As The Loveliest Diamond
Thou art, as the loveliest diamond:
The hardest 'substance' known to man-
To forget-even if I were prime, and
Accepted such, I do not know if I can.
Should I possess 1,000 lifetimes to do so,
And all manner of distraction along the way,
I would ne'er hope for this ardor to go-
And should it-I would surely rue the day
That this resplendent glory would have past,
From mine sight and be known by me, no more.
This, my beloved, is the hold thou hast
Upon me, and thou art all I ever could have hoped for-
Until that day when a 'flaw' was found:
One that you wished away, lest you have to face it.
Perhaps, this was not presented to confound,
But rather, as the most effective way to erase it,
Both as a source of fear and as an impediment
To what otherwise was amorous 'perfection';
Perhaps, its presentation was not yet meant
To be-and it was in need of further maturation.
I am reminded of sentiment that you ceded to me-
Which spoke of what you believed you needed to be
Before you could allow for this couplet-
Ironically, the diamond bespeaks of it:
The one factor that sets it apart from all else.
This 'imperfection' is one that only you may propulse-
With the reward, all that it now keeps away!
Once gone, all form of trepidation sweeps away,
Almost as though it were never even there;
Of course, why would you even dare
Take one step closer to this 'perfection',
Unless what awaits you is worth this self-insurrection-
Toward a part of you, with which you wish to part! ?
You must surely beg this anguish to part,
So that you may find the inner-contentment
That dwells within you-this will take commitment,
Both to yourself and to the gift that awaits you-
Both to what you could be, and what that creates, too!
-Maurice Harris,23 July 2012
poem by Maurice Harris
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You Shall Too
Thou shalt ne'er have cause for doubt, toward mine ardor;
Mine sentiment toward thine beautificence is not one with which I may barter:
Naught that thou shalt ever demonstrate
Shall have cause for my doubt, nor for me to hesitate
For even a mere moment, whence consideration thereof is drawn;
Herein lies verbalization of the amity that your beautificence did spawn:
What for hath God bequeathed me, with eyes,
If not to be graced with your Empyrean beauty, and realize
That if not for thee, I would have not cause to so loftily aspire-
As, I have as much cause to covet thee, as I do to respire! ? !
Your's is a beauty more rarified than any earthly jewel:
The magnificent, resplendent Angel, I have dubbed Guzel.
One day my beloved, contrariwise, you shall surely see,
As I unabashedly profess my love-you shall too-for me!
-Maurice Harris,2 November 2010
poem by Maurice Harris
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Quintessential Compeer
I know not, what the future may hold-
Yet, of mine ardor, thou may be assured;
Mine everlasting affinity, thine charms have cajoled;
I offer thee mine heart, hitherto e'er-coffered!
Thou art the counterpoint to mine soul-
Of this verity, I have not, the least doubt;
Thine grace, recompense for what circumstance stole-
Thou art a religion, to which I am most devout!
Our consort was fated, by God divined,
Thou art the quintessential compeer I knew He would find-
The apparition of countless aspiration,
The answer to mine most lofty mentation;
All offered me, is offered contrariwise, to thee-
Thine retort to same, I hope not, a surprise to me!
Maurice Harris,12 May 2011
poem by Maurice Harris
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Tomorrow's Gift
Believe me, it is far from your enduring charms
That beguile me this or any other day-it warms
My heart to believe that you may have cause to smile
Upon though of me, though we are seperated by many a mile!
It is alteration I find in myself, with you considerate;
Perhaps until now, I failed to consider it
As a factor in favor of a consortium betwixt our souls,
Yet, with time to aid me, my heart furter extols
Virtues, and finds more beauty I had not seen before!
Tomorrow's gift is that there is always more about you, to adore!
Sikerly, I possess more to appreciate about myself, because of you,
And would not have same if it were not so easy to love you,
As I do, indeed, as I have, and as I surely will-
You are a perpetual gift; I owe recompense for same surely still!
Maurice Harris,23 July 2011
poem by Maurice Harris
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There Is Mercy With Thee
Lord, should'st thou weigh my righteousness
Or mark what I have done amiss,
How should thy servant stand?
Tho' others might, yet surely I
Must hide my face, nor dare to cry
For mercy at thy hand.
