The years continue to fly by,
casual acquaintances, fleet of foot,
a dimple in time, of no consequence.

We are positioned to  respect authority,
to believe in the system, hide behind
its pseudo shield of  protection.

For order, for the nation’s good.
thus the mind is plowed, sowed
with the seeds of social control.

Beggar of the greedy, manipulators,
fear forged in lies and corruption,
we grow older more complacent.

Place one foot in front of the other,
toe the mark, walk the path, stay
in line, don’t complain, be a patriot.

Watch the shadows created for you,
there is a man behind the curtain,
he runs the show, you have a ticket.

The theater never closes, the show
continues, you are a seated actor,
participant in your own demise.

Wrapped in a shroud of cultural cloth,
buried in a coffin of political dogma,
one cannot escape the future.

What will be is ordained, contemptuous,
manacled, shackled by religion,
society’s boundaries, doomed.

Our beliefs, poisoned by labels
marking others different from us,
shallow humanity lacking compassion.

When you are poured back
into the cusp of creation, what
part of you will you leave.

What will honor your life, how will
consequence have made a difference,
will the hell you left, follow you.

©2015, Donald Harbour


In the glade an old Red Oak stands naked,
except for a single fluttering leaf,
still cast with the color of fall.
I have watched it for hours, and
I wonder if is proclaiming a message.
An axiom of life in its resilience,
its tenacity to purpose, to refusal,
a dogged determination to hang in there.
Though the winter wind tugs at its grip,
still it stays convinced that it must,
if not for purpose, then for the tree.

©2015, Donald Harbour

I am crowing for you

Morning is prying at my eyelids,
a nagging beggar demanding my attention.
It’s begging bowl gray clouds scudding,
held in the palm of a chilly autumn wind,
the rim loudly banging on the front door.
Somewhere a rooster offered a raspy croak,
a half hearted cock-a-doodle-do,
not a pleasant prospect of events.
You were buried in the cotton covers,
a wall of bricks plastered with blankets,
I feeling a conjugal urge to merge.
The rooster rules the rooster’s roust, but
there is a barnyard hierarchy, pecking order,
one’s order deduced by the clucking hens,
the mares nips at the stud, sows
nudge the boar away from the tough,
the bull levies his interest subtly,
modulated to the cows seasonal expectation.
You are not that tolerant, judgmental,
you are a woman ruled by the unknown.
I a furnace of heat, you a chasm of ice,
would, that you would thaw, melt into me,
then, hear my full throat cock-a-doodle-do.

©2015, Donald Harbour

Fallen sparrow

A small sparrow fell out of the sky today,
I held it in the palm of my hand,
Until it was well enough to fly away.

©2015, Donald Harbour


Searching through my attic
I found an old dusty box,
the cardboard stained by years,
neglect chewing its frayed edges.
It contained things not forgotten,
things unremembered,
the mind grocery list left behind,
a storehouse of need, yearning.
To awaken  the past can be
a terrible realization of the present,
a specter finger pointing, condemning, accusing.
A dangerous reflection leads to guilt,
I wishes, whys, whys.

©2015, Donald Harbour

Words to live by

However many holy words you read,
however many you speak,
what good will they do you
if you do not act on upon them?
Whatever words we utter
should be chosen with care
for people will hear them and
be influenced by them for good or ill.
Better than a thousand hollow words,
is one word that brings peace.
In the sky, there is no distinction of east and west;
people create distinctions out of their own minds
and then believe them to be true.
The way is not in the sky,
the way is in the heart.
A jug fills drop by drop.
Every human being is the author
of his own health or disease.
To understand everything
is to forgive everything.
In a controversy the instant we feel anger
we have already ceased striving for the truth,
and have begun striving for ourselves.
No one saves us but ourselves,
no one can and no one may,
we ourselves must walk the path.

This poem is written with the words of a man named Siddhārtha Gautama, the Buddha. I am not a Buddhist however if one were to internalize his words, they would change that persons life forever. It is that simple. May they bring you reflection and peace.

©2015, Donald Harbour

I believe in change, nothing more

Change, we all change, life
is change. From the day of birth
change begins, we are a journey
of change. As a caterpillar becomes
a chrysalis to emerge a butterfly,
we exist in this cocoon of life to
emerge, changed. Our reality is death,
change from the material to the ethereal,
not an ending, a beginning, a wondrous,
marvelous participation in spiritual
evolution, our eternal existence,
the movement of energy through time
and space. The joining of the eternal
common thread. It has always been,
what has always been, and, it will
always be eternal. In change we
will once again join the spirituality
of creation’s cusp, to be born again.

©2015, Donald Harbour