S, 2001 - 05 David Harth S, 2001 - 05 David Harth

(something)

not here,

found,

roaming in the

hallway.

 

found a fountain,

communicated to traffic signals,

sheets pulled up,

over himself.

 

in your eyes,

i found everything i’ve wanted to be

and much more

beyond your physical beauty.

 

hearing your voice,

i can’t stand no longer

in this world we call earth

falling apart without a dove.

 

i belly up at the end of the day,

figuring you’ll love me,

in silence

or heavy noise

 

travelled deep,

found those returned to me,

emptiness after the course

i’ll reach for you forever

 

 

© 2004 David Greg Harth

04.04.24.19:08:14@296NYC

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I, 2001 - 05 David Harth I, 2001 - 05 David Harth

It Is A Good Day

Traveling through the states of my land.

Following my path to find my beloved.

 

Across mountains of earth and rivers of birth.

I moved through the woods and through the valleys.

 

My partner awaited me in the high desert sun.

She called my name again and again.

 

I sucked poisonous rattle snake venom out of my limbs.

I lived with my brothers among wolf packs in the wild.

 

Nightly I danced around the flames of the fire.

Like a crazy horse chasing his tail.

 

Through the fields of golden still wheat.

Beyond the trenches of my empty ache.

 

Visions of her kept my path clear.

Struggling among dirt of the mother.

 

Finally, I arrived to her beautiful side.

Put on my dress and placed on my paint.

 

Against the wind I approached my love.

An angel came down from the heavens.

 

She whispered in my ear.

“It is a good day to die.”

 

So, I took my pride and walked once more.

Great red of the core ate at my holy insides.

 

Drifting to my sleepless constant sleep.

My body became numb and my tongue ill.

 

I die a slow death becoming dead.

On this mighty good day under the same sky as she.

 

 

© 2004 David Greg Harth

04.04.23.02:49:22@296NYC

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F, 2001 - 05 David Harth F, 2001 - 05 David Harth

Friends

I have so many friends.

So many that love me.

My family and so many great friends.

But I don’t have any best friends.

I never had a best friend.

I’ve had many great friends. Plenty of good friends.

Seriously, I have very many GREAT friends.

But when everything is wrong in the world,

you want that one really close friend.

That best friend.

To count on.

To phone.

When you’re alone.

And contemplating suicide.

But there is no one to call.

Because you have so many great friends.

But you don’t have a best friend.

 

 

© 2004 David Greg Harth

04.04.20.22:07:44@296NYC

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J, 2001 - 05 David Harth J, 2001 - 05 David Harth

Jobless, Homeless, Loveless, Loneliness and Despair, Hunger, Ache

I asked you for forgiveness,

you gave me shame.

I asked you for protection,

you gave me abandonment.

I asked you for bread,

you gave me not even a crumb.

I asked you for guidance,

you gave me shadow without light.

I asked you for love,

you gave me empty hope.

I asked you for healing,

you gave me illness.

I asked you for comfort

you gave me hell.

I asked you for safety,

you gave me processions of death.

I asked you for someone’s heart

you gave me nothing but grief.

 

 

 

© 2004 David Greg Harth

04.04.20.21:46:11@296NYC

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I, 2001 - 05 David Harth I, 2001 - 05 David Harth

I’m Digging In The Dirt

I’m digging in the dirt,

trying to find support.

I’m repairing my spine,

restructuring my backbone.

I’m digging in the dirt

trying to find myself, lost.

I’m listening with open ears,

feeling my heart beating empty.

I’m digging in the dirt,

with nothing left to win or gain.

I’m taking a leap of faith,

believe it not.

 

© 2004 David Greg Harth

04.04.15.10:55:00@NYC

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T, 2001 - 05 David Harth T, 2001 - 05 David Harth

Time To Go

I’m long overdue.

It’s time to visit my favorite floor.

To not have pillows and see nails in doors.

I’ll give my father the peace symbol.

