TODAY, WE ARE THRILLED TO INTRODUCE PERFORMANCE POET,RICHARD HARRIES, WHO IS SHARING 6 OF THE POEMS FROM HIS BOOk, 'THE BLACK DOG CAME TO STAY' #RWRTeamBlog #ReadWrireRepeat
- 5 hours ago
- 6 min read
Into the Wood
‘Get your coat on
We’ll take the dog out
In the woods’
Happy aged seven
Sunday morning
Off we go I
Mad dalmatian running around
Chattering away to my Dad
Asking about flowers
Asking about trees
FOR GOD’S SAKE STOP CHATTERING
Walked in silence
Not sure what to do
WALK IN FRONT OF ME
So I did
100 feet away in silence
Confused
What had seemed to be a joy
Was now awful
Silence continued
No one spoke
Patted dog
Who sensed I was upset
Silent walk all the way home
Some Sunday morning!
Now years later I know
That he would have been pissed
The night before
And went for a walk to clear his head
Before he got pissed again
Now I know about alcoholism
Now I know it was not me
My fault
But then I blamed me for being awful
Don’t think I knew the word SCUM
But that’s how I felt
I truly believe that
A lifetime of low esteem
And fighting depression
Started there in that
Beautiful,lovely wood
Spiritophobia
I hate matches
I really hate matches
I hate matches indeed
Unlit, in or out of a box I cringe
Hate them lit
Feel sick if they are dead
I hate matches
I really hate matches
I hate matches indeed
When they are new they are red
Globular and threatening at the end
Nasty, awful things. Get a lighter do!
I hate matches
I really hate matches
I hate matches indeed
I have no really good memories of my Dad
He smoked pipes and cigars
He used matches all the time
I hate matches
I really hate matches
I hate matches indeed
He thought I was not a real boy
I had to hide to read
I went under the bedstead with a torch
I hate matches
I really hate matches
I hate matches indeed
He wanted to man me up
So lit matches and held them to me
Then put them out on his arms
I hate matches
I really hate matches
I hate matches indeed
It singed the hair on his arms
Very hairy was he, he did not flinch
As the flame hit his flesh, showing how manly was he
I hate matches
I really hate matches
I hate matches indeed
Then he would bring the flame near me
And touch me on my arms
I would scream and run away
I hate matches
I really hate matches
I hate matches indeed
I was seven I heard him laugh
As I ran away
I have no happy memories of Dad
I hate matches
I really hate matches
I hate matches indeed
In later life anywhere
But mainly in a pub
I would move away from someone lighting up
I hate matches
I really hate matches
I hate matches indeed
I would never have matches in my home
And that lasts to this day
If I am somewhere they use them
I move away
I would not sit at a table in a pub
If dead matches were there
I would move an ashtray with eyes closed
I hate matches
I really hate matches
I hate matches indeed
Miss Trotman
My Dad's secretary
I remember how she looked vaguely
Dame Edna glasses
But long before Edna and this was the sixties
Tweed suits
Hair in a bun
Old
Probably actually 30
Wrote to me
When my father
Had information to convey
Organised a car with chauffeur
To take me to and from boarding school
One year at Christmas
The car arrived and took me home
My friends looking at the car with envy
The liveried chauffeur too
But Father and stepmother
Had forgotten about me
About my existence
Had their friend in my room
In my bed at Christmas
So I was found an empty flat
Owned by a friend of my Dad
Who was away for Christmas
With his family
Helped my self esteem no end
When related at school friends thought it
Hilarious no one else was treated like this
I did not find it funny
But I pretended I did
Dad moved to Brussels
Never heard from Miss Trotman again
I assume she is long gone
But I remember her as she was kind
And tried her best to help an unloved
Rejected, bereaved sad child
Truth Spoken
At a very posh family wedding
In leafy Buckinghamshire
Music playing, wine flowing
An older man walks up to me
With his hand extended for me to shake
Shake complete I look inquiringly
At him wondering who he is
‘So you’re Charles Harries’ son’
He exclaimed
‘Must have been so much fun’
My face is blank for a moment
I think what to say
I struggle with thoughts
And decide that being true to me
It the only way
‘Would you like to live in a house
With a violent, selfish drunk’
I hear myself say
The man is embarrassed
Has no idea what to say
I tell my sister and she says
‘Why did you have to say that?’