But thou art loth thy bolts to shoot;
Backward and slow to execute
The vengeance due to me:
Thou dost not willingly reprove,
For all the mild effects of love
Are center'd, Lord, in thee.
Shine, then, thou all-subduing light,
The powers of darkness put to flight
Nor from me ever part:
From earth to heaven be thou my guide,
And O, above each gift beside,
Give me an upright heart.
poem by Augustus Montague Toplady
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Aspiration Of A Future, To Efface The Past
I need use my mind's eye, to see you;
I've no access to photographs, no way to see to
A remembrance of you, except in this way!
I long to once again be graced by you-I've dreamt of this day
Many, many times, so that I may at long last
Look beyond a most tragic consequence of my past:
Namely, that I allowed fear to make a decision
That I have lived to regret every day, since its commission!
May God again grant both of us with the other's consort-
This alone seems to befit or comport
With the wants of my heart, soul, and mind-
You, my beloved, are the memory I could not hope to leave behind!
In a world of glorious imperfection, you are as perfect as I could hope you to be,
I pray to God each night, to divine your 'perfection', to me!
Maurice Harris,20 July 2011
poem by Maurice Harris
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No Longer Snow On Kilimanjaro
I long for thee but whence I have occasion to respire;
Thou art the solitary object, of which I shan't e'er tire;
Rumination of thee shall surely one day be done-
One day after we no longer bask under the warmth of the Sun;
As soon as all the stars can no longer shine,
This is when you shall find love more ardent than mine;
My desire to be ever-nearer to thee shall surely wane-
Just as soon as we dwell in a world without rain;
To be without thee shall no longer be my sorrow,
Upon the Winter's day there is no longer snow on Kilimanjaro!
The hands of time shall surely need cease in their entirety,
Before, upon mine ardor, I may draw even the slightest dubiety;
Upon mine heart, soul, and mine's fidelity, you may depend-
So it was then, so it is now, so it shall be-when time doth end!
-Maurice Harris,11 March 2011
poem by Maurice Harris
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Upon The Blush Of A Faire Ladie
Stay lusty blood! where canst thou seeke
So blest a seat as in her cheeke?
How dar'st thou from her face retire
Whose beauty doth command desire?
But if thou wilt not stay, then flowe
Downe to her panting pappes belowe:
There take thou glory to distayne
With azure blewe each swelling veyne,
From thence run boyling through each part
Till thou hast warm'd her frozen hart,
Which, if from love thou find'st entire,
O martyr it with gentle fire.
poem by William Strode
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A Reality, Asked To Bide, As Aspiration
I fancy not, a respite for my long-embattled heart-
Though, same would remove need for my faith to impart
Encouragement that a reward awaits me, that I may ne'er measure;
Should I seek refuge from all which I treasure,
Causation would find the contrary rendered-
As, the hope it inspires would no longer be tendered;
Cower not shall I, from that which I most ardently admire,
E'en whence consummatedbut when I aspire:
This is the very reason why time seems to have ceased-
An inglorious reality is forced, whilst a beauteous one, is fleeced.
Naught may dispel an ardor so closely guarded;
No matter of time, nor of space,
May make less-nor surely, erase-
That which hath been so blessedly imparted!
poem by Maurice Harris
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A Silent, Altruistic Prayer
I say a silent prayer each and every night,
For the beauty no longer within my sight-
Supplanted by someone I no longer know.
I silently wonder: 'where did my beloved go? '.
I prefer to think she has not really gone away,
But rather, will eventually find herself again, one day.
Taken hostage by fears she could not control,
She needs this re-discovery to once again be whole.
Perhaps, each day as she sees herself in the mirror,
All that she has abandoned of herself will become clearer.
Surely, she seeks the ardor and jollity she once possessed,
Just as surely as the heart silently mourns a love repressed.
Sikerly, Heavenly Father heeds my soulful, altruistic prayer-
For the amelioration of this lady, most beauteous and fair!
-Maurice Harris,8 September 2012
poem by Maurice Harris
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Broken Wings
My precious, little dove
The one I do so much, love;
Not able to take flight
Nor prime for the fight!
Why hath thou forsaken thyself-
You, with broken wings, upon a shelf;
Why for art thou, would you?
Just how, my dear, could you?
Fly now, fast; fly now, far-away from fear,
Leave ghosts-that they be nowhere near!
