new beginning.

                   Let us breathe the
                   fragrance of born again;
                   let each slender limb,
                   stout body bear our
                   tenaciousness, each lyrical
                   leaf our life’s blood.

          Let us mollycoddle each
          precious tear that falls from a
          angry sky; dance gracefully
          upon the wind, embrace
          on moonless nights, bathe
           in summer madness.

                   Let us hear the bluebell call,
                   the daffodil pray, the apple
                   blossom bear witness; the
                   clamour of the field mouse
                   the pitapat of the butterfly
                   the silence of lovers in love.

             Let us be sanctuary to the
             symbolic songstress, scuttling
             squirrel, vulgar urchin;
             a fortress for the warrior
             a haven for the pacifist
             an inspiration for the poet!

 EPILOGUE 

                  The call of springtime
                   we will invoke,
                     logging representative
                      we will gladly choke;
                        nature’s guardian.
                          “This! Obliging old oak.”

       © Harry J Horsman 1997
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