I pause and think
‘Well it was the truth
And I have a duty to be true to me;
I won’t deny the pain that I
And my siblings went through
If I did the lie would have left anger
Anger with in me
Aimed at me
I have dealt with the past
But won't deny it happened
Depression and illness lie that way
I want to be calm inside
And to be true to me
Words of a Stranger
I was seated in a room
In an old house
Feeling alone but with other people
Group therapy
Counseling
A facilitator present
I was telling my story
Of abuse
Of depression
Of my step mother
Trying to have sex with me
When I was fourteen
A stranger
A new member
A young man I really did not know
Spoke.
He told me it was not my fault
I had been a kid
I was stunned
It took a stranger speaking the truth
To bring me relief and forgiveness
To forgive myself for something I had not actually done
I did have no blame
I felt lead weights lifting from my shoulders
Lead weights I had carried for 30 years
I cried
I howled
I emptied myself of the guilt
The guilt I should not have carried
At any time
And certainly not so soon after my mother’s death
It’s Good to Talk (AMC)
It’s good to talk
It certainly is
The alternatives are horrifying
Keeping stum
Silent
Bottling things up
So they fester inside you
Eat you up
Make you depressed or angry
I have done this
Far too many times
And in my forties
I exploded in my mind and wanted to die
I was truly suicidal
Had planned the event
Even selected the ledge
On a multi -story car park
It was that close
Fortunately
I had counseling
Group therapy
Indeed psychotherapy
Where we sat in a room
In a big old Victorian house
Five or six of us
With a facilitator
It helped
I got the poison out
Learned coping mechanisms
But this counselling had a time limit
It was finite and ended
So I was alone again in my head again
Time went by and more crap happened
I got ill again
And again
Never ending
Then six months ago I joined
Andy’s Man Club
Where it really is good to talk
To relate to others
To realise you are not alone
I go every week that I can
It does not have a time limit on it
And that alone helps
Being able to rely on it
During the week I can put things aside
Decide to talk about them this week
I have made friends
It's a camaraderie
We all talk and we all listen
And I realise that shit happens to everyone
I am not alone
I am not unusual
It’s really good to talk
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BIO
Richard Harries is a 74 year old Yorkshire poet. He appears at charity events and festivals regularly. He appears on Zoom headlining globally. He can be political and angry, write children story poems, comedy and more. He writes poems about male breast cancer, homelessness, depression and disability discrimination.
He has been published worldwide in anthologies and his new third book of autobiographical poems concerning his child and teen abuse is published by LIKE A BLOT FROM THE BLUE in Scotland. It is called THE BLACK DOG CAME TO STAY and is available from Lulu publishing , Amazon and other book sellers
He was part of the team that created the play HAUNT, about historic homelessness and bedsitter poverty .This project was Saboteur nominated. His poem TWELVE HOURS was read on the Battlefield of Bellewardee , exactly 100 years from the first shot being fired . He has been included three times in Anthologies for World Peace that have been No 1 on the Amazon poetry anthology chart worldwide.
When Hull was City of Culture in 2017 Richard was selected as the poet to represent the city and was featured on the official website City of Culture in the MEET THE ARTIST series of videos . He represented poetry while every other imaginable form of performance art was also featured and represented.
Around 60 of his poems have been turned into songs by singer songwriters and issued on CD in aid of two charities.
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COMING SOON: On Sunday, 7th June, we are thrilled to welcome back, author Carol Kerry-Green, is sharing Chapters 2 and 3 of her novel, 'Of Blood And Shadows'.
