Virgin Eyes

China Seas

Autumn Leaves

Parachute trooper down on his knees

My heart he will fully seize

Secrecy is among intruder’s invasion

Welded hands together on sunset’s occasion

Madame of no persuasion

Her thighs have a telling abrasion

Blind man sees a reflection

Blooms in the ninth direction

My love is an infection

Last year’s rear inspection

Gotham bells ring

Choir of four sing

Black dove breaks a wing

Elephant imported from Beijing

Dedicated fidelity to you

Nerves of long pig are blue

The twisted tongue is true

I’m son of Sioux

Honesty ripped

History buried in the crypt

Life’s unwritten script

Canvas now stripped

Mediterranean’s East

Six year’s feast

Analyzed by master of the priest

Love will always be released

Unlock the purpose, open the door

From somnolence I lived once more

Vehement man of war

Hear me now, hear me roar!

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.12.05.15:19:01@599BwayNYC

Liar In Love

Liar in love!

Liar in love!

Liar in love!

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.12.04.17:47:33@599BwayNYC

I Locked The Door, Turned The Key

Leaving my apartment, quarter to nine.

I locked the door; I turned the key.

I thought of our time in Japan, we had no idea what time it was.

An American restaurant on a hill.

I have to call Matthew today, to see Charles Ray.

I love his music, different Charles, I’ll have a beer at twelve.

I fell out of love, and fall for the loved.

I went back to your place, you gave me a massage, you gave me head.

So, we went back down south, I went down on you.

These crowds invite me to participate, I’ve got a headache.

Thunder clouds roll in, garbage disposal disposed.

I wake from my sleep, I post the mail, I make eggs, I eat cookies.

Blue eyes, brown eyes, green eyes,

They all make love to me.

Never forget.

I can’t recall. I can’t reflect. I have a birthmark; I have a defect.

Rewind, revisit, redo.

Leaving my apartment, quarter to nine.

I locked the door; I turned the key.

I thought of Tokyo.

The air so crisp, so right, my black jeans tonight.

The rabbit comes out, the brothers come out.

You’ll have noodles, I’ll have rice.

Fish on my plate, fish on my knee, better to spank your ass with a bucket of tea.

I went out to the mountain.

After the post office run.

You pointed incorrect directions for me.

I went over the bridge.

Like all the other written materials written before me.

And I am me and me is you and you are me and me is you.

I’m dead, because if I’m not dead, I jumped.

Jumped on the tracks, shocked you all, it’s how I’ll go, but remember.

Rewind.

Re-love. Replicate. Justify. Get high.

I know what I meant.

After all,

I’m an elephant.

And I locked the door, turned the key.

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.11.14.09:53:34@599NYC

Moving Nothing

Overcoming night’s dream.

Dripping wait you wake out of love.

Hands holding you back.

Beating you down into the mold you are.

You try to become who you are not.

Wearing clothes of a rock star or preacher’s son.

Wake up on the wrong side of the bed.

Wrong time, wrong day.

The battle begins, the tears roll down.

I hear you call my name, I wake up, restless,

Once more.

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.11.12.14:19:43@599BwayNYC

Aunt Jemima Was My Midnight Nurse

Sweet bananas

Served for a King

No apple juice at night

Glass punched windows

A Masturbator’s paradise

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.11.03.20:43:00@LIRRJamaicaNY

Breakfast With My Thumbs

I’m not a lover of Corn Pops.

My father ate those when I was growing up.

I love Cocoa Puffs, that’s perhaps my favorite.

Although, they kinda hurt the roof of your mouth – like Cap’n.

Crunch, but I love Cap’n Crunch with Crunch Berries, although,

now they have green and blue berries and it looks disgusting,

but, I think I’d still like it. Yum. Lucky Charms is good too.

I really love good old cheerios. Cocoa Pebbles is awesome too.

Even fruity. Maybe I’ll get some Count Chocula soon.

I haven’t had Frankenberry forever.

I’m a Cinnamon Raisin bagel man, if plain.

If with cream cheese and/or lox, then poppy please!!

I like plain coffee. At times flavored, but never vanilla.

I love all fruit too. Def. have to have my apple a day.

Kiwis are good too – lots of vitamin C!

I’m a HUGE apple cider fan. It’s quite orgasmic.

I can only really drink fresh squeezed OJ.

When OJ is processed, it becomes more acidic for some reason,

same with fresh squeezed OJ that is left over night.

