January 22, 1974
I love you.
Every day I try to stitch up my heart.
But I cannot. It bleeds forever, for you.
There is nothing more I can do.
There is nothing more to say.
I love you.
I want to make a difference.
I want to make a change.
I want to turn back time.
I want to turn back your heart.
I love you.
Every day I think of how it could have been.
But all I have are lost reflections.
Patterns of your beauty
Retain their intensity on my mind daily.
I love you.
I want to make love to you.
I want to make you remember.
I want to invite you.
I want to hold you.
I love you.
I do not say these words often.
I do not say these words to anyone.
But for you, I say them.
For you, I love.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.03.17.04:01:36@296NYC
Oma and Opa (Version #7)
I adore both of you forever.
But one of you passed away the other day.
The morning of the 15th of February.
The morning after my celebrated Valentine’s Day.
Dear Oma.
You’ve passed on. You’ve left us. No more.
Opa is empty. Alone. Wanting to escape. End.
But we’ll not let him. Not with our love.
Dear Oma,
You died in Opa’s arms. Lifeless. After 65 years wed.
Your great grandson says “Omama died, Omama died”
He knows and he’ll know your legend. Your story. Your love.
We’ll teach him and your little baby great granddaughter too.
Dear Oma,
At age 90. So many battles won. I’m so happy to have known you.
For my 29 years. So very proud that you made it to this point.
So very proud that you were able to attend
your great grandson’s third birthday celebration.
Just 10 days before you left us
Dear Oma,
I missed you at home. I only saw your box draped at the home of funerals.
I had the most silent car ride to the cemetery. With Opa and Dad. It was so quiet.
You could hear the wind speak. You could hear the tears roll on one’s cheek.
You could hear birds sing in Lithuania. You could hear the leaves sway on the trees.
Dear Oma,
You could hear sorrow from each mourner’s footsteps.
We buried you completely. Your fragile pale body placed in a pine wood box.
Lowered to the dirt at the bottom of the grave. We did what Dad dreamed of.
What Dad needed to do. Shovel after shovel. We buried you completely in dirt.
We did not stop until the grave was full. Completely.
Suit jackets off. Shirts cuffed up. Shovel after shovel.
Why? Because your two sisters and mother never got,
the proper burial from the Nazis.
On your day, with our hearts, with our kindness, with gentle care,
we buried you and properly buried your sisters and mother.
We did with our tears, our sweat, our souls, our love.
Because we love you all.
As soon as we finished. The drizzle began.
The drizzle quickly turned to rain to pour.
Giving flowers around the earth a chance to grow.
Dear Oma,
I have a blister on my thumb from the shovel. My arms and hands are a bit sore.
I’ve washed mud and dirt from my shoes. My heart aches for you and Opa.
Opa says, “That’s it, it’s all over.”
Opa says, “I want to go up. I want to go away.”
Opa says, “Maybe I should stop eating.”
Opa says, “I want Rochelle back”
Oma - I want you to know. I’ll be here forever.
For your Martin. For your Marshall.
For your Cara. For Jordan. For Sophie.
I will take care of them. For I have the loving strength from you.
Dear Oma,
Dad looks at his old Bar Mitzvah photograph album.
Places his finger upon each person’s face.
He says “Gestorben, Gestorben, Gestorben,” and he arrives,
at your beautiful face and with tears shared by all he says,
“Gestorben”
Dear Oma,
We ate Cervelot Wurst the other day.
In your honor. In your kindness. In your love.
I wrote the warmest Eulogy. I think I’ll read it every year.
More than once. As I look at photographs of you.
Such beautiful memories. Such wonderful memories.
You will not be forgotten.
Dear Oma,
Phone calls were made. Cookies were shared.
I will visit the Vermont mountains.
I will visit Auschwitz. I will visit Lithuania.
I will go to Second Avenue Deli. I will go to services.
Dear Oma,
I’ve been taking care of Opa for days now.
Sleeping with him. Putting him to bed. Caressing his hair.
Kissing him. Holding him. Speaking to him with my eyes.
Speaking to him with my soft voice. Spending time with him.
At his pace. His aging slow pace. His warm pace.
I’ve been eating dinner with him at the dining hall.
You should see all the people coming up to him.
You were special to all. An extraordinary being.
Dear Oma,
I will never forget. I will always remember.
So much sadness. Yet for me, I have happiness.
For I know how much you changed the world.
For I know how much you have changed my life.
And how much you made my life better.
Dear Oma,
I love you.
I will love you forever.
Thank you for you.
I love you.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.02.24.03:15:46@296NYC
She is Dead
She is dead.
The bells are ringing.
The bagpipers are playing.
The mourners are coming.
The doves are flying.
The lovers are crying.
The souls are dying.
