Harry Horsman

Harry Horsman's treatment was withdrawn over a week ago and they are making him comfortable, he is now in Hospice care.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