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

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

Fallen Night

Monday morning,

20th of August,

All wake up in a city of dawn,

Sun rises across the shifting.

Tea drinkers realize first,

Doctors second,

Grandmothers rise, they wait for flowers.

He never became the artist he was,

Murdered by his own cause,

Defeated.

I won’t wake him,

Just let him sleep,

He’ll wake once more.

Never mind,

I’ll soak up the floor.

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.08.20.02:27:27@296NYC

Unforeseen Circumstance

You entered so unexpectedly.

Your funny bones, laughing gas.

Your two drink minimum, tri-state tour.

I wasn’t prepared.

To hear your voice, catch your singing.

To see your gaze, taste your tears.

To ask you, nibble your lips.

What’s done is done.

She’s not late, neither are you.

She’s pre-occupied, you have the occupation.

She’s not, you aren’t.

Saving one by one has to get done.

Telling your love, you are in love.

Telling the audience, you are in love.

Telling you, you are in love.

Surprised, startled.

Shocked, stepped upon.

Shattered, scattered.

Strung about, strung along.

Strewn, sunken.

Slipped away, sailed forward.

Circumcised, demoralized,

I’m in love now, history now.

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.08.15.18:30:29@599BwayNYC

CX717

Which way? I can’t remember. I forget. I’m lost. I’ve fallen through the floorboard. I’m choked up. I followed the fork in the road. Turned around, went the other way. I became my best friend and my brother became me. I counted tiles, drank apple juice and touched myself in front of open doors. I fell over 100 stories and read one to my niece and nephew. I told lies and I told truths. But I don’t remember why. I don’t remember who and I don’t know what. But that is why I’m here or where am I?

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.08.13.14:39:47@599BwayNYC

She Loves You

Because you are in love with another woman.

Because your heart belongs to someone else.

Because you are committed.

Because you are head over heels.

That is why, she loves you.

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.08.08.11:20:00@599BwayNYC

I May Have To Stick My Tongue Out In The Rain

Found you in the spring,

Just across the Rhine.

I got down on one knee,

And I proposed to dine.

It takes courage,

I must confess.

Started so young,

My profession is a mess.

Now I like pussy,

And I like cock.

Don’t let this be,

Your system’s shock.

The rain followed me,

Ten paces to Downing Street.

You signed, you hired,

I am complete.

Shattered and compelled,

Slipped it inside.

No one knows and no one owes,

You aren’t even my bride.

Stepped down tomb’s door,

Heard you behind Cape’s heart.

Take your teeth to my back,

Steal my heart, tear me apart.

I filled out the application,

Accept my audition.

I examined her daughter,

Her father is a mortician.

Let the popular die alone,

It’s a square mile I yearn.

Erect the immoral statue,

Deliver me in a wooden urn.

In you I shall confide,

You are my disloyal friend.

Last year’s worms,

They come and transcend.

Monogamous insects advance,

Single notes display affection.

Portray eighth decade’s horror.

I end in a hidden infection.

Last man’s plea,

My divine is the third.

Extract my love for you,

I speak my silent word.

© 2007 David Greg Harth

07.08.07.18:03:05@599BwayNYC