Protect e'er, our issue, from danger-
So too, from my love, now a stranger!
Recover now drothers, serve now penance-
From this wreckage, may we gain substance!
Maurice Harris,13 May 2008
poem by Maurice Harris
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Solitary Strength
'What Lord, is wanted of me in this time
Of much introspection into sentiment, sublime! ?
Need I simply forget all that for which I yearn,
Or might I bide yet, in hopes that all I may discern-
Even in the midst of my most lofty aspiration-
What may one day meet a most prohetic realization! ? '
To which He made reply: 'I test thine faith in many ways;
Though thou art without much, lo these many days,
Thou art not alone, nor art others, contrariwise;
This time strengthens thee, in ways thou may ne'er realize-
Much hath been garnered, but that time shalt show-
Though others may not gather same, thou shalt know;
Thine lamentation, though great, readies thee, as it must-
In Mine Own Omniscient Benevolence, thou must emplace all thine trust! '
-Maurice Harris,23 January 2011
poem by Maurice Harris
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This Glory Is My Invitation
A new world awaits;
I, in concert with the fates,
Must embrace this journey-
My destiny awaits, for me!
I am not whole here, sans its light-
I shan't allow its fleeting, before my sight;
Stride into this resplendence, I must-
In its ever-benevolent purpose, I trust!
This glory is my invitation;
I await my long-sought elation-
In this place, at this time-
For this viage, I am prime!
This beauteous, life-long somniation
Waits for me, to impart its realization!
Maurice Harris,5 June 2010
poem by Maurice Harris
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A Question
I.
SOUL, spirit, genius--which thou art--that whence
I know not, rose upon this mortal frame
Like the sun o'er the mountains, all aflame,
Seen large through mists of childish innocence,
And year by year with me uptravelling thence,
As hour by hour the day-star, madest aspire
My nature, interpenetrate with fire
It felt but understood not--strong, intense,
Wisdom with folly mixed, and gold with clay;--
Soul, thou hast journeyed with me all this way.
Oft hidden and o'erclouded, oft arrayed
In scorching splendors that my earth-life burned,
Yet ever unto thee my true life turned,
For, dim, or clear, 't was thou my daylight made.
II.
SOUL, dwelling oft in God's infinitude,
And sometimes seeming no more part of me--
This me, worms' heritage--than that sun can be
Part of the earth he has with warmth imbued,--
Whence camest thou? whither goest thou? I, subdued
With awe of mine own being--thus sit still,
Dumb, on the summit of this lonely hill,
Whose dry November-grasses dew-bestrewed
Mirror a million suns--That sun, so bright,
Passes, as thou must pass, Soul, into night:
Art thou afraid, who solitary hast trod
A path I know not, from a source to a bourne,
Both which I know not? fear'st thou to return
Alone, even as thou camest, alone, to God?
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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The Soul I Once Chose To Keep Away
Your love has been so very bountiful,
And with it you have never failed me;
My recompense for same was surely doubtful
As I was overcome with fear, and failed thee.
I have grown so much and in so many ways
Since my regrettable failure, to which I look back
With both sorrow and regret on so many days;
From the depths of my most profound loss, I took back
Control over the demons which caused me to doubt you-
And now, I know I may not truly 'live', without you;
You are needed, as flowers need the rain-
Without you, there exists only heartache and pain,
At the realization that trepidation cost me so many years;
Never again shall I live, subject to my fears-
For that is not life at all, it is a failure to live:
A heart is not alive if there is a failure to give
It away to its mate, when its mate is found;
A soul that dwells is this way, is bound
In chains, just as a prisoner, interred;
To live in this way, where a soul's wither is inferred
Is akin to a voluntary death sentence.
I refuse to continue to serve such penance,
For the sake of a fear, long-sice defeated;
The mistakes of my past shall never again be repeated;
To not reward your love with unabashed love in return
Is surely one-one for which I hope to one day earn
Both redemption and a second chance-
At a once-inspired, yet all-too-brief romance.
God-willing, this will come to be, one day,
And I will consort again, with the soul I once chose to keep away!
-Maurice Harris,6 September 2011
poem by Maurice Harris
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Donna Mi Prega
Because a lady asks me, I would tell
Of an affect that comes often and is fell
And is so overweening; Love by name.
