The Writer’s Choice

The Writer’s Choice
© February 22, 2008
Richard O. Harris

It seems simple it is the writer’s choice
Which words will best serve as a voice
To help readers the world all around
Relate most readily to those sounds.

For then each writer must assume
The reader’s able to hear the tune
Or, at least, have some empathy
For one the writer may never see.

The reader, of course, may be far or near
The writer too, if it’s that we want to hear.
Speaking will often lead to misunderstanding
So written choices are much more demanding.

While writers struggle to enter a mind
The reader may often feel left behind.
Forgetting words have several meanings
Can lead to choices full of gleanings.

The words the writer uses may be good
Yet can, by readers, be misunderstood.
A good example, is if the words say,
“I rode my bike to work today.”

One reader may think this means I rode a Schwinn
While, yet another, is thinking Harley Davidson.
Such a simple word to mean two different things
But such choices I call “Tower of Babel” labeling.

As they are read words can only be given meaning
Based on the readers choice of such determining.
For no matter what words chosen from the “Tower”,
It is the reader who must give them power.

Another Day Dawns

Another Day Dawns
© September 12, 2007
Richard O. Harris

As another day dawns I begin to see
There is more to life than simply me
There are those needing a helping hand
And those who can always understand.

When I begin thinking of my own issues
I often forget there are those who choose
To dwell in harmony with all around
And find their joys in sights and sound.

But I also have choices to make today
In the way I act and the things I say

For not all is lost even when begun
I can start over without the setting sun.

When my day starts pulling me down
There is a way to turn it all around
By remembering others living today
And questioning why I feel this way.

Simply asking my self if it is my choice
To stay unhappy or begin to rejoice
In all I have and all I have been shown
To live my life happy as another day dawns.

For Giving IS NOT For Getting

For Giving IS NOT For Getting
© July 12, 2007
Richard O. Harris

“Forgive and forget.” Is often said by those
Not injured or hurting from what was chose
As the course of action causing the most pain
Who have little to lose and nothing to gain.

But For Giving is not needed when one is For Getting
Nor is Re-Membering the same as one Re-Gretting.
To For Get leaves nothing behind to For Give
While Re-Gret is a memory of pain we Re-Live.

So, while For Giving is a desirable trait
For Getting may cause repetition of the state
That builds a memory full of only Re-Gret
The next time the For Gotten is Re-Membered yet.

Not For Getting is important to sincere For Giving
For all the Re-Grets and the Re-Membering
Of past experience through which growth has occurred
And for moving forward in the spiritual world.

For Giving is one of the most rewarding acts
But Re-Membering is required for it to attack
Re-Gretting what might have been said or done
For Getting the spiritual healing begun.

For Give if you must but do not For Get
So when you Re-Member you won’t need to Re-Gret
The pains once survived will allow growth over time
Unseen growth of the most spiritual kind.

For if we are Giving as the word implies
Through spiritual health then we will realize
To thank those we might otherwise spurn
For we are Getting the greater return.

For Giving is not For Getting what’s done
It is loving, not the action, but the person
Re-Membering is not Re-Gretting lost time
It is a chance to allow our souls to align.

So I will be For Giving of both you and I
While I am Re-Membering love is still alive
I will not be For Getting what was our pain
Nor Re-Gretting what joy may have been.

You be For Giving your self another chance
Or you may be For Getting the same old dance
Which led to Re-Gretting the mistakes of the past
Re-Membering each pain that continues to last.

I Love You, Wrong or Right

I Love You, Wrong or Right
© July 8, 2007
Richard O. Harris

Last night as I was trying to sleep
Our argument returned to me
And I simply knew that I was right!

Then I heard my father's voice
Say there is a choice to make
And son, you can make it now tonight.

He said, you see your mom and I
Had our share of fusses too
But we never let you see us fight.

What I learned may help you now
Ease the bruising of your pride
What you do right now decides your plight.

I loved your mom and you kids too
And through the loving found
All in all, it’s best to be polite.

If you really want to win through life
With that ‘caught in the act’ boy smile,
And say to her, my dear I know your right.

The costs of proving you are not wrong
May be more than you think they are
And love may not survive such a plight.

Just try it and you will see my son
A sheepish grin can ease the strain
And may even bring you kisses in the night.

Soon you both will then begin
To remember when your love
Was young and full of fire, burning bright.

You can, of course, continue on
Proving your point of who is wrong
But you may find you’re alone each night.

