utopia, seen from a hillside
progressive thoughts
thru pleasure and pain
the dreams race
across my wild plains
imagery is ghostly
make believe times
I think of you
he and she
together as one
alone
on the hill
away from it all
about to fall
only to be caught
by the hand
hand of love
no separations allowed
no intruders
no darkness
only cool breezes flow
thru your hair
and thru thy eyes
with the intensity of admiration
with the intensity of touch
a skin tone
a lip tongue
a suckle
reach out and touch it
feel the breeze
above the hill
high above
fall with me
into the pit
the pit of utopia
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.01.30.02:16:00@31USQWNYC
god
god
you bitch
you demon
you make them believe
you make me a product
you make my mother beg
you are dirt
scum from my cock
you are a bum’s last urine
and you still come back
god
I don’t refer to you
I don’t capitalize you
I visualize you
I imagine you
I can picture you
god
you are evil
you are a baby’s breath
lost from a beaten husband
you are a hanger for pros
and lust from nukees out west
you are a marcher and become a face
of a priest or rabbi
even a CEO
god you are my television
you are a cleaner
you are my servant
because I form you
I mold you
you are only my thoughts
which I do not believe
do not believe
god you are a whisper
you are my love’s gate
and cage
and cook
god you do not exist
I am without a chest
I hear the sounds
the revolutions
and repetitions
but all you can give me
is parting seas
books of words
clothing full of assholes
and emblems representing your existence
I say fuck you
as I eat at your heavenly body
your soul
your belief
your printed matter
your trees and nicely cropped bush
I say fuck you
as your servants beg of you
kneel to you
bow to you
I do NOT capitalize you
or socialize with you
I put my hands out
and milk you of your existence
and nurse you as you die
upon my shoulders
god!
© 1998 David Greg Harth
98.01.24.17:51:00@10036
98.01.29.04:26:00@07430
[NOA&S]
Stimulation
two doves sitting in a tree
two birds chirping at the morning sun
one’s beauty in a reflection at the pond
a picnic for two on a grassy green hill
an oak tree
and butterflies too
television and the media
humor and the people who make it
music to my ears
and your whispers too
a cool breeze
or warm hug
a scented red rose
or a furry little friend,
my pussy cat
an enchanting evening
for two at the lakeside
a lover surrounded by candlelight
bathing with too
water down the back
or whipped cream too
experimentation
a dare devil inside
a close dance
body against body
grinding passion
and intimate wonders
philosophy, pornography and people too
beauty and earth itself
and oh, my galore!
navels
navels
navels
a fetish for navels
eyebrows and eyes
perfect hair
skin to touch
caress once more
a belief in blood
and a beach night calm
seasons changing
warm and wet
cold and mine
an embrace
a smile
and painting you
imagination
hope
and ice cubes
temptation
lust
and desire
and most of all
she
she herself
being who she is
she
she stimulates me
© 1998 David Greg Harth
98.01.25.20:40:00@NYCUSA
Myself: Destination
I sat at the front of the 49-passenger-bus
We were going down the highway
Passing all the lights and the travelers
It was dark out, a midnight blue - casted shadows around
The rain on the windshield bounced on and off
I looked down the aisle
And what did I see
I saw myself
About half-way back down the aisle of grey seats
There I sat staring to the front at myself
And I stared at myself, looking, gazed like a ghostly soul
In the center of the aisle
There was a box
A cardboard box with printed black ink
It stunk of fish and meat and octo-pussy
It leaked down the thin aisle to my black covered feet
I got freaked out
Could not understand
How could there be two of me
Right then and there
How could this be
Terrified
I leaped out of my red-striped, semi-comfortable, grey seat
And jumped through the front windshield of the autobus
Crashing through, landing hard on the wet cold ground
