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Best Poems Written by Stanley Harris

Below are the all-time best Stanley Harris poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Stanley Harris Poem

Playing Games With Tennis Balls

>Playing games with tennis balls?

Men, playing games with tennis balls!
Earn far too much dough.
In the game of tennis you know.
Some male players are now acting tough.
Saying they aren’t paid enough.
For playing games with balls not too rough.
Now they say they want more pay.
Than women, who with their balls do play.
Dragon, that last line sounds not right.
Might be read wrong, on first sight.
Guess someone will soon complain tonight.
We’ll blame it on AI, that’s right.
I’m glad they’ve all got the same dough.
When winning Wimbledon you know.
I still feel sorry for all them balls.
When served so fast into the air.
That’s the thing, I don’t think’s fair.
Why is it when men play ball games?
They insult women so.
Them that play tennis, with those tennis balls.
Some men really do you know.
If women should with those tennis balls play.
Men should never complain anyway.
For when women serve those balls so.
Men can volley them back you know.
Women may not be as strong as men.
In all sport games they play.
But neither do they throw tantrums.
If match points, don’t go their way.
I’m not a keen tennis viewer, that I must declare.
As I watch those poor tennis balls, whizzing through the air.
I had a job explaining that, to my friend Planet Nine.
He thought they were small planets, being hit for fore.
I said that was another sport, best we do ignore.
I wish all sports ball game prizes, were at least the same.
Played on a fair smooth plain
Not on a plane that flies so high.
You can’t play those ball games, in the sky.
So come on you men, do play fair.
Pay all prize money equally so there.
When women play, ball games with you.
They can be on equal pay too.
What else can I really say?
As I play with balls every day.
But as a poet, I don’t play swell.
Nor am I paid as blinking well.

Well done Dragon and you Spellchecker, sorry but we will have to divide the royalties with Planet Nine. Why? That simple he is bigger than us. Bye everybody. Stanley (The mad Author)<

Details | Stanley Harris Poem

I Do Love Food

>I do love food.

When I was young, food was rationed.
So much of this, or that, you were allowed.
Each person had a ration book for adults and a child.
So much butter so much sugar, a few ounces of meat.
If you grew your own produce, fresh veg was a treat.
And what was put on the table, you did love to eat.

Many years have passed, and food is not rationed anymore.
The choice on the supermarket shelf, tells there is no sign of war.
Now we are leaving the EU, what will the supermarkets do?
Will the shelves be empty and bare?
Or will more British produce be for sale there.
I do love food, so hope it’s there.
British, nice with a price that’s fair.<

Details | Stanley Harris Poem

Indecision No Need To Read Between the Lines

Indecision!

No need to read between the lines.

By Stanley Russell Harris
(the new mad author)
and (Poetry Soup Honourably Mentioned)


No need to read between the lines.
There is nothing to be found.
Right way up, sideways, or upside down.

What you read is what you get.
There is nothing hidden and yet…
You are looking, I know you are.

Sorry, there is nothing, I know I am right.
As this is all what I do write.
Now day has turned into night.

So please digest what I have wrote.
As I lay here a simple bloke.
Although my writing, is not a joke.

Just read the words I did write.
They made no sense to me tonight.
Was just that writing bug, alright.

I thought, what the heck, I’ll let it write.
Although I have nothing to say!
That bug will write until its day.

I will, have the last word today!
Or was it night, I meant to say?

Details | Stanley Harris Poem

It Is Book Year

>Most fictional books are pretend.
The hero should win in the end.
Unless you write a trilogy.
Each must end on a cliff hanger, agree!

Then the next one, you must buy.
Hoping the hero does not die.
But as it is a trilogy.
You know you'll have to buy book three. 

I am not advertising books on here.
I would not do that, do you hear?
Although I do have books of poetry.
Like this they are in print you see. 

Today, I am writing on here.
So all of you have nothing to fear.
From Smarty my Search and Rescue Dog.
Not a poetically minded dog.
Although some of my books, he likes to hog. 
This verse is getting far too long.
Any more a book will come along. 

So thanks Poetry Soup from poet me.
For allowing me to write on thee.
All those words inside my head.
Allowing me to write them here instead. 
So as i'm laying in me bed.
Perhaps I will fall asleep instead.
Of keeping them, stuck in my head.

Zzz Zzz Zzz Stanley  (The mad Author)<

Details | Stanley Harris Poem

The Football

>I am not a keen fan of football, although I did play for my team when in the army, I played left outside, sorry I mean outside left. Watching the TV the other night. Something triggered my brain cell to write about:-

The Football.

The football I used long ago.
Was made of leather, now you know.

Inside it had a bag of air.
I do not kid, it was just there.

Was not light, took quite a kick.
If headed, made you feel quite sick.

Men were men, in days of old.
I was one. So just be told.

Watched a match. The other day.
On TV when I switched on I say.

Was that a beach ball? I did see.
In pretty colours, he he he.

As I watched the match a while.
With just a tap, ball flew a mile.

Well not quite that far, it's true.
But tap it about, players did do.

