Shirley Harrison Poems

This windy morn

has left its debris on my path
...

If I was to proclaim
in simple measures
my life was tragic
I am quite sure
...

when a Poet's pen

can write it in imagery
...

And as I trudge my way through

the darkest of moments
...

special English rose
...

We cannot function well
with a damaged brain

and we certainly cannot live
...

I was twenty-seven years' old

my spark gone
...

She hovers over me

when I sleep, when I wake
...

Tonight is Burns night
I have no haggis to devour
yet, in my living room the bagpipes shall play
of Scottish roots I have my grandmother to thank
...

Isn't it just so poetic

that we live and then we die?
...