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A Countryside Dream

Harry and his wife were up in their loft
at their home just outside Felixstowe
they were rummaging through stuff
left to them by his eccentric Aunt Flo.
'Old Flo loved to collect antiques, said Harry
she was always going to auctions and sales
so you never know what we could find
look, remember this old painting she bought in Wales? '
They wiped away years of dust and cobwebs
to reveal a picture of verdant fields and a stream
in the bottom corner was the artists signature
on the back were the words: A Countryside Dream.
Whilst looking for the picture and artist on the Internet
Harry suddenly began to sweat and then shake
because unbeknown to his eccentric Aunt Flo
she had obtained a masterpiece by the great Mr Cake.
So the painting went up for sale at Sotheby's
Harry and his wife wondering how much would it make?
It eventually sold for a staggering Fifty Million Quid
this Victorian masterpiece by the illustrious Mr Cake.
But sadly this tale isn't all what it seems
as poor old Harry was just having a weird dream
he'd fallen asleep whist watching the Antiques Roadshow
after eating far too much Cake, and Ice-Cream!

poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Harry the Wu

What can I do, Harry the Wu,
A policeman will come
And ask questions of you,
He'll pull out his book
And his pencil, too,
And look very sternly
At Harry the Wu.

Oh, Harry the Wu, what did you do,
While I was in bed
Going down with the flu,
I didn't get up until
Half past two,
And you're so impatient,
Harry the Wu.

I knew there was something that
I had to do,
I had to get up and feed
Harry the Wu,
That bowl in the fridge of
The left-over stew
Was meant for your dinner,
Harry the Wu.

Oh what can I do, Harry the Wu,
They'll probably lock you
Away in the zoo,
And then you will miss me
And I'll miss you too,
Life is a tragedy,
Harry the Wu.

I thought that you knew,
Harry the Wu,
That there are some things
You are not meant to do,
Now all that is left is
The Postman's shoe,
His hat and his bag
You have eaten them too.

What can I do, Harry the Wu,
You've ripped off the policeman's
Trousers, too,
You'd better go hide in
The chimney flu,
Stop wagging your tail at me
Harry the Wu.

13 April 2009

poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Harry Rag

Ah, tom is young and tom is bold
Tom is as bold as the knights of old
But whenever he gets in a bit of a jam
Theres nothing he wont do to get a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Do anything just to get a harry rag
And he curses himself for the life hes led
And rolls himself a harry rag and puts himself to bed
Ah, toms old ma is a dying lass
Soon they all reckon shell be pushing up the grass
And her bones might ache and her skin might sag
But still shes got the strength to have a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Do anything just to get a harry rag
And she curses herself for the life shes led
And rolls herself a harry rag and puts herself to bed
Ah, bless you tax man, bless you all
You may take some but you never take it all
But if I give it all, I wont feel sad
As long as I got enough to buy a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Do anything just to get a harry rag
And I curse myself for the life Ive led
And roll myself a harry rag and put myself to bed
Ah, the smart young ladies of the land
Cant relax without a harry in their hand
And they light one and they boast and brag
So content because they got a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Do anything just to get a harry rag
And theyll light one and theyll boast and brag
So content because they got a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Ill do anything just to get a harry rag
And I curse myself for the life Ive led
And roll myself a harry rag and put myself to bed

song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Harry Rag

Ah, tom is young and tom is bold
Tom is as bold as the knights of old
But whenever he gets in a bit of a jam
Theres nothing he wont do to get a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Do anything just to get a harry rag
And he curses himself for the life hes led
And rolls himself a harry rag and puts himself to bed
Ah, toms old ma is a dying lass
Soon they all reckon shell be pushing up the grass
And her bones might ache and her skin might sag
But still shes got the strength to have a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Do anything just to get a harry rag
And she curses herself for the life shes led
And rolls herself a harry rag and puts herself to bed
Ah, bless you tax man, bless you all
You may take some but you never take it all
But if I give it all, I wont feel sad
As long as I got enough to buy a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Do anything just to get a harry rag
And I curse myself for the life Ive led
And roll myself a harry rag and put myself to bed
Ah, the smart young ladies of the land
Cant relax without a harry in their hand
And they light one and they boast and brag
So content because they got a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Do anything just to get a harry rag
And theyll light one and theyll boast and brag
So content because they got a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Ill do anything just to get a harry rag
And I curse myself for the life Ive led
And roll myself a harry rag and put myself to bed

song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Harry’s Come Marching Home Again (Written In March 2008)