Witness my grandparents cry again.

Get scolded for pleasuring myself.

Admitting to no wrong doings.

Keep sketches not created by me.

Eat with the roaches at the dining table.

Not understand the television.

Eat my sweet bananas.

Escape this cynical world.

Visit the bad waiters.

Get lost on the subway train to the museum.

Go underground in secret passageways.

Spring buds on the trees, but it was just winter.

Time to spit, time to color, and time to break.

Let’s play pool and ping-pong and hang-man.

I’ll let all of them worry about me.

Some can quit smoking or drinking.

Loose your weight and gain your strength.

Watch me shrivel up into the fetal position.

I’ll get punctured in my back.

Once again we’ll measure my protein levels.

Objects will appear closer; I’ve got a disease.

Time to go.

I’m long overdue.

Time to go...

 

 

© 2004 David Greg Harth

04.04.06.03:14:36@296NYC

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F, 2001 - 05 David Harth F, 2001 - 05 David Harth

Four

I’ve got four hands.

Four hands for holding you.

Blisters on my hands from the pleasure.

Dancing to the dusted planet.

I hear satellite phones.

Four times the speed of sound.

I can’t take this foursome.

Let’s have a drink, and make it right.

Do the right thing.

Black cars, black cars, black cars.

Four girls waving good bye.

Children riding the merry-go-round.

Time to go out and get the newspaper.

I’ll pour the coffee if you pour the juice.

We’ll cut coupons.

Four.

 

 

© 2004 David Greg Harth

04.04.04.04:04:04@296NYC

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D, 2001 - 05 David Harth D, 2001 - 05 David Harth

Decipher The Lover’s Poetry

Hunting in the lover’s words.

Looking deep inside.

Knowing the statements.

Consuming the nightly challenges.

Bordering insanity.

 

Singing to the lover’s tongue.

Experiencing the thoughts.

Eating at the plate of the devil.

Smelling the scent of the lover’s breadth.

Listening to the heart.

 

Thanking the lover for the evening.

Laughing to the spoken silence.

Parting the lips to welcome.

Softening the touch behind the nape.

Hiding the pleasant untold secrets.

 

Turning over and moving your hips.

Painting the picture of the flourishing valley.

Opening the door to the soul.

Standing near the open window with a breeze in your hair.

Sharing the mind’s eye.

 

Feeling the sensitivity.

Playing the part of the unwanted friend.

Stretching rules and guidelines of humanity.

Changing mournful times to healthy pleasure.

Growing older with the lover hand in hand.

 

Greeting with a salt sea and scroll.

Penetrating walls of thick mortar.

Swimming lost oceans of messages.

Creaming whipped blends of ache.

Ending with lines of amendments.

 

 

© 2004 David Greg Harth

04.04.02.05:12:40@296NYC

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H, 2001 - 05 David Harth H, 2001 - 05 David Harth

Held to Words

She held me to my words,

she held me to the false promises

the false truths

the false love.

 

She held me in her arms

as I said my last words

upon my death bed

bleeding inside

from never being loved

on this jobless day.

 

 

© 2004 David Greg Harth

04.03.30.01:15:41@296NYC

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T, 2001 - 05 David Harth T, 2001 - 05 David Harth

Through My Brain

I don’t know how I could be typing this.

Because I put a bullet through my brain.

Pop. Snap. Blam.

 

I know how I could be typing this.

Because I’m typing this.

This poem.

Before I pulled the trigger.

And now I’ll hit send.

And one of you,

will have to come to my studio

and clean up the bits and pieces

of brain matter

on my lap

and lap top

keyboard.