When she decides enoughs enough
Takes your stuff and the kids too
Leaving you all alone, she just might.

Son, I’ve said enough for now
You have a choice to make you know
Remember, she did not marry you to fight.

But in the good times or the bad
It is sad to forget how it began
And let one argument destroy the night.

Also, don’t forget my son the times
She may have done the same for you
When other arguments began to alight.

Admitting you are wrong does not mean
You cannot continue believing in that
Which you honestly believe come daylight.

But your choice for now is simple
Be right, sleep poorly, wake up angry
Or let your self gain some from my insight.

Does not matter when morning comes
Who has lost and who has won
All that matters is you love, wrong or right.

The Reader’s Voice
May 11, 2007
Richard O. Harris

I have often heard it said,
That what is written is what is read.
Yet, I have also come to know
That such a thing is just not so.

For when one reads one must exhume
The tone, the cadence, and the tune
Of how the writer felt that day
About what the writer had to say.

It gets more tangled when the reader believes
The writer’s mind is one they can perceive.
Through relationships whether near or far
Writer and reader must cross a bar.

The writer tries to make it understood
The writing is mostly meant for good.
While the reader can only fantasize
What was seen through the writer’s eyes.

A writer may at times, of course, discourse
In negative vein over some strange force.
Then the reader must often decide
If this is real or just a diatribe.

No matter what the writer writes.
Good or bad can see no light.
For the words’ power have just one choice
The meaning given by the Reader’s Voice.

I, TOO 1990

I, TOO
1990
Richard O Harris

I, too, have witnessed the death of those who loved me as only a family could after my own family cast me away.

I, too, have seen the quick, seemingly peaceful death suicide has brought to some as well as the agonizing, tortuous laboring for the last breath of those who even then cling to the hope that “this is not really happening to me”.

I, too, have grieved over many young friends my own age and felt the guilty joy of one who has been spared—so far.

I, too, will grieve as each one passes and my life and my world lose their sources of companionship, talent, love, and dinner parties one by one.

I, too, will be forever “scarred” by what has become the holocaust of my day with all of its ramification –past, present, and to come.

Yet, I, too, will continue to live, love, and hope while I have breath left to breathe and life left to live.

I, too, will strive for happiness even as each of them die never to be replaced—only forgotten as those who remember them fade from history.

I, too, will work to make my life and my world a better place even as we lose our most valuable assets when these dying are no more.

I, too, will embrace life as I have learned from those who died that this is the place I belong and the purpose I serve—for now.

I, too, will cherish the love we shared and feel gratitude that I have come to know what the words love and life signify in all their shades of meaning.

Will you, too, bury your dead and join me with your memories of joy as well as pain so
we might ease the loneliness and increase the happiness each of us is able to feel?

What Does Family Mean? (Poem)

WHAT DOES FAMILY MEAN?
July 16, 1996
Richard O. Harris

Someone once asked me what family means.
I asked them how much time they had to listen.
Fried chicken, potatoes, and turnip greens
Were but a few of the things I planned to mention.

They thought I was joking and I did not understand.
So they asked me to please explain it a little more.
I replied that family was more than just a clan.
It was one place I knew I could find an open door.

With great effort, they over came their frustration,
And asked if I was enjoying these jokes.
I explained that family was an inspiration
And I wasn’t kidding, just ask any ones folks.

Then they said, Stop, let’s just start all over again,
Go back to the beginning and figure it out.
I stated family included ALL my kin.
I didn’t know what all the confusion was about.

All the little things that make a family
Are more than I can count times a hundred.
So, if you want me to say it quite frankly,
Family includes everyone that’s my kindred.

Those with whom I live and abide,
Those I love in every state,
All the members of my tribe,
Even those who show up late.

To me it all seems very clear
And to define it all real simply,
It’s all the people I hold dear
That I mean when I say family.

It’s all of those who have gone before
And all of those who will come tomorrow.
It is all of you and so much more,
In time of happiness and sorrow.

So to you I give my reply
Of what family means to me.
You are always there when I cry,
“I LOVE YOU ALL – MY FAMILY!”

Don't Ask, Don't Tell (Poem)

Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell
(First Published Poem 2000)
Richard O Harris

Through the years there are those who go unnoticed
Since if they’re noticed, they’re often crucified
They are thought by many to be unnatural
They are taught their feelings should be denied.

Don’t ask if they’re your brother or sister
Don’t ask if they’re someone you know
Don’t tell if they ever helped you
Don’t tell how they helped you grow.

