Biography
Hi all, I am Mark, from Colchester, Essex, England. I am fifty five years of age and married to Liz with two sons, Samuel and Ruben. I have built up an extensive back catalogue of work and have performed on a considerable number of occasions, albeit locally. I came to the world of poetry quite by accident. I wanted to write a card to friends who had suffered a deep personal loss and struggled to find a medium to express my feelings and articulate what I wanted to say. A short poem appeared on the page and the floodgates opened. I haven't stopped writing since! My style is eclectic and to a considerable extent autobiographical. My work focusses on emotions, feelings and experiences, to which I hope we can all relate rather than being about "things" per se. I have no training as a writer, rather I am heavily influenced by the following poets; Leonard Cohen. A wonderful maverick. The Book of Longing is my single favourite poetry collection. Emily Dickinson. If genius is innate then Dickinson's work is a case in point. A fascinating character. Clive James. Searing, honest and accessible. Kapka Kassabova. A fascinating poet who focusses on the disconnections of life to which I relate. Freda Downie. Another talented writer. Pascale Petit. Some outstanding collections to her name, particularly The Zoo Father and What the Water Gave Me, which focusses on the life of Freda Kharlo my favourite artist. I am also influenced by Greek mythology which I have loved since picking up a MacDonalds Children's Library book on the subject at junior school and by music like Siouxsie and the Banshees. I have included a link to my blog page (hope it works). http://mbenharris.blogspot.co.uk/ I also have a Facebook page which seems to appear if I google "Ariadne's Thread Mark B Harris Poetry" (apologies, I am not the most I.T. savvy person on earth). https://www.facebook.com/Ariadnes-Thread-Mark-B-Harris-Poetry-1597659660474630/ I have loaded some poems which are not atypical or too melancholy. I hope you will enjoy them! Kind regards Mark
Samples
Maple Leaves She loosened the band and her hair fell Like a red waterfall Like fire tumbling over her shoulders And in that moment my heart ran free Through ancient forests Through carpets of fallen leaves She loosened the band and her hair fell Unfettered across the curve of her neck And she flicked her head Her fiery hair describing an arc Like an autumnal goddess Her hair, red as a maple leaf Promising the open skies of the wilderness Her eyes as deep as the forest She loosened the band and her hair fell Wild and untamed And I raised my head and howled to the moon. Precious Memories I know I will forget your face Although fighting The thief called time Every inch of the way. Binding precious memories With cords around my heart I’ll treasure them happily Until the passing years betray And you drift just out of reach Becoming a beautiful dream Warm, fuzzy, indistinct... Waiting for a Sail Wide eyes seek answers to riddles of emotion A frozen sentinel stares to far horizons Hoping for a smile like a sail upon an ocean Time passes, heavens spin their silken threads above Stars dance footsteps with light from long ago When we were young and stone dared to dream of love A furrowed brow blooms on islands of desire Trees felled in fruitless rites of adoration Flames licking prayers with tongues of fire Forests turned to ash, a dreamer torn apart Burnt bridges, the narrative of senseless hurt None so pained as those with captive hearts Stone cracks with healing tears like soothing balm Let none grip a rose save those prepared to risk a wounding Lying face down, a broken love line, read on a shaking palm Sin and Salvation She stood head slightly bowed, I touched her face, caressed her metamorphic child Stroked her cheek, gently at first, Gaining courage smoothed her cool skin with my palm. She didn’t move or shed a tear, Impassively soaked up prayers Regarded me with cool igneous detachment whilst I listened for the still small voice of God to whisper through her lips. I’m sure it did As fallen leaves played kiss chase round my feet. I could see you too In the corner of my eye, corporeal, alive Blood racing through your veins as The children played games of tag across the yard. Turning once again, to the mother of the son, I tried in vain to capture the beauty of the moment. Cameras never lie, but no matter how I tried, There was a sincere lack, something sad, amiss In its relationship with stone, reflecting us In the absence of its kiss. Inside the Shadow Box If I could offer you eternal life Lived in a hall of mirrors Where time sings itself to sleep If infinite images of you Could gaze at me Once again through loving eyes If we could agree not to fight Over rotting fruit Enjoy true love at a safe distance If we could share our nectar Dripping it on to curling tongues Through candy striped pipettes If we could pin the other down Stopping for a moment to admire The colours of each-others wings If we could return to the chrysalis Where we once lived Relax and forget ourselves Mark Harris has asserted his right under Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 To be identified as the author of this work.
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
Blog entries by Mark Harris
December musings (04/12/2018)
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