Terminées Amour
Orchestrated walk of ivory ghosts
Doves sing an epic unfolding story
Honoring the conqueror month began early
Laid our hearts down to rest
Recover the depths with felt blankets
Let nomads rub us down and heal us
Started something alone
Expected more waves of beauty
Art made mornings rise before nights departed
Recurring dreams dance our ballet
Flowers of memories wilt
Falling from our lasting empire
Barricade is constructed
Walls are fortified
Rivers run through inconsistency
Wind churns up today’s sea
Turning towards the light
Shade covers our year’s insight
Lonely evenings spent in solitude
World is ending beneath heavy black clouds
Deep drums beat toward lowered enclosed poisons
Pierced blues penetrate us both
Reasons elementary in life’s journey
Proposal on the heightened city
Point of passion now vanished upon the horizon
Warmth of another no longer near
Cease for other dedications
Drape the crests and raise the flag
Frozen eyes of sadness
Restless in their surroundings
Longing over our blindness
Not ourselves when one
Belonging on time spent to the fire’s ash
Forever forbidden to understandable truth
Bravery bound to the empty cavity
Declare the tale’s finale incomplete
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.05.29.24:07:14@296NYC
The Final Fall
I fell down
The space is narrowing down on me
I have nothing left to do
No more options, no ways out
I can’t get out of this place
The walls are closing in
I tumble, I fade
Morning rises
Body is dead
I’m free in the plains
My mother is in happiness,
She swallows me whole,
Puts her arms around me,
The roots never let me go.
This is my final resting place.
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.05.27.24:58:00@296NYC
I’m Taking Off My Socks
I’m taking off my socks because I love fresh fruit.
It’s time to do some art, my toes are cooler now.
My back hurts and my nose is a bit stuffy,
but with the window open, I feel a slight breeze
between my little toes.
Because my socks are off.
Because I took off my socks.
And my socks are off.
Time for some fresh fruit...
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.05.26.22:41:00@296NYC
Silver Coughing
I expected a delivery package.
I coughed up a mouth full of silver.
© 2008 David Greg Harth
07.08.28.15:37:00@505HudsonNYC
08.05.25.20:09:16@296NYC
Accomplished Assassin
01. Sherry Long
Seattle, Washington, United States of America
1997
02. Juliette Haydon
London, United Kingdom
1998
03. Neal Youngstown
Hamilton, Bermuda
1998
04. Kelly Connell
Dublin, Ireland
1999
05. Paula Reel
New York, New York, United States of America
2000
06. Ryan McDough
London, United Kingdom
2004
07. Kaii Anderegg
Basel, Switzerland
2004
08. Yuuka Kasagi
Tokyo, Japan
2006
09. Jessica Height-George
New York, New York, United States of America
2007
10. Rebecca Greenfields
New York, New York, United States of America
2008
© 2008 David Greg Harth
07.09.18.18:25:00@296NYC
08.05.25.19:16:15@296NYC
I Saved Your Life Twice In A Cafe
I gave you directions.
I reminded you of your almost lost package.
We smiled.
I saved your life, twice.
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.05.25.18:07:38@296NYC
Bullet For A Fuck
Took the train to eighteen,
To spread your legs and enter between.
Your husband had a gun to my head,
He said I was about to be dead.
Unfamiliar frontier did not break,
Even with the power of the mighty snake.
Mounted my bull cock,
Squealed to the stare of a pointed Glock.
You kicked, you sucked, you screamed,
You licked, you fucked, you creamed!
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.05.24.02:33:33@296NYC
Starting Ending
If you are entitled to only
One dream and one heart,
How do you pick?
If you cannot pick, cannot select
If you cannot control time,
If you cannot do so many things
In the limited time of life
What shall you do?
Sleep in your coma?
Give birth to your children?
Love your lover?
Do you sing your songs?
Believe in your religion?
Carry your Bible?
Take it to the longest day?
The poetry? The diary? The drawing?
What will you do?
When you have but one choice -
One choice only?
Do you discard your memory?
Your experience? Your future?
How do you decide?
What makes the decision?
What starts the fire? What makes the heat?
What drowns the sadness? What makes the tears roll?
How does your day get better?
How worse?
How common?
How do you tell the truth? Or live a lie?
How do you live the truth? Or tell a lie?
How often are you real?
How often are you someone else?
They ask -
What will you do? What should you do?
