Paddy J. P. Harris

Paddy J. P. Harris Poems

Why stand you there proud megaliths?
So stony faced and grim.
All back to back and looking out
Hiding the truth within.

Though now we see a dead and fallen leaf,
Within its mould there lies a seed of spring
That waits and hides within this present grief,
Until it hears the quiet west wind sing

The fruits that the summer was growing
Are picked from the bushes and fields.
I wonder if the creatures were knowing,
To us all their sweetness would yield?

Last night I dreamt a dream that stirred my heart,
The sort that grips the spirit and the soul.
Crept forth from out some quiet hidden part
Of minds most deep and guarded mixing bowl.

Sustainer of the western world,
Usurper of the grain!
From deep amongst the Andes hurled
By butcher men of Spain.

Do not expect to see Apollo here,
Though its writ that every nineteen years
The god does leave Olympus and appear
In this round temple, though in Brittonic shape,

The shadow lies upon the western world
And all is quiet, seeking pleasant rest.
The sheep are huddled in their woolly fold,
The mice and birds track down their cosy nests.

I searched and strained for where I’d find that guide,
As I lay turning in my lowly bed,
For verses long since buried deep inside
That melon shaped protrusion called my head.

There is a tree upon my garden lawn,
Where I have played since bleary time began.
Forever have we dwelt within one bourne
Of growth and blooming seasons, our weary span.

My hair is long and thick and curly,
So twisted that each inch seems less.
Not like some locks that are just whirly.
A tight and independent mess.

The rain falls down and lulls me to my sleep,
And as I lay enchanted by the sound,
A tale it murmurs of the salty deep.

I hear the echo of the sea
Within my mind and soul,
The constant murmur from afar
Unconquered ebb and flow.

When the darkling winds of dream
Are blown across the shadow meads,
And beat upon the window pain
With strength that none but gods can tame;

Old Yew that on the river bank is stood,
What have you seen and heard since first you rose
Between that grim and wild shadow wood,
And the gentle river that sparkles as it flows?

O take me Leannan Sidhe, *
I am waiting here for thee,
Up on the damp hill side
And the cold night mist does chide.

Earth awake! And pull this body down
Into your dank and muddy dungeon lair.
Disfigure that lifeless face that used to frown
On foul natured deeds, but smile upon the fair.

Alone I trudge over leaves and sludge,
In the dead lone cold of night.
Each noise I make, my heart does quake
Amidst this shadow realm of fright.

We must depart ere break of day
To seek the East.
Though I have long forgot the way,
Once there I shall tell you of the least

He stood upon a seaward hill
And gave a whistle, long and piercing,
Then without care lay down a sleeping.
And when he woke he found his stead,

No song or saga | is dare sung of them
That wearily warred | against William the cruel
In days of old | such deeds would be known
And glory given | to great men as those

The Best Poem Of Paddy J. P. Harris


Why stand you there proud megaliths?
So stony faced and grim.
All back to back and looking out
Hiding the truth within.

Your folded arms and old grey eyes,
And deeply rooted feet,
So long defied your enemies
You have no friendly greet.

We all walk round out of your reach,
Except those trained few
Who you allow to come inside,
‘Cause they’re as grey as you

I wonder if you have forgot?
You are so very old.
If time has supped your memories,
And your story stays untold.

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