Were some players swimmers, for they did dive.
Brought on my face, a certain smile.

Earn't a penalty. One did do.
Missed scoring the goal, he did it's true.

Football rose high in the air.
If rugby two points would be there.

But kick that ball, they sure did do.
So could my missus, I'm telling you.

She'd get that ball in the net.
As none would dare stop her, of that I'll bet.

But as that football looks so gay.
With pretty colours, I meant to say.

I guess them men could play all day.
As no one took their ball away.

Pretty ball diving too.
Is that football? I'm asking you.

If boys and girls come out to play.
They use balls like that every day.

Oh! It's hero worship, did you say?
Playing with coloured footballs today.

Well on that footnote I'm away.
To colour my football today.

I have to thank Dragon's auto punctuation for commas and full-stops. Although I had to type this statement myself as all Dragon did was , and . Have a nice day all you who read this here. If you do not, well I hope you have a nice day anyway, but you will never know I said that will you? (The mad Author)<

Details | Stanley Harris Poem

Cancer Is Life Changing

>It started with a lump you see
By Stanley Russell Harris
(A poetry Soup Honourable Mentioned Poet)
(The New mad Author)

It started with a lump you see.
As I was old, I just thought it part of me.
You know as old age goes.
Middle age spread!  Begins to show!
Of course I thought that was just part of me.
Oh!  Have already told you that I see.

As time went by, I do not lie you know.
My middle age spread began to grow.
Was not in pain, all was OK.
As was retired and enjoying my days.
Until that day when I did see.
My middle age tummy lump. 
Had moved to the left hand side of me.

And that insignificant middle age spread.
Changed my whole life instead.
Of course to my doctor I did go.
Straight to hospital he sent me so.
I wondered why, but I did go.
For a year I had examinations and scopes galore.
My mind a whirl, never knew the score.
Then one day a specialist said to me.
Stanley you have cancer you see.
At that moment my world did stop.
My mind went blank, could not think a lot.
Was a bit like having writers block.
But then I knew nought of that.
And my cancer news was worse than that. 

Six years have passed since that sad day.
And thanks to all in our NHS
I am now out of that mess.
OK I might not be quite alright
But of that cancer there is no sight.
I always pray and thank my God.
But the tears still run, I kid you not.

I cannot speak as I use to do.
I do not pass by if you speak as you do.
As if I know how it must affect you.
I know you are feeling just like hell. 
I only pray you will soon be well.
So like me you can others tell.
There is life after cancer.
So fight it and get blinking well.



Cancer is life changing I know dam well.
Some go to heaven; I know my sister is one of those.
My turn to join her has been postponed.
I know not why, I did not die.
Was it to say, do not cry?
I do myself I cannot lie.
Surviving is life changing, it has happened to I (Me). <

Details | Stanley Harris Poem

Football Is Like a Military Operation

>My local football team Ipswich Town have not been doing too well. Although they did win their opening match. They have lost the following two.  Football in my opinion  is like a military operation. For some reason my mind was instructed to write a poem which I delivered to the Team shop. As it was too far for me to walk to the main office. And as I was parked in town I thought I would save postage. Not sure what their response will be lol. 

Football is all teamwork.
Madonna’s you don’t all be.
Not one of you is a star.
You should gel as one you see.

You must all work together.
In perfect harmony.
In training just like soldiers.
Hard work it all might be.

But remember you are on the same side, working as a team should be. 
But when you are on the field, in war, or in play.
You had to face another team, your enemy for that day.

Now this is where teamwork comes in.
Remember what I say.
Look after and use each other.
Then you should win that day.

Stanley Russell Harris
(the new mad author)<

Details | Stanley Harris Poem

To Hell and Back With Cancer

>To hell and back with cancer, is my personal feelings, please do not take them to heart.

To hell and back with cancer.

It started with a lump to see right in the front of me. I thought it was old age.
But when it moved to my side, I thought that lump was, acting quite strange.

I have a team of GPs, at my local, National Health Surgery.
Was quite late PM, I saw one of them. To hospital quickly he did send me.

I drove there in the snow, you know. One, dark December night did go.
I wondered what was wrong with me! What did my GP feel? Or indeed see?

Walked into outpatients I did do. They read the letter GP gave me, to hand in too.
Oh, did I forget to say, GP wrote it out straight away, then sent me on my way.

Soon I was whisked away. That’s right, was a blur of tests that night.
Bloods, x-rays, many doctors too, said I had to stay there. It’s true.

Over a year, I had tests galore. Was at home, so tried them tests, to ignore.
After scopes by the score, I often thought, would they do anymore?

Then they dropped the bombshell. 'You have cancer.' My mind thought, 'hell.'
My sister died of that, you see. And I thought I’d soon be with she.

Those doctors thought another way, to save my life, they did say.
‘Strengthen this man’s weak heart. Then on that cancer, we can start.’

Papworth surgeons repaired my heart, was so strong now Broomfield could start.
In six months, they did just so, took out that cancer tumour, you know.

