The Violent Heart

Oasis

Stranded

Loneliness

Out of control

Chaotic spin

Fall to the ground

Can’t get back up on your feet

Drowned in constant sorrow

Letting the quicksand swallow you alive

No pat on the back

Or job well done

No congratulatory exclamation

Or greeting card mailed

Another life wasted

With roads ahead

Forks not decided

With open ports

And sails down

Defeated

Exiting the room

Like a ghost through the door

© 2015 David Greg Harth

15.12.01.13:38:48@200VeseyNYC

Winter Approaches (Version #2)

Each passing season

I attempt to recall

The last time I was in love

It’s been so many months

And years

Since that time

I was in love

With you

But now I’m damaged

And forever broken

Because once you love the one and only

And she disappears from you

And she leaves you

Not for another

Not with fear of being loved

Not because she fell out of love

But because she no longer wanted to live

But because she departed so young

But because with a leap

A chord 

A truth

Desire I couldn’t prevent

Everything I knew turned dark

Grey

Morbid

Black

That day

You were my love

And you ended love for me

When you decided your life

Was no longer viable

© 2015 David Greg Harth

15.12.01.10:29:59@200VeseyNYC

Unknown Answers

I couldn’t fall asleep last night

I was twisting and turning

And turning and twisting

Getting tangled up in my sheets

And my blanket 

I would twist and turn

In a restless motion

Of flipping and adjusting and readjusting

I was thinking about her so much

Wondering if she felt the same way

Did she like me?

Like I liked her?

Was I back in time?

Was I in High School again?

Or are these just the games of love?

That we all play?

Should I pass her a note?

Beneath the desk?

Should I tell her best friend?

That I like her?

Should I smile at her?

That kind of smile that indicates,

“Hey, I like you.”?

These are the games.

These are my questions.

I hate to play games.

And I hate games played.

But what are you supposed to do?

When you’re in love.

And love is in you?

These are the unknown answers.

And the answers I seek.

So give me a sign.

And I’ll give you my heart.

© 2015 David Greg Harth

2015.10.20.11:51:26@200NYC

Haunted Heart

Times like these are so difficult

Because every time I fall

I fall hard

Granted, each time I fall, I pick myself up

And march along

Because I’m a soldier

Always

In

Love

© 2015 David Greg Harth

The Family Announcement

After washing my hands

I dried them with the towel that hung just to the right of the sink.

The towel was blue, freshly washed, slightly warm from just being removed from the dryer.

It felt good on my hands, soft to the touch.

For some reason I thought of childhood as my wet hands were wrapped up in the towel.

Which made me think of the buzzing sound of a lawn mower.

And the scent of freshly cut grass.

And the clumps of green grass left on the yard or in the street.

Leftovers from a mower’s passing.

And the sound of other neighborhood children playing outside.

Their laughter and screams of joy.

After washing up, I went down stairs to join the family.

I walked slowly, passing the picture frames on the wall.

Examining each one quickly.

Each contained a different portrait. Some in black and white. Some in color.

All of family. Some older than others. Some depicting long deceased family members.

Some formal portraits. Some candid shots.

I got downstairs to the family room, which was busy with people. 

It was like a major transportation hub. People moving from afar to near. And near to afar.

Talking and noshing and greeting and hugging and sharing and telling and listening and smiling.

The family was new, or, at least we had some new members to introduce.

It’s been many years since we all gathered in the same place.

But this was an event we all looked forward to.

A big announcement was to be made.

She knew I was nervous as I ducked into a corner.

A corner which managed to drown in shadows.

A corner which escaped the outside sunlight.

The sunlight which was doing an excellent job of draping most of the room’s walls with warm light.

She grabbed my nervous hand.

My palms were sweaty.

But with her hand in mine, I began to feel more secure.

Conscious of the sounds around me.

The high-pitched greetings, the grumbling of elders, kids telling imaginary secrets.

A lonely chocolate candy without its wrapper sat on the floor unclaimed.

We all watched as he took center stage.

Which was actually just a chair. A chrome metal chair with a vinyl seat. Green-yellow. Left over from the 70’s.

He carefully got on top of the chair. Balanced like a professional tight-rope walker.

He stood tall and proud to deliver the announcement we’ve all been waiting for.

© 2015 David Greg Harth

15.06.25.07:45:02@130BklynNYC

Four Apologies

Four notes of yours.

I found shortly after.

An apology for you on this day.

I’m sorry I couldn’t be the man you wanted me to be.

I’m sorry I couldn’t be the father for our son.

I tried my best to raise him alone.

Painfully, shortly after you departed us;

I had to give him up.

We were so young.

I was so young.

What was I to do? Now that you were gone?

What was I to do? Alone with him.

A memory of you daily.

The pain was too much.

I wanted him to have a good life.