Shards of sharp glass punctured my soft pale skin
And blood splattered my structured self and the other innocent passengers
The driver swerved
But it was too late
Before I hit the ground
The bus slammed at my fleshy blurred form
Crushing my hair and eyes into my thoughts
My crucified red liquid flowing
Across bright headlights and creamy-white dashes on the pavement
But now there is one of me
And he
Smells like meat
And is still going to his destination
© 1998 David Greg Harth
98.01.22.00:00:00@07430/10036
98.01.24.00:00:00@07430/10036
98.01.25.00:00:00@07430/10036
The Sky (Looking Up Towards The Sky)
My answer is never
For its only lost in my chambers
It’s like a cornucopia
Overflowing with passionate wonder
A bond of realism
With a surrealist stroke
A graceful touch
Performed like a dove’s dance
Beautiful beginning
At the birth place
A symphony of warmth
Surrounding gold candlelight
Deep brown eyes
Attacked by blackness of night
True difference unheard
While ignited flames burned
Rules and borders
When I only patrol my own mind
Cotton softness
Slender willow scented like a rose
Breath above her neck
Below the listening sense
A life a little ordinary
Conquered by the extraordinary
Rain poured
Down souls of bodies
I whisper to her skin
With my fingertips
Touched once
And forever remembered
© 1998 David Greg Harth
98.01.17.00:00:00@NJNYC
98.01.21.00:00:00@NJNYC
Interrupted Silence
I traveled through her canal
Under her sweet dirt
I listened to her words
Static came in-between
Separated us at birth
Interference melted me
Venom punctured my lips
My eyes rolled back into my scull
I listened strongly
Her words scattering on my lighted horizon
Pollution settled in
Advertised through copper wires
Ruined by Hollywood production
Past deep inside
Surveillance as I pullout
Spotlight on me
Her voice is gone now
I cry in my memories
My camera falls forward
I am unsettled
© 1998 David Greg Harth
98.01.20.13:36:00@NYC10036
Wonder
Sheets of white
Glorious tones
Brown on the bed
Black in the shower
Going down the drain
That forward water
Soap turned hard
Out from the cold
A heating touch
Remember that call
Healed wound
And a pounding heart
Embrace
Heat exchanged
Tongue twisted
Late hour
Over cover
Talk up noon
Tea time
Midnight moon
Howling wonder
Out from under
Beneath stars
Chance of
Strawberry massage
Scented room
Bottle top
Cry no more
Painted picture
Poetry read
Delay of
Secrets shared
A wonder what
Dressed in black
A lifted eyebrow
And an ear left to fall
© 1998 David Greg Harth
98.01.16.15:13:00@NYC
Path
Reaching in
Bending forward
Leaning in
Sun down
Night rising
Trees swaying
Glare opening
Stare conquering
Fingers gripping
Water flowing
People running
Bubbles bursting
Stars above
Air whipping
Warmth heating
Train coming
Catch it now
They missed it
All the children
They missed the train
© 1998 David Greg Harth
98.01.15.16:52:00@NYC10036
Lost Calculations
I knew this woman once. She had a mint green jacket, light weight. On her head was a bright, forest green, well-knitted beret. She wore a sweatshirt, covering her large breasts. The sweatshirt was white, and printed on it was a luxurious cross with blooming pink and pastel yellow flowers. Her pants were of a medium shade of dungaree blue. On her feet were bright blue leather shoes, with rubber soles and yellow stitches. She would push around a shopping cart, a small portable one. It was made of metal, painted navy blue. Inside were white plastic bags and jars of spaghetti sauce; that’s all.
She would carry around a calculator with her, and make all these different calculations. Many numbers, passing by. She would add and subtract, divide and multiply, like the families do in today’s society. While biting the pink collar of her jacket, she would stare at me, under the thickly dense, round-framed eyeglasses. Still, she would make the calculations on her freshly bought calculator. Occasionally, raising an index finger to her mouth, to bite her nails.