Harry’s come marching home again, Hooray! Hooray!
From Afghanistan, not to roam again, he is back, to stay.
Whilst the flags are out and the bugles blare
I am sure he wishes he still were there.
And we all feel proud Prince Harry has come back home.

Harry’s come flying home again, Hooray! Hooray!
Since media hacks have hunted him down as prey, for pay.
They’ve snitched and let the cat out of the bag
And he’s had to fly home and brave jet lag
And I’m sure he’s sick he’s had to come flying home.

Harry’s come sailing home again, Hooray! Hooray!
It would just have been a security risk to stay, they say.
Now the papers groan and wonder what
They can do with him, now he can’t get shot
But they’ve got their scoop now Harry’s come sailing home.

Harry’s come driving home again, Hooray! Hooray!
Now he can go back on the town again, to play and stray
And the paparazzi will take their snaps
While he’s on the booze with a few of the chaps
And they’ll take their cut now Harry’s come driving home.

Harry’s come marching home again, Hooray! Hooray!
From Afghanistan, not to roam again. Is he back to stay
Till the next time he is sent off to fight,
If they hush it up? Will it all be right?
Do we all feel proud Prince Harry has come back home?

poem by C. Richard Miles
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Brickie

Sometimes his false teeth fell out as he ate
his sandwiches in the tea-break; but he had
the laughing eyes of a barrow boy and the
stride of Goliath. He liked a pint after work
and hated it when children didn`t get enough to eat.
No fan of book learning he was clever in his own way
- he could put up a wall quicker than a fat aunt
could crush a lost biscuit by sitting on it - and
we all liked him, even the boys from Letterkenny who
never said much.

We were gods of sand and gravel.
We could build anything.

And when we drove home through Islington
we all sang, Krishna like:

Harry Brickie, Harry Brickie, Brickie Brickie, Harry Harry.

Here`s to you mate.
Please forgive me for writing a poem about you.

poem by Leslie Philibert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Harry Truman

America needs you
Harry truman
Harry could you please come home
Things are looking bad
I know you would be mad
To see your favorite men
Prevail upon the land you love
Americas wondering
How we got here
Harry all we get is lies
Were gettin safer cars
Rocket ships to mars
From men whod sell us out
To get themselves a piece of power
Wed love to hear you speak your mind
In plain and simple ways
Call a spade a spade
Like you did back in the days
You would play piano
Each morning walk a mile
Speak of what was going down
With honesty and style
Americas calling
Harry truman
Harry you know what to do
The world is turnin round and losin lots of ground
Oh harry is there something we can do to save the land we love
Oh woah woah woah
Americas calling
Harry truman
Harry you know what to do
The world is turnin round
And losin lots of ground
Harry is there something we can do to save the land we love
Oh
Harry is there something we can do to save the land we love
Harry
Harry is there something we can do to save the land we love

song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poor old Harry!

Harry looked in his mirror
and he didn't like what he saw
his hair was thin and Grey
in fact he didn't have a lot anymore.
Although he was now in his fifties
he wanted to appear trendy and young
so when he noticed his thinning locks
it upset him because he was highly strung.
So he decided to change his look
and he went and bought himself a wig
Harry began to dress like a teenager
and pumped Iron to build muscle real big.
His wife thought that he'd gone mad
or he was having a secret affair
but Harry thought he looked great
especially with his new dark hair.
He felt like a young man again
as he danced at the disco every Saturday
but one night he slipped a disc in his back
and a strong wind blew his toupee away.
So no longer could he lift any heavy weights
and he couldn't afford another costly wig
then all that muscle turned to fat
and he grew large and very big.
So Harry decided to just age naturally
but alas things didn't go according to plan
sadly his wife had her own mid-life crisis
and she ran off with a much younger man!

poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Harry

you must be smellin' cherries and strawberries and peaches
and plums
roses and dandelions

special lovin' on the nite I spent with you
it was the best that I've had lately
but it didn't mean anything
and I will be glad when you stop callin' me

harry
don't wanna be your girlfriend
but boy when you want the lovin'
come and see me harry

swore my ever lasting true love to you
said that I need ya I want ya didn't I baby
but I was just kiddin' 'round
and I will be glad when you stop callin' my house

harry
don't wanna be your girlfriend
but boy when you want the lovin'
come and see me harry

it's a shame harry
cause you such a beautiful thing harry
you tell em that you love and I bet you do
but love's not my thing right now harry
all I wanna do is swing
and when you're ready
I'm here for you

please harry
stop callin' me

harry
don't wanna be your girlfriend
but boy when you want the lovin'
feel free to come and see me harry

song performed by by Macy Gray from The ID
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Letter To A Soldier

Letter To A Soldier

A soldier got a letter, from the one he loved the most,
he looked at her new picture and he began to boast,
about his lovely wife and their kids back home,
which made all his buddies, think about their own,
when he was all alone, with her letter in his hand,
he thought about the love they had, and began to understand,
the reasons he had for fighting, and the sacrifices he had to make,
so the freedom of his family, no one could ever take,
he kissed the letter as though it was his wife,
it would have to do him, through all his pain and strife,
he kept the letter with him, right next to his heart,
as if it would protect him, during the battles he knew would start,
though many men were wounded, and some of them had died,
he kept the letter with him, it gave him strength inside,
the letter told him, all he had to know,
that his family missed him, and they loved him so,
so all you married ladies, with a husband in Iraq,
send him a little something everyday, until he finally does come back,
tell him about the children and the little things they do,
tell him how much you love him, you know he misses you,
soon this war will be over, and the killing all will end,
there will be a smile upon your face, when you welcome home,
YOUR BEST FRIEND.

written by Harry Bryant
28 August 2008 ©
all rights reserved

poem by Harry Bryant
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Another Harrys Bar

Wet wind on the sidewalk: Im staring at the rain.
Walking up the street, yeah, and walking down again.
And my feet are tired and my brain is numb.
See that broken neon sign saying, hey, in you come.
Got the scent of stale beer hanging, hanging round my head.
Old dog in the corner sleeping like he could be dead.
A book of matches and a full ashtray.
Cigarette left smoking its life away.
Another harrys bar -- or thats the tale they tell.
But harrys long gone now, and the customers as well.
Me and the dog and the ghost of harry will make this world turn right.
Itll all turn right.
Gods tears on the sidewalk: its the mother of all rain.
But in the thick blue haze of harrys, you will feel no pain.
And you will feel no soft hand slipping on your knee.
You dont have to pay for memories, they will all come free.
Another harrys bar -- or thats the tale they tell.
But harrys long gone now, and the customers as well.
Me and the dog and the ghost of harry will make this world turn right.
Itll all turn right.
Now when harry was a young man, harry was so debonair.
He walked a bouncy step in his shiny shoes.
And when harry was a young man, well, harry could walk on air.
He mixed a mean cocktail and he talked you through the late news.
You want to hear some great news?
Harrys still here.
Wet wind on the sidewalk: Im still staring at the rain.
Walking up the street, and Im walking down again.
And my feet are tired and my brain is numb.
See that broken neon sign saying, hey, in you come.
Another harrys bar -- or thats the tale they tell.
But harrys long gone now, and the customers as well.
Me and the dog and the ghost of harry will make this world turn right.
Itll all turn right.
Another harrys bar.
And another harrys bar.
And another, and another harrys bar.

song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Box Car Harry

The railroad dick looked straight at him, eyes unwavering, beady-eyed, menacing, and Harry counted his change to see if there was enough for a bribe; searched his thoughts for an escape route, but he was not as young as he used to be and the dick was young, legs like a deer.