That ladies and gentlemen was four years ago, recovery was a tad slow.
But hey I am still here you know, boring you with my poetic flow.

I know we all cannot survive, I know I am lucky, as now I thrive.
I hope all you cancer folk out there. Survive like me and breathe Earth’s air.

But sadly if you have to go, to that Paradise, I do not yet know.
Seek my sister Alma, can you hear. And thank her, for helping me down here.

Thank God also who I do pray to too. I love him, as all folk should do.
Then when I finally have to go, I must thank him personally. I must just so.

I was laying awake all night as I usually think I do, although must have had the occasional unknown cat nap, as you do. When something told me i must write this poetic verse! My tumor was a GIST. A large tumour attached and feeding from my stomach. Without my knowledge and causing no pain. It was forever growing and I was given 10 months to live without treatment. I reckon I am in year plus 4 now. Have a nice day,life's too precious to ignore. (TmA) <

Details | Stanley Harris Poem

Tractor Boy

>Although I love writing, I would also like my books to sell. Then I can grant my wife her wishes and buy her a house by the sea. And if there is enough in the kitty one for me. I never miss a chance of free publicity. Last year our local BBC Radio Station, had an open day. I was raising funds in a small way for their charity of the year Suffolk Family Carers, So I was given a ticket by the nice lady on reception. Lots of local celebrities were there and me. Tractor Boy is football spokesman.

Have you met tractor boy?
I have and him perhaps did annoy.
I criticised them men in blue.
Well it's something, controversial to do.

Was because I'm a writer see.
Wanted some free publicity.
But when him I did meet.
He was sitting, not on his feet..

Was on a certain radio station open day.
The name I'm not allowed to say.
As when on their Facebook page did write.
They struck me off, they did one night.

Was only in a light-hearted way.
I mentioned my Smarty dog's I say.
Alright they spoke, both night and day.
Usually agreeing with what I did say.

But now my laptop's sick and away.
At the menders now I say.
So I don't worry night or day.
About that page, where I have no say.

I can get on with my Smarty book.
But at my files, when I did look.
I see I finished his latest book.

Oh this poem was about Tractor Boy.
I used his name, just as a ploy.
Just so you would read, about Smarty.
And his author, blinking me.
I'll try a short poem.

Having a tiring day.

Come on hands, knees and toes.
As upstairs I climb with those.
When day ends and I retire.
Where can I find new ones to hire?

As when that final step I take.
Make my weary way to bed.
I wish it was a stairless house.
A bungalow and not a house.

I know I used the house word twice.
Both the same reason, not poetically nice.
But if a bungalow I had got.
My hands, knees and toes, knackered, would be not.

I know that last line, sounded not right.
But was how I felt, is that alright?
But as I climb those stairs each night.
A bungalow, would serve me right.<

Details | Stanley Harris Poem

An Elephant

An elephant.
By Stanley Russell Harris

The elephant was so forlorn.
Was in a circus, there was born.
Chained day and night by one foot.
The chain so clanked when moved about.
For ten long years, it was the same.
In the circus ring, he was unchained.
Made to do tricks again and again.
If wrong later he was hit.
But no one seemingly witnessed it.
Then one day a man did come.
And money changed hands that seemed wrong.
But look that chain was now gone.
Back in my travelling trailer I went.
Bars so thick my trunk could not then dent.
So I was trapped where I went.
Into an airplane I was put.
I wondered what was afoot.
The plane flew high up in the sky.
I thought perhaps I would die.
And look that man is nearby.
Who did me buy, and remove my chains.
I wonder why!
Now the plane has ceased to fly.
The cargo door is open wide.
I feel heat in the air.
I wonder why? Did I die?
What’s this? Here is that man again.
With others, but still there is no chain.
All my feet are still free.
What on earth is happening to me?
Another cage and in it I did go.
I wonder if I’ll have to do another show.
And a chain soon on my leg, will go.
Later, when the lorry did stop.
There was no sign of a big top.
I trembled in that cage there.
A different smell was in the air.
Stepping out, I slowly stood.
On soil instead of sawdust or wood!
Still no chain was on my foot.
I’m used to being led away.
Now I’m following that man, I say.
The one who took me from that circus away.
And removed that heavy chain I say.
Now, what’s that noise I can hear?
It sounds like I do when I call.
But always heard no reply at all.
Dare I shout out a reply.
If I do will the man sigh?
I see him watching all the time.
He speaks kindly but looks so sad.
But you know I am feeling glad.
In fact, the best I ever have.
I must cry out so I do.
Raise my head, trunk as well.
And give off a mighty yell.
Then the silence that was here.
Is full of other trumpeting cheer.
There are others just like me here.
Now where did all those men go?
There is no one now to chain me so.
And look, there are others just like me.
Not in chains!
So I guess.
I am now.
Free.

I found the above in a scrap book of poems I wrote about animals, September 2012. I was recovering from both a heart and cancer operation and very high on morphine, yet it makes sense, well I think, do you? I admit to being an animal lover and was an RSPCA Inspector for 21 years. So biased towards animals. Have a nice Trump-ing day everyone.