The woman would move from the back to the front. Skipping all in-between; on the line. It doesn’t matter to her who waited, what mattered was if everything added up right. Because if it didn’t, she was not clean, and would have to bathe later on that night. As her tight fitting pink jacket, contrasted with her green envy, she would limp across the line, while bracing her portable shopping cart.
And all the time, adding and subtracting. Doing some multiplications and some divisions. All these calculations on her pocket calculator. Over and over again. Until she got picked up and she sat down, in those greens, pinks, and that large breasted cross. She would sit and bite at her index nails. And the line would move past her. Passing her, as she discontinued making her calculations.
© 1998 David Greg Harth
98.01.03.01:04:00@07430
Traveler
I was a traveler today
Passing in front of everyone
Behind a car
It was a station wagon
Of maroon color
Two children were in the back
Back of that 4-runner vehicle
I saw them waving and yelling
Yelling at each other
A boy, a girl
Fighting humorously
I only saw them
Through the rain absorbed windshield
But oddly,
I could hear them
Hear them in my head
The sounds coming from behind me
The children’s laughter
And amusing little cries
And wonderful tearful sounds
Pleading, cracking, smiles
I was a traveler today
Followed the children
I heard them all
Laughing
Crying
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.12.30.04:30:00@NYCUSA
Love
love - strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties
love - attraction based on sexual desire: affection and tenderness felt by lovers
love - a god or personification of love
love - a score of zero
love - the death of hope
© 1997 David Greg Harth
1997.12.26.03:33:00@NYC10003 -> 07430
sweeping
I sat in the airport
watched the faceless woman
she was sweeping
sweeping away
I observed her every move
with her long broomstick
sweeping
sweeping
she stood there
faceless
in a blue jump outfit
faceless
no features were there
just a blackness
an oval black shape
like on a television screen
she was sweeping
sweeping away
I watched carefully
all the other travelers
and passengers
they were faceless too
passing by
rushing
running
faceless
with big black ovals
I watched the woman sweep
sweep away
intrigued
she was feet deep
in what she was sweeping
at the airport
she swept
faceless
I had to know
what was she sweeping?
I climbed out of my chair
walked towards the woman
the faceless woman sweeping
I looked down
she was sweeping
all the dead skin
left behind from the
passengers and travelers
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.12.15.01:26:00@MNJ07430
97.12.16.22:39:00@MNJ07430
97.12.17.23:07:00@MNJ07430
Untitled (Time)
it makes a bird fly
and the clouds move
it turns heads
and ruins cities
it burns in the night
and floats above the land
it is inside and out
it is above and below
it makes a train run
and the water flow
it reaches a destination
but continues on
it is red and blue
and white and green
it is orange and violet
and amber too
it is interruption
and birth
it is a carriage to a wheelchair
a bicycle to a car
it is a cross on a mound
it is dense and whole
round and square
it is many and few
beyond a far
it is future and past
and everything at last
it is what you and I are made of
and made from
and are going too.
what is it?
