A comes before B
A comes before B
I see A, every time I’m searching for B
Every time I look for C or D
Or even E
I keep seeing A
A is always there and in my sight
Perhaps I should erase
Perhaps I should drape a black cloth to hide
Perhaps I should delete from existence
Its hard to make that change
Its hard to ignore
But as you search for any of the other twenty-six
twenty-six
A is always first
A comes before B
© 2012 David Greg Harth
12.09.12.10:48:00@550NYC
Suzanne Barse
She slept across from her
That’s how I knew her
I didn’t know much about her
Except that she slept across from her
Months turn into years
Decades past
A rediscovery made
In one of the most nontraditional senses
And there she was
Still only a memory
Of a woman who slept across from her
With new light
Caring about her mother
So active
So warm
She didn’t just sleep
Across from her
Anymore
© 2012 David Greg Harth
12.09.29.11:17:29@130BklynNYC
Another Kind Of Water
Traveling around the world
Launching my ship upon the ocean
With my largest sails unfurled
Searching for the epicenter
Embarking on the greatest journey
Wishing to meet the predecessor inventor
No anchor available for use
Rolls of braided twine in stow
Lover on mast above in a tightly gripped noose
She exclaimed my name
The winds savagely shook thy vessel
In vain she preached and blew out our flame
Disappearing into the ghostly past
Our love was only an ignis fatuus
It was my heart which was harassed
I became the suitor of lies
On these seas of despair truths will unfold
The echoes inside send shattering cries
One voyager now vanished
Shipwrecked on waves of salt
I am in this wasteland forever banished
© 2012 David Greg Harth
12.07.25.17:59:00@550NYC
Heide Hatry
She was wearing black on 24th street
She was walking east to west and passed me by
The weather was sunshine with a breeze
She caught my eye
It must have been her German strut
I regretted not approaching
Not speaking
But
I saw her again
When I was having a drink later on with a friend
There she was
And so, I went up to her
Unannounced
I complimented her
And little did I know
That this exquisite beauty
Was cutting up pigs and piglets
And taking them apart
And sewing them back together
Like a German butcher
With a little piggy genocide happening in her basement
It was so sexy hot!
© 2012 David Greg Harth
12.07.16.24:19:03@130BklynNYC
Chrysanthemums & Swords
The doctors told my family I wouldn’t live past the age of sixteen
She told me that she didn’t feel that magic spark
They informed me I didn’t get in
He told me I didn’t get the job
They never phoned back
She said “No”
He ignored
He taught me all about speaking and giving from the heart
She disappeared the morning after
She disappeared months later
I walked away
I ran away
The teacher taught me well
The instructor instructed me well
The lovers have all loved me well
The doctors and surgeons fixed me well
I got lost coming home
And I’ve never made it back
I’ve never been home since that drive
Every day I turn and all I see is another road to another road to another road
So on this 10th day of July, I ask myself
Do I take the road that leads to the sword?
Or do I take the road that leads to the chrysanthemums?
© 2012 David Greg Harth
12.07.10.01:10:10@130BklynNYC
Christina Prospero
Stunning woman in blue
That is how she approached me
In that radiating hue
I won’t forget
Each and every moment
Every time we met
So close and far
Yet bonding souls
We each have hearts that scar
A poem she wrote
And became a Vampire’s victim
I never did bite her throat
She’s a living dreamer
And I can’t help but wonder
Is she a loud screamer?
Defender from pain
Insight to my mind
Love has been slain
Like soldiers we march forth
Because the two of us
Search for our due north
It all started in the garden of delight
Decades more we’ll know each other
For it doesn’t end with which I now write
© 2012 David Greg Harth
12.07.09.07:47:36@130BklynNYC
Jorge Castano
He lit up my journey
And gave me spicy chocolate
He offered me a bite
And invited me to join him after a long flight
He made the hours go by fast
And reminded me of my approaching past
He collected my art
And was at the beginning of the start
He was about 35,000 feet
And he never did mistreat
© 2012 David Greg Harth
12.07.08.11:41:59@130BklynNYC
Unvisited Locations
This space is often vacant
A hollowness which craves to be occupied
In the left atrium there is a huge area
Your wails can be heard in the empty cave
Echoing the dreams of hope
In the right atrium there is a tremendous zone
So vast, the blue oceans of the world cannot fill it completely
The left ventricle continues as an open field
Readily available for a new inhabitant
The right ventricle, a cloudless sky
Aching to encompass each floating cloud nine
Each connecting aorta and connecting pulmonary
Pumping the great warmth that makes me who I am
That trickles to the tips of my fingers
Of the hands that will hold you on any sunny day
And keep you warm on frigid nights
These are the unvisited locations in my heart
They are reserved for you
Come claim them
© 2012 David Greg Harth
12.06.05.13:07:09@550NYC
Gulnara Khamatova
She jazzed her way to my couch
With Wham! She certainly is no grouch
From Moscow she jetted across the ocean
Her photography catches the musician’s emotion
While mending my internal scar
She consulted my heart from near and far
Continental leaping beyond yesterday’s tide
In my closet her tall shoes do reside
© 2012 David Greg Harth
12.04.16.23:42:39@130BklynNYC
Lost at Sea
No exit