A solid one. With a good foundation. A good support system.

You know me. The artist that I am.

I couldn’t give him what someone else could.

You know that. I always knew that.

But as you forever drift,

Know that I will always be his hidden angel.

I watch him from a distance;

I observe him in my own way.

He carries a different last name,

But has your hair and your nose and my eyes.

Between the two of us, I’m sure he is a creative soul.

I wish you didn’t leave me.

I wish I could hear you say good morning,

I wish I could smell the nape of your neck.

I wish I could hold your hand.

I wish we left five minutes later or five minutes earlier.

I’m sorry the train came along the tracks.

I’m sorry I’ve lost you forever.

I love you.

© David Greg Harth

15.06.24.14:39:20@200VeseyNYC

Passage

The frost takes control of my heart

Hardening into impenetrable stone

You had complete jurisdiction

Behind closed broken glass

You saw me at my deepest lows

And you held my hand hoping for the highs

Together we heard whispers

From little footsteps on the hardwood floor

You lost twice

For twelve more years I’ve gone on

Buried the three of you so long ago

With such magnitude my heart aches

Turning corners on each city street

On every airplane bound trip

I hope I’ll meet you again

My rage is premature

A dozen more times I attempted

And I have failed

In the past I got such pleasure

Out of this constant thirst

That I have for you

Wandering in a state of existence

Not wanted without you

I question what I’m supposed to do

All I have now is desolation

That no one understands

I’m planning my departure

© 2015 David Greg Harth

15.05.04.07:12:12@130BklynNYC

Middle River

It was easy to hire a small boat to take me across the first river.

I approached the man who straddled the side of his boat.

He was the proud, obvious owner of the small vessel.

Decked out in different shades of brown, with an unkempt white beard.

He wore a dark blue corduroy cap with small brass snaps that snapped to nothing.

The cap seemed to be too snug for man of his size, while everything else in brown seemed to fit well.

He looked as though he stepped out of a mail order catalog for fly-fishing wear or a backpacker’s guidebook to Alaska.

With a sturdy yet muffled and raspy deep voice, as if he smoked for many years and has many stories to tell,

He asked if I wanted to cross the river, "Do you want to get to the other side?"

I replied "Yes, how much?"

The third river was more difficult to cross.

This river was the merging run off between two great mountain regions.

Given that it was the annual spring thaw, the river was raging, as if escaping its winter bondage

Rapidly gushing, washing away, and bringing down crushed boulders to lower ground

The river was ever changing, as the powerful water would indiscriminately carve new bends

On each new turn, earth was on earthed, and earth was discarded

Animals small and large, would come to the river edge in search for food and water

Carefully, they dodge being a victim of the fierce pounding against the banks

As I walked up and down along the river, it took quite a few weeks where I finally found a way to pass

And the discovered way to pass was easier than crossing the first river

The middle river was calmer than the first and sat still unlike the third river.

It was as if there was just a huge pane of glass that blanketed the ground

Slickly mirroring the innocent sky above that we each gaze upon

I could easily see my reflection in it and as I looked closer

I could see the bed, with no pebbles, no stones, and no rocks

No plants, no fish, and no sand. 

It seemed to just have a black bottom that didn’t reveal how deep it actually was.

There was no boat to cross with. No bridge to walk upon. And no obtainable solution for a crossing.