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.03.24.16:21:00@31USQWNYC
97.12.11.16:21:00@31USQWNYC
Chaos: A new Beauty
chaos is in the air
the scent invades my mind
my senses take over
by a truth of lust
chaos is in the air
the doves flew home tonight
brown eyes stare
blue eyes welcome
love is defined
he paints a picture
together they are poets
separated from birth
a welcoming horizon
never thought to exist
a real being found inside
can no longer hide
a barrier once built
now taken down and defeated
a castle of overwhelming magnitude
tracks leading to the fields
vast plains constitute
lions guard the dens
as perfume prevents desires
a cure is near
chaos penetrates my being
the smell conquers my thoughts
she moves swiftly
stinging lioness going for a kill
infiltrates my mind
intrigues my inner self
a poetry writer
a sculptor at heart
beautiful bi-line
twist and turn
a recommended St. Jude
I see an angel in my reflection
running through God’s waters
I find a lasting place
an unexpected face
is what I found in this state of grace
a gyration of fluid
a simple mind
a complex thought
share, bond, comprehend
a goddess from heaven
a Botticelli’s slast dance
sunset colors
and blood dried dreams
an embrace of warmth
glowing from within the heart
I tear at myself
rip apart my soul
so, you can enter
and dance with me
in the midnight sky
a small town womyn
Japan a far
romantic scenes
portrait of an enigma
classy through choice
an 80’s lover
a 90’s conqueror
a developed reason
chaos is in the air
someone fainted back there
lift me up, guide me through
I found someone tonight
chaos is in the air
I breathe it all the time
chaos is in the air
I make love to my dreams
chaos is in the air
the beauty is stunning
the mind is beyond a wish
chaos is my lioness
a reality of my truth
an existence together
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.12.08.23:45:00@NJ07430
97.12.09.23:45:00@NJ07430
97.12.10.23:45:00@NJ07430
The Lion & The Blue Man
He died today
They wanted to shoot him
That Anthony man
She took photos
Remembered the scene
For later poetry
She defined love
He painted a picture
The winter breeze
Passed the sirens galore
He died that day
Obesity set in
And the womyn
No performance of CPR
She carried a cane
And two weighed bags
She smiled at me
And retreated to the sea
A scent of chaos
Sitting beside a lion tonight
A mosaic of utopia
Last night’s St. Jude
Bloated man
Down the aisle
Shifting feet
911
Let us plea for life
Anthony’s
An English accent
A lesbian lover
A line cutter
And a 3 some
4,5,6 trooper
Jerry curl at front
Go out for a ciggie
Wish it was for a shag
Go out for a rescue
Shove through the glass
Let’s all move on
As the dead are dying
Let’s all move on
We have to illustrate
Then the life is shortened
A distant fighter
A right hook
To the jaw; to the gut
Deep down inside
The man in blue
His flesh tone of cobalt
The cold man
With a Hong Kong’s 137
He died that day
Back in the center
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.12.06.00:00:00@NYC
97.12.07.00:00:00@NYC
A Life Of Listening (The Beauty Of Passion #1)
Do you hear me?
As I plead guilty?
To the crimes I did not commit?
To the suicide of the others?
To the love I was denied?
Do you hear me?
I tear out my tongue and twist it around
I long for your dreams
And put power into your soul
I eat at my own flesh
To hear your own pain
I live for your feelings
To comfort your life
Do you hear me?
As I cry myself to sleep
To deal with the pain
To survive from the hell
And bring dead to the graves?
Do you hear me?
As I press a stake through my heart
And pound at my feelings
I last a short while
As long as you want
I last the longest time
The day of your life
Do you hear me?
As I call upon your mother and father?
As I sit beside you at your lonesome night?
As I stroke your hair
And caress your face?
As I take care of you
Nurse you to the life you had
To the gift you are
To the one I dedicate my life to
To the one I burned for
Died for
Decomposed for?
Do you hear me?
As I yell in sheer agony?
As nails of love puncture my dreams?
To the one I have not forgotten
To the one I will forgive
For I have sinned
Take me now.
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.11.26.08:37:00@NYC
ASSIGNMENT
I wonder if it’s true
The invitation
To tomorrow’s party
The one down under
The one with wine down the back
A channel
An influence of animals
A Zoo Channel
One to be discovered
An Assignment completed
Yet just started on a statue
A sculpture from heaven
With the gaze of mystery
A rose with its thorns up
Protection, a front
Boundaries broken
Until I come inside
I wonder if it’s true
The beloved ghost’s last train
The pondering thoughts
And lasting impressions
An Assignment given and taken
One with ends that meet commons
One with twists and turns
From the waist to the breast
Sexy
Eyebrows to shout
I imagine, a navel
Navel of no other
A French kind for me
A brown-eyed sunset
Down from the earth, so very near
Together an experience
Every time, she wonders
I wonder if it’s true
If he is the one in the sea
She dances with me
I know she will wear that shoe
If the blue matches
The brown mixes
The painting is like a Warhol
An origin of delight
Beauty upon a platter
A lasting lust of crime
Danger is near
Around her curves
I can feel them here
Every bend
Every turn
Mind set to go
A deliver punch of intensity
I wonder if Assignments should be given
Or if he just died in heaven.