 

 

© 2004 David Greg Harth

04.03.24.21:04:12@296NYC

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D, 2001 - 05 David Harth D, 2001 - 05 David Harth

Decay

I sit across from you at the dinner table

watching you decay

slowly age and quickly die

I’m not sure why you chose this path

 

I wish there was something I can do

instead of witness and observe

and watch you decay

into a mere sculpture of grains

 

I stand here watching you

act like a professional fool

a man with a huge heart

but at times perhaps too silly in states

 

I wish there was something I can do

beyond banning or talking

something significant to make a change

I know I can’t make you pregnant

 

I listen to the sounds

of swigging and hunger for drive

thank you words are not enough

for what you have done

 

I wish there was something I can do

tell me how I can help

instead of sitting and laughing and enjoying

as I watch you decay

 

I cry for you daily when you’re in sight or hidden

it hurts so much to see you this way

I don’t want to read a ready-made

a eulogy at tomorrow’s funeral

 

I wish there was something I can do

I’m exhausted from watching you decay

It’s affecting me and others around you

As you decay into a pool of death

 

 

© 2004 David Greg Harth

04.03.19.22:14:03@296NYC

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V, 2001 - 05 David Harth V, 2001 - 05 David Harth

Visiting Death

I picked up a hitch hiker

on route 303

passing the cement factory

and quarry

and all the huge dumping vehicles

 

I picked him up

took him where he was going

only to discover

after the rain showed itself

that I’m in the trunk of my own car

wrapped in a black plastic bag

dead

 

 

© 2004 David Greg Harth

04.03.18.24:11:59@296NYC

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S, 2001 - 05 David Harth S, 2001 - 05 David Harth

Surrender

If I could save,

just one of you,

I’d surrender

everything.

 

 

© 2004 David Greg Harth

04.03.15.01:36:55@USA

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T, 2001 - 05 David Harth T, 2001 - 05 David Harth

Tell Me Not To Fall

Tell me,

whisper to me.

Take my ear,

cup it with your warm hands.

Whisper to me

with your soft rose colored lips.

 

Whisper to me,

silently,

faintly,

honestly.

 

Tell me,

as you hold my hand

our fingers among each other,

our hands encompassing each other.

 

Tell me,

this evening.

Tell me,

in the morning.

 

Whisper to me,

in my ear

with your romance.

 

Whisper to me,

 

 

 

 

Tell me not to fall.

in love with you.

 

 

© 2004 David Greg Harth

04.03.14.20:34:00@296NYC

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S, 2001 - 05 David Harth S, 2001 - 05 David Harth

Salt

Like a pillar,

standing alone,

in the dead sea,

the dead calm.

 

Like a single man,

leaping from the platform,

in front of the speeding train,

to his untimely death.

 

Like a mystery,

behind eyes of blue,

never seen down the aisle,

forgotten too soon.

 

Like honesty on the bench,

never chosen under the words of God,

only witnessed while listening,

never thinking acoustically.

 

Like taken from his home,

cooked in the raw,

followed down the floors,

grown alive.

 

Like being forced to count ceramic tiles,

sleeping without feathers,

waiting on nails,

while eating sweet bananas.

 

Like telling secrets to the signals,

living for all the wrong reasons,

pretending to love,

never admitting crime.

 

Like the craters on the tongue,

steamed milk below the mother’s breast,

looking at the thin lines,

fearing the new day with a trigger on your lap.

 

Like feeling beneath your soul,

knowing he’ll grow old without you,

punctured daily to measure the system,

she cleaned up the broken glass.

 

 

© 2004 David Greg Harth

04.03.12.24:11:53@296NYC

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F, 2001 - 05 David Harth F, 2001 - 05 David Harth

Fate

I forgot,

when I opened the wooden door,

that her name was Fate.

And Fate was at my door.

 

 

© 2004 David Greg Harth

04.03.12.24:12:49@296NYC

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M, 2001 - 05 David Harth M, 2001 - 05 David Harth

Miss You

I went to my day job,

went out to the yard,

the field,

and dug a hole.

 

A hole as large as a casket.

I buried their loved one today.

Put that dirt back in,

on that solid grave.

 

I found the place where I hurt most.

My vacant hole, I dug a lasting plot.