The middle river was impossible to cross

© 2015 David Greg Harth

15.03.26.02:20:00@130BklynNYC

Windows

I take my wife’s knife

The one she stashed below the mattress

Beneath the bed frame was my baseball bat

Both were there just in case we had intruders in the house

My wife wasn’t home

My kids were at school

I didn’t tell my wife that two weeks ago I was laid off from my job

I’ve battled depression for decades

It got worse as the years went on

My marriage was falling apart

My kids hated me

Alone in the house I took my wife’s knife

I made clear and concise cuts

From my wrist downwards toward my cubital fossa

With clear and concise cuts

© 2015 David Greg Harth

15.02.08.18:02:00@NYC

And Then

Uncommon shooting stars

Interrupting the nightly gaze

As a welcoming cherished surprise

Rolling thundering clouds

Bringing the scent of coming rains

Opportunity to break free of the bondage

Harbor no more the impossible dream

Sail away with the unbelievable

Under a snowflake’s dreamscape

Such ardor in between passing moons

Sometimes the road from Mecca

Is a triennial in disguise

Ride with no fear into uncharted territory

Conquering each historical despair of yesterday

The poet’s sword has been removed from its sheath

Become the defenseless martyr

Concede to true virtues

Surrender with eternity’s defiance

Lift the cloak and abolish the blindfold

For when she is near

Like molten lava you melt

© 2015 David Greg Harth

15.01.28.10:51:18@130BklynNYC

Trees

As the end of the year nears

I walk these concrete sidewalks of my city

Evergreen soldiers stand tall 

Like majestic canopies

That line bodega’s boundaries

The scent of spruce and pine and fir

Always remind me of you

How we’d walk hand in hand

Through the East Village grid

I have such vivid memories

Of being in love with you

But now that you’ve been gone for years

There is nothing I can do

But visit your grave

And never hold your hand again

© 2014 David Greg Harth

14.12.22.24:12:02@130BklynNYC

7th 8th 7th 8th

In my experience

The earth usually rotates on its axis

Like a pattern found in nature

Repeating forever in it's tiny little space

In this vast emptiness

This is the beginning of a love poem

In the past I've written love poems

Or attempted to do so

You see, I'm mainly a visual artist

Or, an artist that has been creating experiences

As of recent

An artist who socially engages

Who likes to involve his audience

But, there are times, which I write poetry

I think I'm pretty good

But I can get a shit load better

This is a love poem

It's a love poem

Because, well, I'm in love again

And at the start, this is what happens

I get crazy

And then I'll make a mistake

And like the wind that carried her here

She'll be gone once again

© 2014 David Greg Harth

14.10.31.01:06:50@130BklynNYC

Wasn’t Told

I didn’t get the telegram

And after the last look I gave

When I was on top of the hill

About to go over

And never return

I caught your last glance

But it was too late

Buried in a box

My fate is sealed

Along with everything 

That was me

To you

Because I loved you

But you loved me too late

Now

I am dead

I am dead

© 2014 David Greg Harth

14.10.27.21:45:03@130BklynNYC

Ability (Version #2)

We were freshly out of school

A little over a year

And you headed back home

I dropped you off at the airport

You caught the evening flight out of JFK

I said goodbye to your baby browns

And kissed your rose lips

Nobody inspires me like you had

Nobody captivates me like you had

Nobody captures my heart like you had

There is no one on this earth

That encompassed what you were

To me

Your touch was sensory overload of the majestic sense

Your kiss sent an electric charge down my spine

Your voice was a symphony to my ears

Your kindness was legendary

Your warmth was generous

Your affection was eternal

Your love was boundless

Your courage was heroic

Your sympathy was epic

Your grace was poetic

I no longer have the ability to love

You took my ability to the bottom of the sea that day

My heart died with you

On Flight 111, September 2, 1998

© 2014 David Greg Harth

14.09.30.23:30:27@130BklynNYC

Hannah Has A Story For You

I was standing in line at the DMV

I stood next to a woman named Hannah

She had a story for me

Hannah told me tales of truth and fiction

Even read my palm and told me my fortune

She knew about my morning's benediction

Hannah said I'm an old soul but that I'd die young

Predicted my future so eloquently

She said my nuptial song has yet to be sung

So if you go to the Department of Motor Vehicles

Go find Hannah for your story

Just don't get too close, because she'll grab your testicles!

© 2014 David Greg Harth

14.09.09.09:53:49@130BklynNYC

Mustard Sunday

On Monday I fell in love with a woman

On Tuesday I waited for her to call me back

On Wednesday she called me back, we made plans for Thursday

On Thursday we had our date, we made love

On Friday she broke up with me

On Saturday I sat on the couch, heart broken

On Sunday, I had a hotdog with mustard. I never have mustard on hotdogs.

© 2014 David Greg Harth

14.09.07.21:35:45@130BklynNYC

Mr. Richmond, Ms. Wright, and Mr. O.

First, while bent over the government issued grey desk

Mr. Richmond took the handle of the government issued mop

And placed that wooden handle way up my ass. 

It was the first time I’ve ever had anything up my ass.

Even as I tried to give him an explanation

Of reasons of why he shouldn’t do this,

He just refused to listen.

I asked to speak to his supervisor,

To which he responded that he was the supervisor.

And he proceeded to shove that wooden handle up my ass

Splintering my anal sphincter along the way

Each time it went in further, I was in pain

More so with the thoughts about what it will be like to pull it out.

When I asked Mr. Richmond who was above him, he said, Ms. Wright

When Ms. Wright could not be found, he directed me to Mr. O.

Mr. O could not be found.

So, after he pulled out that government issued mop handle

Out of my bleeding ass

I attempted to sit down in the 145 person occupancy waiting room

Filled with cattle who don’t belong

But only because of me, the white man, they belong

And so, I sat. 

Uncomfortable. Bleeding.

Soiling the grey government issued chair.

Finally, 45 minutes later, Mr. Richmond announced my name

So, beyond the screaming babies and greasy food

I went behind the closed doors

To be under surveillance

And observed

Once more

Mr. Richmond introduced me to Ms. Wright and Mr. O.