I love potatoes too! And Asparagus!

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.10.25.17:27:00@599BwayNYC

Black Chariot

Hollow heart grieves

For the third decade’s third

From the southern mountain top

To the oven’s last howl

She follows him in dreams

He walked the long road

With an unsolved disease

Found scatters of pewter

Empty son of unknown and drunken

Honored endorsed the written

The boxer loses his match

Mouth bleeds verse

Expiration draws moths near

Praying louder over your own rumble

Last dance has been sung

Spread upon leaves of grass

Fruit eaters of the way

Parting devotional waters

Finding sins in promises

Motions conducted the eagerly pleased

Trees roll down cascading autumn crops

Damaged dreamers climb higher

No steps to support loose footing

Your stones crumble into the sea

Men of cloth scold his activities

Molested last night’s politician

Shank bone departed in the chariot

Left the witnesses behind

Head given under the filthy

Behind velvet ropes pain radiates

Spinal fluid tapped out

Spilled protein leaked down to the eleventh floor

Awakened from sleep

Insects crawl out of his rear canal

Sparrows swallow her plea

Cries fetched no aide

Lonely die in drought

Tears reborn the ocean’s cacti

Mother’s scarlet soil grasps

And desperate fire burns him entirely

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.10.24.02:02:33@296NYC

Sleeping (Version #2)

There is no time to sleep.

Only to command.

Movements of research beneath the sheets.

Let communists suck my thick cock.

Blondes line down the street

An officer finds my hole.

Peggy and take it on in.

Critics say I’m nothing

But they haven’t even critiqued.

I drool, I spit, I defecate, I spunk like two G’s.

Thank you Benjamin.

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.10.22.15:30:00@505HudsonNYC

Standing For No Reason

I’m standing for no reason.

No reason at all.

But I want to meet you.

I cannot sit and I cannot read and I cannot listen to music.

I’ll stand until the exit and I’ll stand until the rain.

I’ll stand until the end and I’ll stand until you have completed.

I’ll stand forever until I meet you.

For it is you that I stand for.

You are the reason I stand,

I stand for nothing.

And nothing is what I stand for.

With no reason I stand.

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.10.22.14:49:19@599BwayNYC

I Can Fall For Green

Like a leap from a tall bridge

A tower over the city I nest

Diving beneath the coast’s shores

Borrowing deep into dark caves

I can so easily fall

For that green I adore

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.10.17.16:55:18@599BwayNYC

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

Illustrating Love

Let me draw the ways,

That I love thee.

Haven’t I yet pointed out the dozens?

Multiple indications?

Hints?

Haven’t I wed your soul?

Let me show you,

I’ll bring out these diagrams and charts.

Presentations and reports.

I’ll bring out the scale

I’ll bring out the tape measure.

We’ll weigh my heart; we’ll measure my hugging span.

Haven’t I already told you?

Wrote you and spoke to you?

Written to you and whispered to you?

Haven’t I elevated my heart above the rest?

Haven’t I begged and wept enough?

My love for you

It’s an endearing illustration

Drawn only from my wanting ache

Don’t let the charcoal disappear.

Don’t let the brushes stiffen.

Don’t let the oils harden.

My love for you

It’s an everlasting wet appetite.

Constantly being drawn

Through this constellation journey,

This blossoming creation,

This blissful companionship,

We call love.

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.09.23.14:29:18@599BwayNYC

Yesterday’s Road Is Today’s Tuna Fish Sandwich

Milton took the left road when he came to the fork in the middle of the road.

He climbed the stairs, he’s fallen down.

No more friends and no more dinner requests.

It’s the meaning we all follow.

Paint the pictures, seal them up, heaven awaits packaged goods.

A story untold, it has begun to unfold.

Ring the bell, place your finger on the button, depress.

My grandfather was always impressed.

Margie, don’t worry, you won’t get this one either.

Forget it.

She’s skinny. She’s fat. I had a pint. I gave a pint. I ate a pint. I drank a pint.

It’s not that mint that alarms you.

She called me up after three more years.

Philadelphia.

You are right, I would like some cheese on that sandwich.

Only if the chemicals are right.

Don’t dispose of that on your face.

You know, your eyes will get stuck like that if you keep doing that.

I have hair on my hands.

I stopped getting groomed.

I’m not worried, are you?

Yes, check in time is Three O’clock in the afternoon.

It would be a lie if I told you I did not want to make love.

To you or two of you?

I started the engine.