He tussled Barney’s hair and said:

“Go there in that thar car and wait for me, got to dump the dick. Wait for my whistle.”
Barney looked up him hesitantly and Harry stammered hoarsely

“Go! ”

Barney scrambled on all fours the way Harry had taught him and quickly disappeared under cover of the dark Chicago night.

Always, the dick against the Bos, the rich against the poor was Harry’s thought, been that way since her was born, the wanders, the lose, the lose people on the road trying to find an odd job and a meal, against the railroad fat cats trying to exterminate the railroad people, who what was just trying to get by.

Harry held his breath and told himself to concentrate and finally turned back to the dick and showed himself, full on so as the dick could get a good look at him. The dick wide-eyed and incredulous stared hard at Harry surprised by the brazenness of the tramp and stood stock still for a moment, prey in the eyes of the predator.

Harry swayed a little left and then a little right like a running back taunting the linebacker, which way boy, am I going to bolt, which way is the question. Harry feinted a dash to the right and the dick crouched right ready for the chase, Harry smiled and then feinted to the left, testing the dick’s reflexes. The dick danced to the left enjoying the thrilling moment before the chase.

Harry guessed Barney had had time to secure himself in the car and then dashed straight toward the dick, who was thoroughly surprised and steeled himself for what he thought would be a crash between the two men. But Harry at the last minute slanted right allowing the dick to remain close behind but not enough to lay hand on him.

He headed for track 13 for the Great Northern line car.
The dick was breathing behind him; Harry could hear his labored breaths, close enough but not close enough to grab, what was what Harry wanted.

He hit the Northern line yard and saw number 13 looming. The dick was laughing behind him yelping with the sheer joy of it all, feeling he had Harry cornered because the Northern lot was a closed in one, a big wall in the back, a closed station and of course cars, most closed.

But Harry was aiming toward 13 and left up into the car and waited for the dick to catch up and see him. Harry looked down at the man’s heaving chest smiling his best Harry smile.

To be Continued

poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Going Bra Shopping With You

One thing that I really love to do
Is when you take me bra shopping with you
I pick out the ones I'd love to see you in
Then I start acting silly and the laughs begin

Not that one it's too small
And that one won't do at all
All the bras that make my blood pressure rise
Sadly for me they don't come in your size

You go to try on a few
I offer to come in with you
To give my opinion and lend a hand
But in the ladies dressing room men are banned

Back home I finally get to see
You wearing that bra picked out by me
And watching you take it off the way you do
I'm so glad you took me bra shopping with you

1995 Harry J Couchon jr

poem by Harry J. Couchon Jr
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Mess Of A Man

Meet a man,
A man named Harry,
He's in need of a shave,
And it's quite scary,

He's got hair on his chest,
Hair on his back,
Hair on his ass,
And hair in his crack,

He leaves hair on the soap,
Hair on the floor,
Hair every place,
Including the store,

Harry, dear Harry,
Do something, please,
Your hair retains odor,
And you reek of cheese!

Look at your cat,
What will you do?
Your cat's hairballs,
They're the hairs from you!

No hope, it seems,
For your hairiness,
It'll just regrow,
So live in your mess.

poem by Maddy Jones
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Harrys Circumcision - Reverie Gone Astray

