Books by Dale Harris

Books by Dale Harris
The Lives of the Saints and Other Poems

A Feast of Epiphanies

Though I Walk, A Novel

Daytime Moons and Other Celestial Anomalies, a book of poems

A Theory of Everything (Vol 1)

A Theory of Everything (Vol 1)

A Theory of Everything (Vol 2)

A Theory of Everything (Vol 2)

The Song Became a Child

The Song Became a Child
A collection of Christmas songs I wrote and recorded during the early days of the pandemic lockdown in the spring of 2020. Click the image to listen.

There's a Trick of the Light I'm Learning to Do

There's a Trick of the Light I'm Learning to Do
This is a collection of songs I wrote and recorded in January - March, 2020 while on sabbatical from ministry. They each deal with a different aspect or expression of the Gospel. Click on the image above to listen.

Three Hands Clapping

Three Hands Clapping
This is my latest recording project (released May 27, 2019). It is a double album of 22 songs, which very roughly track the story of my life... a sort of musical autobiography, so to speak. Click the album image to listen.

Ghost Notes

Ghost Notes
A collections of original songs I wrote in 2015, and recorded with the FreeWay Musical Collective. Click the album image to listen.

inversions

inversions
Recorded in 2014, these songs are sort of a chronicle of my journey through a pastoral burn-out last winter. They deal with themes of mental-health, spiritual burn-out and depression, but also with the inexorable presence of God in the midst of darkness. Click the album art to download.

bridges

bridges
Click to download.
"Bridges" is a collection of original songs I wrote in the summer of 2011, during a soul-searching trip I took out to Alberta; a sort of long twilight in the dark night of the soul. I share it here in hopes these musical reflections on my own spiritual journey might be an encouragement to others: the sun does rise, blood-red but beautiful.

Random Reads

Maundy Thursday, a poem

She shifts her weight uncomfortably
The pitcher and the basin drawing near
Wanting shyly but so desperately
To have him come and pour his clear
And shining stream of servant-hearted love
Across her bashful feet.  
                                      But knowing
How he’d have to see the rough 
And calloused sole—the thought of showing
Him the spot she stubbed her toe
And left an ugly tear that never rightly closed
Is unbearably embarrassing to her—and so
She keeps her feet tucked in and unexposed.
          If only (this her ardent wish) we could have him wash
          Our souls without this all too clumsy touching of our flesh.

 

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