She is dead.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.02.16.12:28:59@296NYC
Valentine’s Day Purchase
This Valentine’s Day
I did not have to purchase
Flowers or Chocolates
Diamonds or Lingerie
400 Thread Count Sheets
Or A Fancy New York Dinner
All I had to purchase,
Like every Valentine’s Day,
Every year,
Is a new heart,
To replace my constant broken heart
To replace my heart that aches
every day to be in love.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.02.14.10:15:15@205HudsonNYC
Lost (Version #2)”
I’m lost today.
I have space around me.
Surrounding me. Entirely.
I’m lost.
I found a way out.
I found a way out, and I’m taking it.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.01.16.05:14:32@296NYC
Agnes, From Poland
She was an angel from heaven.
God sent her down to this earth.
She made beautiful paintings.
Blind from birth with amazing green eyes.
Eyes I could stare into and get lost in.
Forever in Poland she stayed.
Forever in my heart she became.
Agnes, I’ll miss you.
Your green eyes adore you.
Let my blue eyes see you once more.
Let me love you from now on.
Agnes, I’ll miss you.
I’ve blinked so many times.
But you have not left.
The porcelain is clean.
The canvas is stretched.
The paint is applied.
Your green eyes can no longer hide.
© 2004 David Greg Harth
04.12.21.02:06:57@296NYC
Godzilla short changed me at the dairy counter, and there was nothing I could do about it.
Bing, Zing.
Ding, Bling, Gold Ring.
Swollen. Holy. Shitty. Fiery.
Fat. Cow. Chance. Hat. Bat.
Smack. Smunk. Punk. Skunk.
Lizard. Gizzard. Hillary Dillary.
Muff. Puff. Huff. Snuff.
Shush. Hush. Dart. Tart.
Except. Regret. Be. Sea.
Knowledge. Beaten. Heaten. Eaten.
Look. Right. Look. Left.
Round. In. Out. About. Shout.
Wash. Rinse. Cycle. Yell. Smell. Fell. Hell.
Hidden. Digging. Skulling. Hulling.
Bully. Pulley. Pussy. Goofy.
Razor. Bulldozer. Holzer.
Switzerland. London. Bangkok.
Red Light. Die Tonight. Great Fright. Small Might.
Wear it tight. Wear it close. Wear it near. Wear it far.
I’m in white. Better not win. Got nothing to lose. Got nothing to gain.
I’m afraid. Short changed counter. Platform shoes. Cancer’s disease. Man at his knees.
© 2004 David Greg Harth
04.12.09.01:31:27@296NYC
The Language You Speak
She looked like you.
She spoke the language you speak.
I was in Japan town by the East River.
She spoke in words you spoke.
Loving words.
I turned, I glanced.
I saw you. But she was not you and you were not her.
She spoke the language you speak.
She had your lips, and her lips were yours.
© 2004 David Greg Harth
04.11.22.15:30:00@DUMBONYC
04.12.09.01:19:24@296NYC
Oma and Opa (Version #6)
They have escaped the holocaust.
Some of their family did not.
She defeated melanoma.
He had tongue surgery.
She developed shingles.
He had open heart surgery.
She lost eye sight in one eye years ago.
He had a stroke and has a pacemaker that keeps ticking.
A million other things happened during their lives.
The sicknesses, the deaths, the anguish, the pain.
The happiness, the births, the utopia, the pleasure.
She was an EEG technician for years.
He was a tailor and served in the war.
They are disintegrating before my eyes.
With their black and blue marks. Their bloody nicks. And drooping skin.
Their liver spots, sun spots, cancer spots and hairy spots.
He now farts in my presence.
She wears a diaper and talks to me about crapping in it.
Their breath needs freshening.
They forget. They get lost.
They both no longer have their teeth.
They have bad hearing and bad understanding.
They are fragile to the touch and to the wind.
Bony and white and short and small and thin.
They both have fallen, but never out of love.
But as much as they decay before my eyes.
My love for them is stronger than anything.
I love them dearly. Forever.
And I will have the warmest eulogy when the time comes.
But is certainly has not come yet.
© 2004 David Greg Harth
04.12.09.01:08:24@296NYC
November & December
Bronx & Manhattan
Hospital Observing
A Bitten Heart
She’s bitten my lip
Touched my spirit
I spoke some truth
Never told a lie
She’s bitten my nose
Captured my mind
Held my senses
For a moment of surprise
Beyond the possession
Intrigued with passion
Exiting without fear
Contemplating the next motion
Choking with love
World spinning with you
Met a blonde with skin unlike olive
A whirlwind with a knock at the door
Denied nothing
Up off the floor
A dream past the wardrobe
Seen you in the past
Heart beating
Yet to determine
With you or for you
© 2004 David Greg Harth
04.12.05.02:39:19@296NYC
Afraid Again
Afraid to ask
Ask the waiter
What time is it?