E'en its deniers can now hear the truth,
I for the nonce to them that know it call,
Having no hope at all
that man who is base in heart
Can bear his part of wit
into the light of it,
And save they know't aright from nature's source
I have no will to prove Love's course
or say
Where he takes rest; who maketh him to be;
Or what his active virtu is, or what his force;
Nay, nor his very essence or his mode;
What his placation; why he is in verb,
Or if a man have might
To show him visible to men's sight.
In memory's locus taketh he his state Place
Formed there in manner as a mist of light
Upon a dusk that is come from Mars and stays.
Love is created, hath a sensate name,
His modus takes from soul, from heart his will;
From form seen doth he start, that, understood,
Taketh in latent intellect
As in a subject ready
place and abode,
Yet in that place it ever is unstill,
Spreading its rays, it tendeth never down
By quality, but is its own effect unendingly
Not to delight, but in an ardour of thought
That the base likeness of it kindleth not.
It is not virtu, but perfection's source
Lying within perfection postulate
Not by the reason, but ‘tis felt, I say.
Beyond salvation, holdeth its judging force,
Maintains intention reason's peer and mate;
Poor in discernment, being thus weakness' friend,
Often his power meeteth with death in the end
Be he withstayed
or from true course
bewrayed
E'en though he meet not with hate or villeiny
Save that perfection fails, be it but a little;
Nor can man say he hath his life by chance
Or that he hath not stablished seigniory
Or loseth power, e'en lost to memory.
He comes to be and is when will's so great
It twists itself from out all natural measure;
Leisure s adornment puts he then never on,
Never thereafter, but moves changing state,
Moves changing colour, or to laugh or weep
Or wries the face with fear and little stays,
Yea, resteth little
yet is found the most
Where folk of worth be host.
And his strange property sets sighs to move
And wills man look into unformed space
Rousing there thirst
that breaketh into flame.
None can imagine love
that knows not love;
Love doth not move, but draweth all to him;
Nor doth he turn
for a whim
to find delight
Nor to seek out, surely,
great knowledge or slight.
Look drawn from like,
delight maketh certain in seeming
Nor can in covert cower,
beauty so near,
Not yet wild-cruel as darts,
So hath man craft from fear
in such his desire
To follow a noble spirit,
edge, that is, and point to the dart,
Though from her face indiscernible;
He, caught, falleth
plumb the spike of the targe.
Who well proceedeth, form not seeth,
following his own emanation.
There, beyond colour, essence set apart,
In midst of darkness light light giveth forth
Beyond all falsity, worthy of faith, alone
That in him solely is compassion born.
Safe may'st thou go my canzon whither thee pleaseth
Thou art so fair attired that every man and each
Shall praise thy speech
So we have sense or glow with reason's fire,
To stand with other
hast thou no desire.
poem by Ezra Pound
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My Loving Truth
Mine is a lady surely not prime for her own beauty-
To ensure she be attestant to same, my solemn duty!
One wish have I for my beloved-to show her in no uncertain terms
All the resplendence she doth possess and my heart affirms!
Certainly, she must know all the jollity she doth endue;
Indubitably, she is all my hopes and dreams come true-
Yet, beyond humility, she disbelieves what doth obviate-
If but she could, her sense of self would surely ameliorate!
I want for this more than any, due my love and fidelity-
God willing, one day, she will meet this with amenability;
If but only I could evince my heart's magnificent glory
Directly to her, without having to tell it, by way of a story-
Then her convincing would be assured, ne'er belittled-
Until then, my loving truth ensures her own esteem is gentled!
Maurice Harris,20 November 2009
poem by Maurice Harris
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Wishing -- Or Fate And I
Wise men tell me thou, O Fate,
Art invincible and great.
Well, I own thy prowess; still
Dare I flount thee, with my will.
Thou canst shatter in a span
All the earthly pride of man.
Outward things thou canst control
But stand back - I rule my soul!
Death? 'Tis such a little thing -
Scarcely worth the mentioning.
What has death to do with me,
Save to set my spirit free?
Something in me dwells, O Fate,
That can rise and dominate.
Loss, and sorrow, and disaster,
How, then, Fate, art thou my master?
In the great primeval morn
My immortal will was born.
Part of the stupendous Cause
Which conceived the Solar Laws.
Lit the suns and filled the seas,
Royalest of pedigrees.