Fill it in with your deepest and darkest secrets.

Whisper in my ear and make the dust settle.

 

I miss you, more than ever.

I hardly know you, in the present.

I miss you, today and tomorrow.

I miss you in my heart, lost at sea.

 

I went and did what I had to do,

went to do the work and stand in line,

approached the counter,

and ordered a twenty-four hour stomach ache.

 

An ache of butterflies,

I swallowed all the women one by one.

Put that net out,

in that blue sky.

 

I found a trace of your scent on my inner sleeve.

My black long-sleeved, freshly cleaned, pressed.

Comfortable under my chocolate house.

Listening for you calling my first name.

 

I miss you, more than ever.

I hardly know you, in the present.

I miss you, today and tomorrow.

I miss you in my heart, lost at sea.

 

I went down and kissed,

up and down your hips,

the beauty,

and found Eden.

 

A bayonet lies next to my bed.

I stay still, without motion.

Hiding my emotion,

not even a tap of spine will make me love.

 

I found a kiss no more bound against my lips.

My lips now empty and dry.

Looking for you under pilgrimage gardens.

Finding you in the bottom of the grave.

 

I miss you, more than ever.

I hardly know you, in the present.

I miss you, today and tomorrow.

I miss you in my heart, lost at sea.

 

 

© 2004 David Greg Harth

04.03.08.03:22:56@296NYC

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P, 2001 - 05 David Harth P, 2001 - 05 David Harth

Pouring

It’s pouring out,

down the west coast beach.

Rain is pouring in

and all about.

 

It’s pouring tears,

rolling down lost cheeks.

Sea water salt is penetrating

and haunting my soul.

 

It’s pouring down stream,

and making smiles turn into aches.

Lovers wed out there

and bend around turns here.

 

It’s pouring out,

I can hear the birds singing.

Seeing the waves crashing,

I can only but think of you.

 

It’s pouring heartless actions,

among all the lovers.

I remain cold with a warm inside,

while waiting for you.

 

It’s pouring stirred emotions,

as the bay sounds its flute.

The orchestra of kingdoms

are ignited during my chivalry.

 

It’s pouring out,

through my endless search.

I’ve found you melting like stone

in the deepest part of my heart.

 

 

© 2004 David Greg Harth

04.02.24.15:18:09@TheBeachStPetersburgFL

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R, 2001 - 05 David Harth R, 2001 - 05 David Harth

Realization of a Serpent

Serpent in

and serpent out.

My thickness will see,

what it’s about.

 

Passes over

and passes under.

My drive will find,

the cement to bind.

 

Lookers looking

and waiters waiting.

My shadow unexpected,

yesterday least connected.

 

The trades go out

and protection is slipped.

My angel wings are ready for flying,

it is certain that I am tired of buying.

 

Celebration days come

and tree gatherings go.

My what an incorrect lie,

when I say I am going to die.

 

Grave diggers dig

and mourners come.

She is here not,

as they grant my last plot.

 

 

© 2004 David Greg Harth

04.02.12.22:32@LIRRNYC->StnyBrkLI

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V, 2001 - 05 David Harth V, 2001 - 05 David Harth

Visitor

She’s just a visitor

visiting my life

just for a moment

 

She’s just a visitor

visiting from over seas

out of town for today

 

She’s just passing through

passing on by

a passenger waving

 

She’s just passing through

traveling in distance

being parted by envelopes

 

She’s just an executor

beating the shield and drum

while carrying the cotton flag

 

She’s just an executor

with a job left undone

leaving behind a swallowed carcass

 

She’s just a discarder

not aligning mirrored reflections

or portraying evil sunsets

 

She’s just a discarder

from 80’s descent

with Grandma’s eyes

 

She’s just a visitor

with intentions unjust

and phallic fruit

 

She’s just a visitor

of the inevitable kind

attached to the transistor

 

 

© 2004 David Greg Harth

04.02.08.03:24:33@296NYC

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