Need to know the time
Will I be late?
One more round
Another time
Again in a knot
Again
It's happening again
My head
My head again
Uptown trains
Floor past eleven
Need to know the time
I am almost late
Better not be late
Don't want to be late
White in my back
Heated seat
One more wait
What time is it?
Afraid again
It's happening once more
I'll break through
Get out of this sleep
One more time
Ask the waiter
What time is it?
Again I'm here
Alone again
Afraid not
Wipe up the sweat
And carry the Lord
What time is it?
Again I ask
Check already
The time is now
Afraid Again
© 2004 David Greg Harth
2004.11.18.20:39:00@89ST3RDAVENYC
Intrusion Thief
I like these blood-stained sheets.
Wrap myself in them.
Sleep in them nightly.
Surround myself with your scent.
Your smell and your stink.
My lips shiver and my stomach aches.
You stole my heart and went out west.
Leaving me behind in mountains of dirt.
Lying cold among your leftovers.
You have sinned and I have my pride.
Turned around and conquered my voices.
Ruling two towers due south.
There is no bank in my mind which you now capture.
Long gone and barely remembered.
Abandoned me one early morning.
Left me in the dark of not knowing.
Missing you like it was the last love on earth.
In the dimly lit room, you pulled me from my knees.
Brought me up and raised me erect.
Reached inside with a sword of a slayer.
Bore a hole in my heart, left undone.
I am the Father.
Forever lost, we will be one.
You have stolen seed embedded.
After asking for reception.
Never a redemption.
© 2004 David Greg Harth
04.11.12.03:39:42@296NYC
Some Essentials
1) Milk
2) Paper & Pencil
3) Musical Journey
© 2004 David Greg Harth
04.11.06.01:30:00@6TrainAstorPlNYC
Ramblings of a Constant Search
It’s hard to put to words.
But all around me I see love.
I see my friends in love.
My sister in love with her husband.
With two children,
My nephew and niece who I adore so much.
My father remarried in love.
My mother remarried in love.
My grandfather remarried in love.
My grandparents in love for decades upon decades.
All around I witness love,
Yet I cry every day.
I’ve said it before,
It’s hard to put to words.
To illustrate how much I ache.
My friends are in love.
Some are involved.
Some engaged.
Some married.
Some pregnant.
Some parents.
But I cry every day.
I listen to sad music.
I have tears that roll.
Constantly.
They never stop.
Because I am a man.
A man dying of a broken heart.
Because I am a man.
A man who wishes to be in love.
© 2004 David Greg Harth
04.10.07.23:31:52@296NYC
At age
At age 10 I was hairy.
At age 11 I was a hairy monster.
At age 12 I was dirty.
At age 13 I was a dirty pornographer.
At age 14 I was defeated.
At age 15 I was defeated with commitment.
At age 16 I was a dancer.
At age 17 I was a dancer influenced by Christ.
At age 18 I was drinking.
At age 19 I was drinking alone at the corner pub.
At age 20 I was very ill.
At age 21 I was very ill on my death bed dying mysteriously.
At age 22 I was sent away to a hospital for the strange with padded walls.
At age 23 I was sent away to a hospital while my teeth fell out of my mouth and on to the floor.
© 2004 David Greg Harth
04.08.26.15:57:23@205HudsonNYC
04.10.07.02:58:04@296NYC
Love (Version #17)
I cannot tell you how much I hurt.
How much I ache.
An amount beyond all amounts.
My stomach is still churning.
Around itself, turning inside and out.
My heart is bleeding. My eyes are crying.
Just when you have a moment,
Just when you believe in something so strongly.
It’s taken away
And you are left bare and stripped
Of everything you’ve got
When you are about to accept
When you are about to believe
When you are about to contradict everything you’ve said
For the past dozens of years.
Just when you are about to accept
About to admit
That you believe in the impossible
The possibility that love does
Indeed exist
That love is so overwhelming
So special, so unique, so real
Just when it’s about to occur,
You are stabbed in the heart
With a stake that will stay put for years
And your wounds will never heal
For the dozens of years yet to come
You’ve returned to your initial belief
That love does not exist
Indeed.
© 2004 David Greg Harth
04.09.07.17:35:27@205HudsonNYC
You Left
you came with the flutes
you came with the cello
you came with your symphony
you came with your smile
you left me with a gaze
you left me with a tear
you left me with a twirling maze
you left me with no fear
you came with wings from heaven
you came with surrounding beauty
you came with deepening wonders
you came with heartache
you left me standing
you left me wanting
you left me hoping
you left me listening
you left me a piece
of your heart in mine
© 2004 David Greg Harth
04.09.02.16:14:00@NYC