Looking in the mirror
Harry didnt like what he saw
The cheeks of his mother, the eyes of his father
As each day crashed around him
The future stood revealed
He was turning into his parents
The final disappointment
Stepping out of the shower
Harry stared at himself
His hairline receding, the slight overbite
He picked up the razor to begin his shaving and thought -
- oh, I wish I was different
I wish I was stronger
I wish I was thinner
I wish I didnt have this nose
These ears that stick out remind me of my father
And I dont want to be reminded at all
The final disappointment
Harry looked in the mirror thinking of vincent van gogh
And with a quick swipe lopped off his nose
And happy with that he made a slice where his chin was
Hed always wanted a dimple
The end of all illusion
Then peering down straight between his legs
Harry thought of the range of possibilities
A new face, a new life, no memories of the past
And slit his throat from ear to ear
Harry woke up with a cough
The stitches made him wince
A doctor smiled at him from
Somewhere across the room
Son, we saved your life
But youll never look the same
And when he heard that
Harry had to laugh
And when he heard that
Harry had to laugh
Although it hurt harry had to laugh
The final disappointment

song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Debbie had to get up and slice me a thick piece of cake before she could answer. And I do mean thick. Harry Potter volume seven thick. I could have knocked out a burglar with this piece of cake. Once I tasted it, though, it seemed just the right size.

Maureen Johnson in Let It Snow (2012)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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He Sang those Songs Without Words

When they brought him to the Hospital
He was listed as John Doe.
He would have liked the irony-
as Harry Chapin fans well know..

His hair was like a lion’s mane
His face both kind and strong
Though doctor’s tried and nurses cried
Harry had sung his last song.

Like Wednesdays’ child with far to go,
He’d been on the road that day.
He was scheduled for a concert
For which he’d take no pay.

He sang songs for the suppers
of the poor and the deprived.
He may not have been “Religious”
-but he lived life sanctified-

His car was observed slowing down
And weaving between lanes
He might even have been dying then
of Coronary pains.

The trucker behind him could not stop
He rode the brakes in vain.
The truck smashed into Harry’s car
which promptly burst in flames.

The Trucker and a Motorist
dragged Harry from the flames.
I’d dearly love to thank them both
But I don’t know their names.
They Med-evacuated him
A helicopter came.
They brought Him to Nassau County Med-
listing “John Doe” as his name.

On that torrid summer day,
Without a breath of air,
There would not be an encore
That much, at least, was clear.

Left incomplete were several songs
whose words he never got to write.
Music that he never shared,
All lost within the dying of the light.

Harry’s eyes were glazing over,
It was certain he had passed.
I hope he had a peaceful end
when his Corey came for him at last.

(A tribute to Harry Foster Chapin: , Singer, Songwriter and Philanthropist. 12/07/42-07/16/81)

poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Songs Without Words

When they brought him to the Hospital

He was listed as John Doe.

He would have liked the irony-

as Harry Chapin was well known.

His hair was like a lion’s mane

His face both kind and strong

Though doctor’s tried and nurses cried

Harry had sung his last song.

Like Wednesdays’ child with far to go,

He’d been on the road that day.

He was scheduled for a concert

For which he’d take no pay.

He sang songs for the suppers

of the poor and the deprived.

He may not have been “Religious”

-but he lived life sanctified-

His car was observed slowing down

And weaving between lanes

He might even have been dying then

of Coronary pains.

The trucker behind him could not stop

He rode the brakes in vain.

The truck smashed into Harry’s car

which promptly burst in flames.

The Trucker and a Motorist

dragged Harry from the flames.

I’d dearly love to thank them both

But I don’t know their names.

They Med-evacuated him

A helicopter came.

They brought Him to Nassau County Med-

reporting “John Doe” as his name.

On that torrid summer day,

Without a breath of air,

There would not be an encore

That much, at least, was clear.

Harry’s eyes were glazing over,

It was certain he had passed.

I hope he had a peaceful end

when his Corey came at last.

(A tribute to Harry Foster Chapin: , Singer, Songwriter and Philanthropist. 12/07/42-07/16/81)

poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Uncle Harry

Oh, never let on to your own true love
That ever you drank a drop;
That ever you played in a two-up school
Or slept in a sly-grog shop;
That ever a bad girl nursed you round –
That ever you sank so low.
But she pulled you through, and it's only you
And your old mate Harry know.

