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

Occupation

There is all this talk

Of occupying Wall Street

And taking over the nation

Everyone is occupying

Whose streets? Our streets

Everyone is sitting in squares

or standing on stairs

Everyone has a big sign

or a loud megaphone

Everyone chants and screams

or bangs on thunderous drums

Some sit at oak desks

or stand on the trading floor

Some have good paying jobs

or are filthy and dirt poor

Some are young without health insurance

or old with bankrupt Medicare

Some are from far far away

or just around the corner bar

There is all this talk

Of occupation

Occupy this and occupy that

Occupy city, state, and the nation

Police state, people state

Out of state, in state

Counter-state, Fail-state

This is an out of control debate!

There is all this talk

Of occupying Wall Street

And taking over the nation

But all I really want

Is to occupy your heart

© 2011 David Greg Harth

11.11.17.16:30:26@323NYC

Once

I had no intention

To fall in love with you

There are times

When one cannot prevent such chance

Such circumstance and happenstance

When one cannot predict

Such connection and magnetism

I had no intention

To fall in love with you

There are times

When these feelings are beyond our control

Such feelings reside so deep

When these emotions are admitted

Such beauty and positivity could be had

I had no intention

To fall in love with you

There are times

When no matter how hard you try too not

Such emanating souls intertwine

When no matter how hard you try to avoid

Such passionate harmony exists

I had no intention

To fall in love with you

But now I’m in love with you

And I’ve written it down

So, you know

And everyone knows

© 2011 David Greg Harth

11.11.15.08:28:52@130BklynNYC

Ownership

I’ve presented myself

I’m vulnerable, standing alone in this cave of life

I’ve completely given myself to you

I’m defenseless, treading alone in this sea of life

It’s up to you

To take up space in my atriums and ventricles

Keep me warm and glowing

From the inside out

As you already do

Nest in my chambers

For my chambers you have claimed

And my chambers belong to you

© 2011 David Greg Harth

10.12.07.15:34:45@550MadisonNYC

11.08.08.21:22:47@130BklynNYC

Often

They (They) think I'm a male whore

It’s not true

I may flirt

I may believe in true chivalry

I may be warm and caring

I may be passionate

I may have a thick cock

But it’s not true

My number is low (and sacred)

But I assure you (all)

I am selective

© 2011 David Greg Harth

11.05.16.21:12:00@FLT1124

Old Crusty Hole

I couldn’t help but enter

I was lured in

Tempted by the fate of promising jewels

Hidden aged diamonds

One never knows what you’ll discover in caves

Or dusty tombs

And nooks and crannies beneath ancient pyramids

So I put on my archaeologist hat

And took the adventure

Digging around

First you go in with your hands

Feeling around

Touching the walls

Blindly not know what you’re feeling

This rough texture

This sandpaper

The walls are flaking apart

Aged particles falling off

Bark like a tree disintegrating in your hands

Dust coughing, clouds parting

I feel around not knowing what I’m searching

Trying to figure out if this hole is big enough

Trying to figure out if its acceptable

Can such treasures be found here?

Could I really go hunting inside here?

How deep could I go in?

After my initial search

I figured it was time for the exploration

With my past behind me

My weapon in front of me

I’m ready to go forth

These walls wrapped around me

I feel so enclosed

Encompassed

Like an old aged home

A library never read

A closet never opened

A coffin coming alive

This hole becoming ripe

I see the scratch marks my fingers made

Grey cracked walls

Peeling and chipped

No leakage

Barely able to breathe

I can’t find any air inside this hole

I dig deeper and deeper for this treasure

I know I’ll find it here some place

And gain this grand pleasure

These walls crumble around me

So bridle they fall and fail

These old walls collapse

Into a pile of dust

Deep inside this old crusty hole

© 2011 David Greg Harth

11.03.19.15:49:48@130BklynNYC

Oceans Become Men

We throw ourselves into the ocean

Because we are single men with a noble notion

We flood love upon our defiant muses

As impaled swords leave our hearts with bruises

We have orchids weaved together to make our battle armor

It is our faithful duty to be the romantic charmer

We came forth as warrior poets have risen

Our consciousness confines us into our own prison

We lure you with our poetic harmony in our hymns

And die for you in an instant or give up each of our limbs

We are the ancient guardians of chivalry

And surrender to our heart’s honesty

We are brave enough for any wreckage at sea

Our sensuality is matched with our curiosity

We drown with our voices unheard

Our engagement comes on the third

We stand with dignity without regrets

These departures are only empty threats

We ride fire chariots to the sun

And we pocket the suicidal gun

We follow the searching sparrow

To our very own crucifixion by arrow

We are lost as we mourn

Remembering the very reason, we were born

We are the defenders of truth

The unrivaled hunters who go sleuth

We are angels on patrol

And into our mouth we put coal

We are dreamers who confess

And die lonely deaths

We are ocean men

And we are holy men

We flood you with our love till the very last end

When oceans become men

And men become oceans

© 2011 David Greg Harth

11.01.29.02:55:41@130BklynNYC

One Brick, Two Brick

One Brick, Two Brick,

Three Brick, Four

Four Brick, Five Brick,

Six Brick, Seven

Seven Brick, Eight Brick,

Nine Brick, Ten

Ten Bricks, Twenty Bricks

Thirty Bricks, Forty

Forty Bricks, Fifty Bricks

One Hundred Bricks tall

© 2011 David Greg Harth

11.01.18.15:23:46@550NYC

Once Belonging

There once was a time when I belonged to you

That time is gone, forever gone

You had encompassed my heart

Every beat I had, was a beat for you

But now that you are gone

And I am still here

My heart no longer belongs to you

For that once upon a time

Is forever gone

© 2011 David Greg Harth

11.01.17.1519:06@323NYC

Opa (Version #6)

The phone was ringing.

