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Harry Horsman's treatment was withdrawn over a week ago and they are making him comfortable, he is now in Hospice care.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