"Billy the Link" they called you then,
And it makes me sad to think
Of the strenuous days when it took three cops
And a pimp to couple the Link.
"Mister Linkhurst" they call you now,
And your kitchen garden grows;
And no one knows in your family,
But your Uncle Harry knows.

Oh, never let on to your fair young bride
How a "straight" girl stabbed your heart
With a devilish wire to the Western side
Where we were a world apart.
With pick and shovel you fought it out
Where the red sirocco blows;
And no one knew in the gang save you –
But your old mate Harry knows.

Oh, never let on to your own good wife,
For a tender heart has she,
Of the girl that loved and the girl that lies
In the graveyard there by the sea!
'Twas not for his "manners" she loved the cad,
'Twas not for his verse or prose,
But the pity she felt for the country lad –
And your Uncle Harry knows.

The bad girl went where the bad girls go
And I see her dark eyes yet;
The good girl left me her broken heart,
But I trow that their souls have met.
The cry of the heart we send not forth
On every wind that blows;
You are hiding a sorrow from someone now –
But your Uncle Harry knows.

poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Robin And Harry

Robin to beggars with a curse,
Throws the last shilling in his purse;
And when the coachman comes for pay,
The rogue must call another day.
Grave Harry, when the poor are pressing
Gives them a penny and God's blessing;
But always careful of the main,
With twopence left, walks home in rain.
Robin from noon to night will prate,
Run out in tongue, as in estate;
And, ere a twelvemonth and a day,
Will not have one new thing to say.
Much talking is not Harry's vice;
He need not tell a story twice:
And, if he always be so thrifty,
His fund may last to five-and-fifty.
It so fell out that cautious Harry,
As soldiers use, for love must marry,
And, with his dame, the ocean cross'd;
(All for Love, or the World well Lost!)
Repairs a cabin gone to ruin,
Just big enough to shelter two in;
And in his house, if anybody come,
Will make them welcome to his modicum
Where Goody Julia milks the cows,
And boils potatoes for her spouse;
Or darns his hose, or mends his breeches,
While Harry's fencing up his ditches.
Robin, who ne'er his mind could fix,
To live without a coach-and-six,
To patch his broken fortunes, found
A mistress worth five thousand pound;
Swears he could get her in an hour,
If gaffer Harry would endow her;
And sell, to pacify his wrath,
A birth-right for a mess of broth.
Young Harry, as all Europe knows,
Was long the quintessence of beaux;
But, when espoused, he ran the fate
That must attend the married state;
From gold brocade and shining armour,
Was metamorphosed to a farmer;
His grazier's coat with dirt besmear'd;
Nor twice a-week will shave his beard.
Old Robin, all his youth a sloven,
At fifty-two, when he grew loving,
Clad in a coat of paduasoy,
A flaxen wig, and waistcoat gay,
Powder'd from shoulder down to flank,
In courtly style addresses Frank;
Twice ten years older than his wife,
Is doom'd to be a beau for life;
Supplying those defects by dress,
Which I must leave the world to guess.

poem by Jonathan Swift
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Harry's Circumcision

Looking in the mirror Harry didn't like what he saw
The cheeks of his mother the eyes of his father
As each day crashed around him the future stood revealed
He was turning into his parents
The final disappointment
Stepping out of the shower Harry stared at himself
His hairline receding the slight overbite
He picked up the razor to begin his shaving
and thought oh I wish I was different
I wish I was stronger I wish I was thinner
I wish I didn't have this nose
These ears that stick out remind me of my father
and I don't want to be reminded at all
The final disappointment
Harry looked into the mirror thinking of Vincent Van Gogh
and with a quick swipe lopped off his nose
And happy with that he made a slice where his chin was
He's always wanted a dimple
The end of all illusion
Then peering down straight between his legs
Harry thought of the range of possibilities
A new face a new life no memories of the past
and slit his throat from ear to ear
Harry woke up with a cough the stitches made his wince
A doctor smiled at him from somewhere across the room
Son we saved your life but you'll never look the same
And when he heard that, Harry had to laugh
Although it hurt Harry had to laugh
The final disappointment

song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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