The cycle of movement is that of brevity.
The most beloved of companions are destined to meet and to perish, 
though their memories are forever kept within the ether of their shifting.
Goodbye comes as no surprise, nor does hello, for no one structure stands still for too long, 
no person, no scale, no building, no name, no clock, and no feeling.
Reminiscent disposition is all that remains in elusive ghostly form when the moment has passed.
I saw a yellow flower, blowing in the wind yesterday, and it reminded me of beautiful golden eyes that I once loved.
She is gone now,
but even sweet dandelions must too return to the Earth.
Their scent remains, piquant, within the halls of remembrance
until the time comes when they are perhaps once more called upon to return to the stage of the present moment,
new yet different, blossoming with ripe petals, yet familiar and the same, forever yellow and dainty.
Love stirs within the blood of flowers and lovers alike like the wind upon those petals.
Each touch, each kiss, each breath is imprinted within the stormy pupil, within the shaken stigma of every flower. 
Though each moment is fated to be fleeting; eternity promises all within the divine flux of experience and love. 
The cycle of movement is indeed that of brevity, 
but all things, small and large, that come to pass, shall perhaps one day come again, new.

-Jerry Harris III

New beginnings

New beginings of the heart,
fresh and blushing as they bloom
like summer peaches ripe to hold,
welcome the thirst of lover’s lips before they bruise.
New beginings of the soul,
tingling, euphoric, throughout the flesh
like newborn eyes, open for the first,
reveal unspoken parts of the unknown whole.
New beginnings of the journey,
unannounced and unbetrothed,
inducing yearning like that of wolves in heat, throb as the heavy foot hovers above the ground.
New beginnings of the mind,
new beginings of the breath,
new beginnings through the tides of temporary time:
each moment is a new beginning.
Each moment, new beginning.
Each moment,

-Jerry Harris III


I am grateful for the stars that shine upon you, my love,
for without them I would have never known your eyes and the tenderness of your gaze.
I am grateful for the burning fire that thrives within my loins,
for it’s light surely was ignited by passions of the heart.
I could not forsake the beauty of the song that I once heard you sing,
even though it now is far, and I may never hear it from your lips again.
Yours was a voice so sweet that it shall forever find me in my dreams.
It is engrained into my soul, and for that I never could be ashamed.

-Jerry Harris III

Encouragement to the Heart

I heard distant words

that warmly met my soul.

The heart played gently,

when encouragement was a delicate plucking of the heart’s strings,

subtle vibrations, incapable of breaking, 

only knowing how to strengthen in the heat of golden resonance.

Sometimes an unknown messenger was the player,

sometimes it sounded from distant shores,

or was read upon a scrap of worn out paper.

I know it well, and I’ve seen it in the first gaze from a mother unto her newborn, permeating in the waves of her stare.

It’s been felt in the careful push from a proud father to his son as he rides a bicycle for the first time.

I’ve heard it ring from the lips of babes and whispered by gray haired widows possessed in fragile self reflection upon their dying beds.

The vibration is always of the same harmonic, 

and I share it with you now in one simple but mighty word,

the most powerful word I know, 


-Jerry Harris III

Gentle breeze

Drifting through emotions,

like a firefly riding scattered pieces of the wind, 

leads to the place where the body ends and the soul begins. 

The shifting winds of disposition 

blow upon the scars of Earth, 

clearing pollution from the sky and blood and mind, 

clearing infections of indulgence, 

those which seek to corrupt the womb of time.

Gentle breeze has been set out, 

to provide clarity and calm,

to lead those seeking the ever elusive place of soul 

unto their waiting destinations.

Gentle breeze has been set out to cool the overheated terrestrial crust

and  those who inhabit this fragile mold, this ever thin layer of time, this fold in space.

It’s by this humble, gentle embrace that grace ushers in the healing forces, 

to take up the face of love 

and shape with gleaming eyes,

to guide the winds and meditations that fuel the movements of the divine 

to guide us, we who ride these scattered pieces of the wind,

to the ultimate place of soul

into the womb of time.

-Jerry Harris III

Love bite

She sank her teeth into me
and left her mark 
in ways that will not fade. 
She left intentions more than flesh;
she tasted me, 
and it was love on her tongue.

-Jerry Harris III

Heart of action

Live within the heart of action.

Do not let dawning chances pass, remiss.

Love with soul of attraction.

Abide the stars’ most divine writs.

Follow the voice within that whispers.

Feel the gut wrench and the hearts’ delight.

To stray is to go the path of silence,

which leads to the archaic night.

You may stumble, fall; your legs may be broken,

but you’ll heal, get up, and regain your grip.

As you move on with a heart of action;

each step you take will find its’ fit.

-Jerry Harris III

I feel what cannot be seen

When our thoughts align;
her words finish mine,
and I feel what cannot be seen.

When our lips meet
to say what I cannot speak;
I feel what cannot be seen.

When our eyes engage
and her heart gives way;
I feel, most surely, what cannot be seen.

When the morning fire
in our sky’s amassed,
when the parting twilight
of the night has passed,
when our star crossed paths
meet at long last,
and we’re together, luminous, beneath
great skyways’ endless serene,
the heavens of eternity;
I feel what cannot be seen.

-Jerry Harris III


Where in passing

do the glances go?

Where in sleeping

do the dreamers roam?

Is there an answer

down the wandering road,

and does that road lead home?

What in speaking

does the tongue unload?

What in thinking

does the thinker know?

What in asking

does the question show?

Does it lead home or question more?

-Jerry Harris III

Twilight of our love

I could not possess you,
so I do not try.
I can only love you
with twilight eyes.
I would never pluck you
with tempestuous desire.
I can only love you
with twilight fire.

-Jerry Harris III

Cultivation of compassion

Those who share are not diminished.
Those who give, in doing so, receive.
In the place where all forces connect;
Dogma sows its’ sprawling seeds.

Compassion’s virtue blossoms
in the garden of the mind.
Cultivation of compassion
blooms into the throes of time.

Those who spread such love unyielding,
those who spread their love to grow
bare the fruit of all their efforts,
within the gardens of their soul.

Nature of all nature’s shared
by all who bare this fertile land.
There is no separation between
the action and the man.

-Jerry Harris III


I’d rather be a dreamer,

with starlight in my eyes,

than wallow in the darkness

of vacant stormy skies.

-Jerry Harris III

Find love to know love, know love to find love

First you must love yourself

before you can love another truly.

First you must find your worth

before you can find your value duly.

First you must know yourself

before you can know another’s beauty.

First you must love yourself

before you can love another truly.

-Jerry Harris III

Anonymous said: How would you rate yourself as a poet?

I try to be the very best that I can be, but I also try to stay away from comparisons when it comes to art. My main goal is creating the expression of soul that I feel at the time and for the intrinsic value of each piece to best represent that feeling.

Instant love, connection disconnected from space and time

How I fall in love with women I barely know is a mystery to me.

I can only explain it as a dizzy flash of deep emotion and ancient desire.

There’s a strange primeval connection in the ether of those moments,

and in their midst, they seem to be frozen in time.

The heart’s beat slows and some connection that perhaps exists in another dimension or that’s yet to fully take form is intuited in the eerie deja vu of ethereal remiss.

Those moments are the glue to love at first sight, perhaps romanticized in the context of poetry, but vividly real in the heart of their happenings.

-Jerry Harris III