The elderly stopped making demands in the twentieth century.

I’m not too proud of the instances.

This is the point in the poem when I tell my reader that I cannot reproduce.

Apart, I’m torn.

I tear one more drop, I move one more type, I turn one more curve.

My conversation has gone.

And I’m back in Boston, where I never did get laid.

Put me to rest, haven’t phoned him back up.

He is restricted and Miami is kissed.

She put on her bear ears, she opened her legs, she called her husband.

I forgot, what was that number again?

Margie, may I remind you, you’ll never make sense of this?

Yes, only for a little while. Cervelat. With eggs or on white bread?

Both.

It’s time to go, its five after five.

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.09.19.17:05:57@599BwayNYC

Apologies

These are my apologies,

To the men, women, and children I’ve hurt.

Please gather around closer,

And listen to my apology.

Deep within.

I have a brave heart

But my love for you is overbearing.

This is something I cannot continue with.

I instruct you to not bury my body.

Please donate it to medical studies.

Let students learn and discover.

I have two hearts.

Torn.

They no longer beat in synch.

No longer display rhythm.

This is my last poem.

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.09.06.15:54:39@599BwayNYC

Guns & Coleslaw

I’m African,

I’ve got a Black fella’s cock.

And I’m just a little white cracker.

Salt my open wound,

Let my stick take a dip in your hot flesh.

Burning sensations won’t yield my thrust.

And now I’ve got a gun up my ass,

Pass me the biscuits, beans,

I’ll give you a hot load of gravy.

I’m shot,

Hung.

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.09.06.15:18:13@599BwayNYC

Sherwood Forest

He's big and bulky.

A wire trapped in his ear.

He was careful, cautious, manly.

A piece so very large, prominent and hidden.

He wouldn't let me get near Putin.

Never would he, he didn't really care, but he warned,

The Russians will shoot first, and they have every right to do so.

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.09.04.17.35.00@296NYC

The Wet Nurse

When I was younger,

I was in the hospital for an incurable disease.

Since then, my disease has been cured.

I have a story to tell,

About that time when I was in the hospital

For months and months.

I would eat that dirty rotten hospital food,

Every day, each day, Sunday through Saturday.

I’d eat it and often deliver it later, up my throat.

But that isn’t the story part that you are waiting for.

You are waiting for the point,

That I tell you about the wet nurse.

I was unable to cleanse myself,

I was a dirty rotten bastard,

Just like the food I ate.

So, If I’m dirty every day.

Rotten every day.

Then I need a cleaning every day.

This is my story,

About the time I was in the hospital

For months and months with an incurable disease.

Each day a nurse would wash me.

She’d cleanse me, she’d bathe me.

She made sure I was clean.

The nurse was beautiful, in her classic white attire.

Bending me gently up in bed,

Taking a sponge to my dirty rotten skin.

Every day she did this,

For months and months in the hospital.

Every day so very kind.

My story doesn’t end, there is one last thing, I have to admit.

I was hard, like my nurse was wet.

Nothing ever did happen, except that I’ve been cured.

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.08.31.11:20:11@599BwayNYC

Dreaming Of The Dead

Remembering your white grassy hair.

Bad breath behind my neck.

My facial hair falls out,

Into the sink and down the drain.

My mother is remarried now,

My father caught me masturbating.

My aunt forced me to have sex,

My uncle bathed me in gasoline.

These are the times I remember.

Yet you keep on telling me to not give up.

I have friends that care.

Someone loves me.

The last time I checked,

Mirrors don’t show my reflection,

The shoes I wear are too small for my feet,

And I’ve never eaten a piece of fruit that wasn’t spoiled.

My ark is here.

I’ll sing my boatman’s song,

Pull up my anchor,

And leave you alone.

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.08.24.15:45:54@599BwayNYC

Wind Chaser

Ocean blue eyes

I once only knew

Now I experience

Evening shade, morning light

She came to me in a dream

Like my ancestor’s heritage

She came to me down the rolling path

Bandaged my wounded heart

Tree roots

Keeps me grounded

Her river flows

Keeps me flooded

Her hair like golden sun

Traced upon my silver armor

I dance around her footprints

Sunken deeply,

Her soft body, a pillow’s ultimate envy

She keeps my every day existence at bay

Makes my heart tick,

Never skipping a skipped beat

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.08.20.18:06:00@296NYC

Suicide (Version #3)

I think of suicide every day.

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.08.20.02:28:13@296NYC