I heard it from the other room.

I ran to pick it up.

I thought I'd get it in time.

I only heard it ring four times.

I picked it up.

You weren't there.

© David Greg Harth

10.12.07.15:13:18@550MadisonNYC

OneTwentyFive

Harlem streets

Holocaust massacres

Montreal North

Montana West

Fresh cut hair

And fresh cut grass

Hungry for death

And can’t bear to fast

Half of me taken

Snakes beneath a child’s bed

Followed your footsteps to hell

It was you who led

In fields of skeletons

Lovemaking, crafting, and dying

The excavator found me

Exhausted of loneliness, I am trying

Reborn in a cocoon of thought

Beginnings end near

Bypass in two weeks’ time

I have landed, I am here

Beyrouth streets

Deconstructing division walls

Tripoli South

Tokyo East

He calls my name from shadows

I’m ready with black ink

Hailing to him I raise my holy cup

We are one and ready to drink

Called from heaven, called for prayer

Messages left inside love’s shrine

History tells of legends past

Read my scans and puncture my spine

Bring out the audience

Raise the musty blood-red curtain

Announce the deceased famous

Devil birds by the sea are quite certain

Chapters end and sentences depart

Stories passed on for generations

Borders out of control, compass spinning

Painting dictators of all the great nations

New York streets

Living for nine lives more

41.373223, -74.304438

Over and over, beyond the 12th floor

© 2009 David Greg Harth

09.06.17.14:32:37@292CPT/NYC1st

Latitude/Longitude

Often Light Buried Deep

The wind had died down.

The sailors stripped bare.

No mission, no drive, no salute.

The ocean’s vastness is too painful to conquer alone.

Anchor has dropped, has dragged, has pulled.

She’s afloat.

Nine of us left at sea.

Nothing to eat, nothing but me.

Salty tears is what I’m made of.

Never a father.

These waters are now drained.

Hollowed like the heart they once filled.

Dusted bottom.

Upon the shore, he waits once more.

© 2008 David Greg Harth

08.05.07.17:34:25@599NYC

Orange Grandfather

I got a box of oranges in the mail today.

Special delivery from out of state.

My Grandpa Bob sent me some more oranges.

I always found it funny.

He lived in Florida.

I live in New York.

We have oranges in grocery stores here in New York.

But he always sent the oranges from Florida.

As a kind gesture.

A gesture of his love.

When he would phone me, he would often say “This is Florida calling.”

I’m not sure when the Queens-transplanted-Floridian became a state.

I remember him having big ears, a big belly, a big white beard and a big red car.

He may have died a couple of weeks ago.

But he still sent me oranges from Florida.

I just got a box today.

© 2008 David Greg Harth

08.03.11.17:42:54@599NYC

One More Left

He is dead.

She died first.

Then she died.

Now he is dead.

And only one more is left.

© 2008 David Greg Harth

08.02.18.22:56:07@296NYC

The Only Reason

The only reason

is because the ease

of readily available

has not offered itself

upon myself.

© 2008 David Greg Harth

08.02.04.17:54@306W37NYC

October Midnight

I woke up at midnight

I outstretched my arm across the bed

My bed was empty, you weren’t there

I still forget that you died three years ago this October.

With all my love,

David

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.10.01.17:02:16@599BwayNYC

Old Man Asian Cat

Had his hat on

Was reading the New York Times

Rocked back and forth

Back and forth

Rattle of the surrounding machine

Down the tracks

He had workman’s pants

From a boiler room

A shade of oil

His beard hid his honesty

Long nails flipped the paper

Back and forth

Black boots stood him tall

As his sitting told his story

His blue eyes scattered the paper

For winnings or stories unfolding

Crystal like yesterday’s ocean

Didn’t catch the date of that paper

As we rocked back and forth

His umbrella was next him

Used it as a cane

Walked around when woken up

Out the door

A rattle, a rattle, a rattle

Left his paper behind

My finger nails get longer

My beard needs a trim

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.02.09.16:11:24@205HudsonNYC

Opa (Version #5)

I didn’t know who to call

I wanted to call you

But I couldn’t call you

I couldn’t call to tell you

That Opa is dead

© 2006 David Greg Harth

06.10.25.03:33:57@296NYC

Of You

Elderly

Years from now

I’ll look back on these days

The choices I had made

And come to the very same conclusion

That I have concluded today

Just moments ago

I have concluded

That without hesitation

Or delayed thought

I am one hundred percent positive

That I love you.

© 2006 David Greg Harth

06.08.10.02:53:36@296NYC

Opa (Version #4)

Bruised

Leftover

Crumbled

Tinted

Wrinkled

Pace set to extra slow

Aging beyond

Fill him with formaldehyde

He lost his tongue,

  He lost his mind.

He lost his heart,

  He lost his wife.

Your Quaker Oats

  Your bayonet

Your bushy eyebrows

  Your lost causes

Burnt

Shot

Witnessed

Tailored

Flaking

Beats set ten more

Falling to the street

Find him one borough north

He lost his son,

  He lost his remote.

He lost his time,

  He lost himself.

Your giving grace

  Your slicing of hallah bread

Your sketching of corners

  Your newborn smile

Not yet dead

Rolled over

Pissed on

Amnesia

Loved

Time standing still

Tick Tock

When will you join her?

He lost his hope,

  He lost his mother.

He lost his dignity,

  He lost his life.

Your thumb twiddling

  Your eggs of February

Your constant prayer

  Your daily humor

Almost gone,

Just not yet –

            You are my Opa

            I feel like we’ve just met.

© 2005 David Greg Harth

05.11.07.23:36:40@296NYC