It was a two for one

And so, exclaiming my innocence

To prevent automatic judgment

And crucifixion by monetary value

It was determined that I had good cause

So, the stuffed-like a turkey worker could go fuck herself

Yet still

I’m out of the system

Because I made a dime

And had my ass fucked

© 2014 David Greg Harth

14.09.06.11:58:00@130BklynNYC

Mr. Exit

They asked me to solve the unsolved

I am the last person to come into the situation

I solve the problems

For all

No matter what technique is required

No matter how much time is required

For I am a man of no death and no fear

I am the man that haunts your children's patterns of sleep

I am the man who follows you around dark corners

I solve problems

For each and every cheated lover

For each and every crooked politician

I am

Mr. Exit

© 2014 David Greg Harth

14.08.31.17:10:35@130BklynNYC

One More Morning

At 7 O’clock I woke up this morning

The windows were open 

Like most July 10ths in New York

The day was hot

I was restless but I woke up as I always do

Drank a full glass of water with my

80 mg of aspirin,

1400 mg of fish oil,

1200 mg of flax seed oil

And 20 mg of cetirizine hydrochloride

At 7 O’clock

Shortly after 7 O’clock

I took a shower like I do every day

The steam scattered around trying to escape

I always wash myself in the same order

Which, in brief, goes like this:

With Dove Men+Care Body & Face Bath Bar (Extra Fresh),

I first wash my ass, cock, and armpits 

Then I rinse

Then with Head & Shoulders Classic Clean 2 in 1 Dandruff Shampoo + Conditioner

I wash my hair, followed by a rinsing

Then with Dove Men+Care Body & Face Wash (Extra Fresh),

I wash my entire body again.

Including the same body parts I washed with the bar soap

Followed by a final rinse

And I dry with my black towel while still standing in the tub

The towel that has been dryer spun way too many times

I carefully step out onto my bamboo bath mat and dry my feet

Then with Colgate Total Anticavity Fluoride and Antigingivitis Toothpaste, Advanced Clean,

I brush my teeth gently - not too vigorously, as to not harm my gums

That is followed by a minute of swishing around of

Listerine Total Care Zero Mouthwash

That was shortly after 7 O’clock

As the clock approached 20 minutes past the 7 O’clock hour, or so,

I brewed some Chilmark brand Single Speed Espresso, Ethiopia Negele Sidamo-Sumatra Mandheling coffee

My apartment filled with such an inviting and warming aroma

It truly was delicious

I drank my over 8oz. cup of coffee around half past 7 O’clock

At half past 7 O’clock I continued drinking my coffee and

I turned on the computer, an evil necessary gadget

Perhaps first considered invented back in 1872 by Sir William Thomson

I’ve been called a Sir before. Plenty of times

But that’s an entirely different context that we won’t get into now

And so I began checking email, the news, and facebook

Sometimes these sources of communication can truly be addictive

I try to limit my time in the morning using these technologies

Perhaps around 8 O’clock I turn off the nonsense

And so an hour after I woke up at 7 O’clock

I continue my day with what’s needed to be done

I review my calendar and contemplate:

Is today a day I have a date?

Is today a day I visit a museum?

Is today a day I donate platelets?

Is today a day I work at the art studio?

Is today a day I attend an art opening?

Is today a day I ate a burger with someone?

Is today a day I have a doctor’s appointment?

Is today a day I work at home on design work?

Is today a day I attend a performance or concert?

Is today a day I attempt to ask someone to sign my bible?

Is today a day I take a photo booth portrait with someone?

My days vary completely

But as they vary, they are the same

Constantly moving forward

With my Kuru shoes made specifically for people with plantar fasciitis

With my continued struggle to avoid cookies (I happen to really love chocolate chip cookies)

But onward I march

Like a poetic warrior of laboring love

© 2014 David Greg Harth

14.07.10.07:10:00@130BklynNYC

Impact

There are two ways

            of making

an

            impact

Laughter we shared

Smiles photographed

Music we heard

Concert we danced at

Tears we tasted

Mourning in silence

Snow that fell upon us

Running in the rain

Soaring planes

Observing skies

Walking side by side

Holding hands down the street

Conversations had

Games of phone tag

Burgers eaten

Sharing dessert

Taking a photo booth portrait

Visiting an art museum

Laying upon the grass in the park

Bird songs echoing overhead

Riding the roller coaster

Drifting on the ocean’s edge

Waking up late

Eating popcorn at the movies

Standing for eternity

Witnessing a signature

Kissing beneath midnight

Making love forever

All these experiences

And I have nothing left

Nothing to give

And nothing to receive 

Every bone crushed

Every organ destroyed

I become no longer recognizable

I am dead

It was impossible to survive a fall from such a height

A jump

After my body has impacted the ground

The mourners will ask you,

How has he impacted your life?

© 2014 David Greg Harth

14.05.15.09:32:00@130BKLYNNYC