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Anita Harris Poem
A long, loving hug from a cousin
Is worth more than hours of hired therapy.
Copyright © Anita Harris | Year Posted 2017
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Anita Harris Poem
O, God of mercy and The Word,
Be merciful to me.
Who keeps Your eye on each small bird,
I pray watch over me.
O, God of healing and of pow'r,
Send balm to soothe my pain.
Who puts perfume in ev'ry flow'r,
Renew my strength again.
May be sung to the tune AMAZING GRACE or AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL. CMD (common meter doubled)
Copyright © Anita Harris | Year Posted 2017
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Anita Harris Poem
Must
bring
order
to my mind,
my household, my life.
Each step builds on what came before.
Start small, add rise-and-shine routines, plus night-time habits.
Watch for amazing results in a short span of time for achieving orderliness!
Copyright © Anita Harris | Year Posted 2017
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Anita Harris Poem
When life gets heavy
And one is crushed beneath its weight,
Brains can short-circuit
If misery does not abate.
Flooding emotions--
They block off the rational mind,
Thoughts that twirled wildly,
But they never fully aligned.
Numbness on cat's feet;
Fog-filled mind choked with confusion.
Frozen decisions
In the blackness of depression.
Friends say to rest now,
To read, pray--find some enjoyment.
Music is healing;
Balm for the pain of the moment.
God will restore all,
Though it may be a long season.
Loving and caring,
He will revive lasting reason.
Copyright © Anita Harris | Year Posted 2017
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Anita Harris Poem
In the manner of President John Quincy Adams
My inmost soul will serve my God.
He is my sure defense.
He's my salvation and my rock.
I'll not be greatly moved.
Those men who plot for my demise
Are like a leaning wall.
They tumble as a tott'ring fence.
My God will slay them all.
Some men conspire to overthrow;
No words they say are true.
They bless me, speaking to my face,
But in their hearts, they curse.
My inmost soul will serve my God,
My future is with Him.
My savior, rock and sure defense,
I'll not be greatly moved.
(Can be sung to the tune AMAZING GRACE or AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL.)
Copyright © Anita Harris | Year Posted 2017
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Anita Harris Poem
At the top of the stairs there's a musty room
Full of curiosities weird and rare:
Seashells,
Hummingbird nest,
A globe of all the world,
A two-headed snake kept in a jar,
Newspapers from near and far,
Pinecones,
Octopus,
Drawers and drawers of butterflies,
A fossil rock,
Radio,
An ancient arrowhead,
Many, many books are there, just waiting to be read,
A portrait of a woman fair, his sister, I believe,
And up above your head you'll see
A swooping hawk--it's taxidermy.
Inspired by "Big Daddy" Edd Ingram's collection
27 August 2017
Copyright © Anita Harris | Year Posted 2017
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Anita Harris Poem
Slender branching twig
Swaying on summer morning--
Stick insect waiting.
Written 9/4/2017 for Chris D. Aechtner's Premiere haiku contest II
Copyright © Anita Harris | Year Posted 2017
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Anita Harris Poem
Images appear, randomly scattered
Under the trees, in the shape of crescents,
At the time of partial solar eclipse.
Pictures of the sun in near-full eclipse,
Like a deck of cards at my feet scattered,
Ev'ry card identical--all crescents.
Among the shadows, multiple crescents
Match the moon-blocked light of the sky's eclipse.
Between leaves of trees, the light now scattered.
Gaze and stand in awed amazement at the
Scattered, perfect crescents of sun's eclipse!
Solar eclipse 21 August 2017
Copyright © Anita Harris | Year Posted 2017
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Anita Harris Poem
A teacher I will always be,
But sometimes cases aren't for me.
I can't butt in; it's not my place.
If so, someone would bust my face!
Some jerk parks in the fire lane spot,
Or cuts me off without a thought,
He should be taught a lesson, see.
It's not my job. Just let it be.
If someone's talk is coarse and crude,
I want to teach them: Don't be rude.
They need a lecture--maybe three!
It's not my job. Just let it be.
They're thoughtless, selfish all around,
A shining knight cannot be found.
"The rules do not apply to me!"
But, (breathe in deeply, hold, exhale)
It's not my job. Just let it be.
13 August 2017
Copyright © Anita Harris | Year Posted 2017
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Anita Harris Poem
Repairs on the Labor Day holiday
To drain pipe a-drippin'--no headway.
Frustration is growing;
I think I'll be showing
These pipes to a plumber on Tuesday!
Copyright © Anita Harris | Year Posted 2017
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