Some day -
It may be just the day you are in love with
While the day, is not in love with you
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.05.18.19:26:55@296NYC
Guides, Rules, Lessons, Book
The crowd raises their voice
Yell through the streets
Bring him to the town center
String him up on the highest pole
Let him hang with rope around his neck
Allow the blood to fall and be soaked up by the dirt
Strung him up
Bound, tied, gagged
He lies
He lies
Upon that highest pole
He bleeds
He bleeds
The crowd raises their pewter cups
And drink the sorrow from the sand
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.05.16.15:29:39@599NYC
Morning Bear, Night Swallow
Approaching sun rises above skyline enemy
Walks down separating the waves
Two floors above they leap into truth
Discovery of reflections reveal a lair
Story unfolds, flights escape
No entry present, no stone, no judge
Bright light overcast cloud
An infant walks before paint dries
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.05.16.01:30:22@296NYC
Flesh, Blood, and Bones
What am I? Who am I?
I’m just flesh, blood and bones?
I have a brain, I’m taught to think, I’m taught to love?
I attempt to write poetry, perhaps I do write poetry.
I create art, I think its good, some even great.
I don’t show in galleries, I don’t show in museums.
I work Monday thru Friday.
I love and hate.
I hate and love.
I even masturbate.
But really, who am I?
But just flesh and blood and bones.
Could I be anything if you were not here?
The one I’m talking too?
Would I be nothing without an audience?
Without participation?
A viewer? A listener?
Who am I?
What am I doing here?
Why am I here and not there - right now?
These are all unanswered questions.
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.05.12.13:31:01@599NYC
I Don’t Know In The Short Blood
Lessons, assignments, tests.
Exams, tutoring, studying.
Entrance, rejection, graduation.
Birth, life, death.
Sliding scale, weighing scale, colour scale.
Hidden, shoveled, exercised.
Re-run, re-heat, re-try.
Exit, depart, end.
Silence, quiet, whisper.
Tasted, dropped, stream.
Drink, lost, disappear.
Fail, flunk, despair.
Funeral said, rest done.
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.05.11.24:59:06@296NYC
Waking Up
On a different day
The sun sets upon the morning dew
The moon is twelve hours away
Loneliness is your best friend
You hold her warm hand again
Locked eyes penetrate within
It is the heart that lies
The direction that spoils
You are flooded
The moon now rises
In this short day
When the west moved east
The sails took an end
Tomorrow is no more
Apologies in hollow scared places
Petrified in salt
You exist once more
Like before
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.05.10.02:04:08@296NYC
Often Light Buried Deep
The wind had died down.
The sailors stripped bare.
No mission, no drive, no salute.
The ocean’s vastness is too painful to conquer alone.
Anchor has dropped, has dragged, has pulled.
She’s afloat.
Nine of us left at sea.
Nothing to eat, nothing but me.
Salty tears is what I’m made of.
Never a father.
These waters are now drained.
Hollowed like the heart they once filled.
Dusted bottom.
Upon the shore, he waits once more.
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.05.07.17:34:25@599NYC
Farewell
Just listen to me for a second.
You aren’t even listening?
Don’t shut me out, shut me down.
Take a moment.
I might not speak aloud.
I might not speak at the right moments.
I might not share, I might not spread, I might not declare.
But right now, I need to talk to you.
I need to shed, to whisper, to reveal.
But you aren’t even listening.
You are blocking me. Paving me. Closing me.
You’ve sealed me. Locked me. Rejected me.
Just listen for a second.
One second.
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.03.25.15:43:16@599NYC
Every Long Day Has An End
I was born at the wrong time
I learned thousands
Soon, today will be over
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.03.21.16:30:57@599NYC
Hidden
Crying tears
Easily dispensed
Love is dispersed
Uneasy, unset
Hollowed hearts
Cold dark eyes stare
Suited men purchase your emptiness
Taste is your treasured enemy
Inflamed disease
Lips infected
Collections ruptured by way of rejection
Punctured by the hatred of blue chip patrons
Maiden years denied
Two ceremonial decades total
At the end of the day,
I’m hidden in the dirt.
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.03.19.02:15:06@296NYC
Twelfth of March
Upon the leap
He couldn’t see the span across the Hudson
But he could see all twelve floors on his way down
He hit west 168th street
The thirteenth of March never came
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.03.12.01:33:33@296NYC