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.11.26.02:19:00@NYC
The Phone Man
The man on the phone
he stared at me today
his curly hair
like a cherry tree
He gazed at me
glass ball-eyed
he yelled and screamed
did not piss in his pants
Hand in pocket
he knows me
I try to pass
he stabs through me
The man on the phone
he hunts for me
I ran down the hall
pass a sign
he follows
the man on the phone
I ran past the crew
and the bed men too
I ran to the alley
and past the white ghosts
I have a glimpse
woman in the window
her bare breasts
sticking out
Her nipples hard
as can be
man on the phone
on my ass
I stare at the woman
the woman in the shadows
out from the window
she gives a yell
I climb the ladder
to the woman
her breasts bare
in front of my stare
She takes me inside
the phone man behind
I lay on the bed
as she straddles my waist
The window crashes open
the man who knew me
he runs into the room
as the woman grinds her hips
The phone man approaches
the woman atop
pulls a caliber
out from his jacket pocket
Points it behind her
In front of me
behind her bare breasts
her stiff nipples
in front of me
The phone man
he pulls the trigger
I bleed
Her nipples toss
In front of me
The phone man
he knew me
I lay there
as he calls 911
as his lover
falls to the ground
as I die
beneath dead bare breasts...
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.11.20.22:17:57@NYC
Beauty
I gaze into your beauty
see strength deep within
sexy in a grey color sweater
underneath, slip a few
Eyebrows
lifted to enjoy
explore
and protect your eyes
leading to the bridge
slender
like the figure below
I get lost
in your brown eyes
over and over again
I can travel your pathways
and long hallways
any day
all day
Traveling through
your mystery brown eyes
baby seal eyes
attraction at its peak
your eyelashes at guard
only a glimpse
captures me
and makes me dive deeper
and sink into your eyes
beautiful brown eyes
I trace your curves
your smooth skin face
with my eyes
or feathers or ice
to your mouth
parted slightly
rose lips
pink in tone
for a nibble tonight
When you smile
all wars come to a halt
around mother earth
we stand still
at sight of your
glorious smile
healing a wound inside
Still a passenger
I travel down
see your sexy neck
outside you protrude
from the sweater cover
your hair
perfect
with the black
the brown
and the red color around
Slick
to the touch
feel
fingers through your hair
streak down
stroke upwards
The surrounding
incase
your mind of wonders
intelligence projected
ice water placed
down to earth
of Egyptian decent
If you were across a sea
I would row a boat
build a steam ship
create a bridge
If you were atop a mountain
I would be the first to climb
parachute down
or fly to your soul
Come with me
take a walk
an imagination
a chance of no other
your beauty interlocking
exchanging
finding
becoming “a one”
Dance with me
to the moon’s hymn
and the sun’s first open arms
with the animals of the forest
and the wonderful desert skies
and later
a dessert
to expand a horizon
And now I wonder
If your bolted tongue
slithers like that of your mind
and your beautiful brown eyes
down a slippery escape
of today’s reality
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.11.18.13:20:00@NYCUSA
Brown Ashes
they danced
exchanged
slithered up
each other’s bodies
melted
bended together
they bonded
candles ignited
the waitress laughed
customers scattered
rotations rushed
water poured
but did not stop us
wooden ones left
as the glass shattered
the mirror busted
drinks on me
they don’t sell well
we are being fed
as the others
left to bled
that night
I lay in bed
wonder how
I escaped
I survived
as a pile of slender ashes
lays beside me
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.11.07.12:52:00@505MAHWAH