Still they feel their feelings just as deeply
Each day as they search for happiness
And yes, their blood flows just as freely
When faced with life’s tests.

Don’t ask if they had someone to love them
Don’t ask how they have hurt having to hide
Don’t tell how many died serving their country
Don’t tell if they never had time for goodbye.

(Unpublished part of the above poem)

As they grow, they have no one to turn to
For fear those they care about will leave
So with those who are closest to them
They learn quick how to deceive.

Don’t ask how they feel about you
Don’t ask how they finally came to know
Don’t tell if you’re afraid of them
Don’t tell if you already know

Yet, when faced with all of life’s tests
To acknowledge their love is not allowed
For to show that love is abnormal
And makes them a danger somehow

Don’t ask if they had someone to love them
Don’t ask if they ever had cause to cry
Don’t tell how many loved their family
Don’t tell how they worked to provide.

Many serve in the Navy
Army, Air Force, and Marines
While those of us who love them
Must stay unheard, unseen.

Don’t ask if they ever felt lonely
Don’t ask if they have reason to cry
Don’t tell how many have gone missing
Don’t tell how many have had to die.

Grandma (Poem)

GRANDMA

1985
Richard O Harris

Well-loved, respected, honored, and cherished
Easily, happily, willingly she perished.
No longer there to help the idle time pass
When we’d stop for a minute – then had to dash.

Never again to feel her loving embrace
To see her warm, gentle, smiling face.
She was a true, loyal, devoted wife
Left with eight children early in life,

To mourn the death of her husband, brothers, and a few sons
Her place up in glory I believe she has won
She set an example that will be hard to meet
Her life like her house was clean, nice, and neat.

I’m sure there were times she stumbled and fell
But she always seemed to hold herself so well.
I know I’ll miss her as long as I live
And the love I had for her she’d want me to give

To someone else, whomever I may choose
A friend, a stranger, neither way will I loose.

The Beauty We Can Not See (Poem)

The Beauty We Can Not See
Richard O Harris

Oh, if I could describe,
The way I feel inside.
The words would be too beautiful to speak.
To strong for one who is so weak.

If I could show the love I’ve come to know,
Then others would have to cease to crow
About their vain and foolish cares.
And enjoy with me a love that dares.

If I could be for all of you,
What this is for all of me,
Then you would know how true
Is the beauty we cannot see.

HOW? (Poem)

HOW?

1986
Richard O Harris

How can I describe to you the things that have been mine?
The hurt, anger, sorrow, hatred all the time?
How can I tell you how this all has changed?
The secret to my happiness is something I can’t name.

It started with a man who was willing to die for me.
Willing to shed his blood and die in misery.
He gave his all and asked for nothing in return,
Except I be as a child – willing to learn.

It's Good (Poem)

It’s Good

1988
Richard O. Harris

It’s good to know that someone really cares for me.
It’s good to know laughter, good to feel free.
It’s good to know no one can take this from me.
It’s good to know the someone who cares is ME!

Heart To Heart (Poem)

Heart To Heart
Richard O. Harris

We have traveled the road apart.
We have traveled heart to heart.
Yet, we must now go our separate way.

Whatever, I may do and wherever I may roam,
Whenever I think of you, I will always think of home
And pray that we meet again someday.

If this should occur, you will hear me say,
“I loved you then, I love you now
And no matter where I’ve been,
I’ve been with you somehow.”

For you are another, yet you are a part.
And, in spite of all we’ve tried,
We are still heart to heart.

MAMA 02/10/07 (Poem)

MAMA by Richard O. Harris

As children mama taught us of God, and the love He had for everyone.

She taught us about heaven, where we'd be when our toils were done.

On 'rainy' days she taught us, said the angels were crying the most.

Someone had left this life to be with them, to join with the heavenly host.

So as mama lay dying, angels cried, her suffering done after many years.

And on the day my mama died, the angels rejoiced as I shed my tears.

I cried for the loss of one I loved and for joy as her pain found its' end.

The angels cried to welcome her above and cried to guide her soul to them.

And we cried, the angels and I, cried in sorrow, joy, and cried from love.

We cried all day the day mama died. We knew she would be welcome above.

I have seldom felt closer to God or felt the presence of His Host,

Rarely knew the joy of such a love, until this visit by Holy Ghost.

All of this happened the day my mama died.

And happens still when we meet, the angels and I.