That great Cause was Love, the Source,
Who most loves has most of Force.
He who harbors hate one hour
Saps the soul of Peace and Power.
He who will not hate his foe
Need not dread life's hardest blow.
In the realm of brotherhood
Wishing no man aught but good.
Naught but good can come to me.
This is love's supreme decree.
Since I bar my door to hate,
What have I to fear, O Fate?
Since I fear not - Fate, I vow,
I the ruler am, not thou!
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Pride Robs Faith
If you are not careful, Pride may rob you of Faith-
And what was once beauteous, may become again, a wraith!
This is a lesson that God, not I, does teach-
I merely exhort you to listen, -your heart's attention I do beseech!
Do not allow that Pride may rob you of that for which you aspired-
Nor, rob you of the life and love, that you have always desired!
Pride is surely one of the Seven Deadly Sins-
Yet, the lesson is not over because this knowledge begins
To settle into the fabric of your life-
Nor, will it, by the Glorious Day, I make you my Wife-
No, no Beloved-it's a lesson Heavenly Father teaches over a lifetime;
I gift you now: both the Glory and the Rhyme
Of mine own heart, in aid to Him, in this regard;
Embrace this ardor, this love, you once threatened to discard!
-Maurice Harris,26 January 2012
poem by Maurice Harris
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But A Matter Of Time
My beloved, upon this day of myriad amorous thought,
I shall attempt to convey what your love hath brought!
Bestowed unto me hath been days, beauteous and bright-
Whence even the Sun hath not been within my sight!
Days are rife with jollity, whence upon thee I ponder,
Many more, yet to come, in our life, of unending wonder!
Count me now, most fortuitous, my heart's elation abiding-
To thee, and all the world, this soul's capture, I am confiding!
As though I had wished upon a 1,000 stars, falling-
God hath answered this loving heart's calling;
He hath not just seen to my love's fitting requite,
He hath ensured I may love, with all my might!
Ne'er before, in time's hallowed history
Hath this greatest of emotion's enlightenment
Been anything but an unattainable mystery-
My loyalty to love, He did sight and sent
His most beloved beauty, His Angel, most highly regarded
To see fitting continuance of a love, many years ago, started!
God smiles upon me, each and every day-
Taken away so much pain, supplanted with this beauteous ray
Of resplendent beautificence, mine eyes have never seen-
As sikerly, in the world's annals, there hath ne'er been!
My life, entire, I could most certainly spend
To endeavor recompense, yet it would never end-
To honor you, proper, I shall surely strive, still,
With time's infinity, its only lasting rival!
Ne'er did I believe true love, as this, attainable-
As it was my own belief, I must be amenable
To love of another more than of self, heightened and true-
At a time most disbelieving of same, I found this, with you!
Time and distance mean naught, as now I know of your existence-
Shown to be hopelessly futile, is any form of resistance;
I was meant to become, for your consort, prime-
I now know my true love's avail is but a matter of time!
Maurice Harris,10 February 2010
poem by Maurice Harris
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The Call I Never Heeded
Methinks, perhaps you are the call I never heeded;
Perchance not too, more than all I ever needed-
At a time when I longed so much for same,
God sent me an Empyrean gift, upon which He did proclaim:
'I have watched over thee with pride, all of your days
My child, as you are most deserving of such!
I have done same with still another, due great praise-
You hath been made to consort with one another-as much
There is, for one to offer the other, and same, contrariwise-
Soon, both of you shall be privy to a love none could disguise!
Always shall thee have cause to celebrate cheerfully-
Not shall thee have cause to look upon this at all, fearfully!
This is but meant to inspire in you, the utmost regard
For all that is beauteous and fair-to serve as your guard
Against doubt that true felicity is all but impossible-
To bear witness that it is here, now with thee-not implausible! '
Doubt not that which hath given no cause for same,
Hold not liable those, whence others are to blame!
Question not a glory due another glory's fleeting-
Our's is a glory of its own, as surely as my heart is now beating!
Frangible, I know thou heart to be;
Import of its guard, you needn't impart to me-
I know now, and have always had privity
To the affairs of mine own heart and its emotivity;
My own beatitude depends upon that of my soul's mate-
Should there now be any doubt, I ask time to abate!
Maurice Harris,16 May 2010
poem by Maurice Harris
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