Or escape route
No out reached hand
Or phone call
No voice to hear
Or friendly eyes
No bird’s song
Or water to drink
No tip toeing children
Or animals to hold
No parachute
Or banking hours
No love had
Or will
The darkest days have arrived
The last sunset given
It is the stars that become dust
In the very land
In which we bury our dead
No way out
Or tunnel light
No shelter given
Or photographs taken
No easy transportation
Or lock and key
No article written
Or west side exhibition
No way to hide
Or loss of weight
No sight gains
Or remaining love
No memory served
Or reason
The darkest days have arrived
The last sunset given
It is the stars that become dust
In the very land
In which we bury our dead
It is at sea
Where we become lost
And it is at the bottom of the sea
Where I am most
© 2012 David Greg Harth
12.03.05.01:08:19@130BklynNYC
Altering The Time Of Your Death
A simple concept
Sometimes disease
Sometimes crime
Sometimes accidents
But sometimes
One can pick the time
One can pick the location
© 2012 David Greg Harth
12.03.04.19:19:19@130BklynNYC
The Stories We Tell
When we are children we tell stories
Usually make believe
Based upon figments of what we’ve experienced
Based upon fragments of our vivid imagination
A bit surreal like a Salvador Dalí panting
Our reality is blurred with fantasy
We accentuate the truth
Bend the truth or even ignore the truth
When we are teens
We try to make our stories become reality
We can tell the difference between fantasy and reality
But we try hard to make certain stories a reality
Even though some stories will remain a fantasy
When we are adults
We are actively creating real stories
We are actively participating in the stories we will at one time call our “life”
We make decisions which affect these stories
We make these stories take the directions we choose
As we mold and form these stories
As these stories mold and form us into who we become
When we are in our old age
When we look at our life that has occurred before us
We will have stories to tell
We will have stories to share
We will share these stories about our history
About our lives
The story I will tell is amazing
But how will your story be?
© 2012 David Greg Harth
12.03.02.12:51:19@130BklynNYC
Enchantment
Life suddenly becomes revitalized
Collision course to seppuku avoided
Curtain lifted, veil removed, stones collapse
Poisonous eyes mesmerize
waiting,
waiting,
waiting
Like a sword drawn from its sheath
Upon fields of cherry blossoms
Hovering over the asphodel meadows
This is the fire we’ve all been waiting for
Burning thoughts reveal truths
She injects me with her secret venom
The soldier marches on
Through the forest of the forgotten
Battles his raging conflicts of love
He comes forth
waiting,
waiting,
waiting
A beauty like hers is rare
No precious stone or mineral
An abbess of my intromittent organ
Owner of my locked cave
At the entrance with the passport to my heart
Standing in a halo’s trinity
A shadow suspended over me
waiting,
waiting,
waiting
She is the enchanting one
And enchanted I have become
© 2012 David Greg Harth
12.02.27.12:03:19@130BklynNYC
The Greatest Crime Of All Time
You had no arsenal of weapons
You had no formal training in the art of war
You had no battle plan
You had no battalion
You had no armed forces
You had no strategic maneuvers
You had no undercover intelligence
You had no fleet of ships
You had no armored tanks
You had no air force
You had no maps of the terrain
You had no ground troops
You had no team of special agents
You had no advanced technological secrets
Yet the greatest crime of all time
Was committed by you
The greatest crime of all time
Was the day you stole my heart
© 2012 David Greg Harth
12.02.23.12:11:48@130BklynNYC
Fetish Sex Party: The Report
It was just the other evening
It wasn’t too cold out it wasn’t too warm
It was five flights up in a loft in midtown Manhattan
We took the elevator up
There was a mysterious liquid on the floor of the elevator
We didn’t know what it was
It didn’t smell like sex juice
And it didn’t smell like pee
It didn’t’ smell like anything flammable
And it didn’t smell sweet
The elevator door opened
Two naked women greeted us at the door
They took our coats
And took a small fee
For we came as a couple
For the evening’s festivities
The night started off slow
We arrived just shy of midnight
The bar was open
A small petite woman in a tight purple dress served us
At the foot of the bar was a man wrapped in a blanket
We were instructed to step on him
Step on his body
Step on his face
We did
This man got off on this
He was a “Human Carpet”
Even the sign said so
I had a Guinness
She had a vodka cranberry
The loft was a decent size
A front room, we’ll call it “The Blue Room”
Because of the blue lights
A back room, we’ll call it “The Red Room”
Because of the red lights
And the main room, with the bar and multiple couches
Most of the couches had a black and white zebra print
I’m sure they were covered with stains of various fluids
I heard the loft was usually used to shoot porn films
There was also suspension points and restraint equipment
A large flat screen TV that played porn
The floors were wooden, the ceiling beams exposed
The Red Room had some chairs, a beanbag sofa, a bed, and a bowl of condoms
The Blue Room had some chairs, a sofa, and a stool chair
Which was perfect for bending people over
There were some single men
But not many
There were some single women who arrived with other single women
There weren’t many single women who arrived solo
There didn’t appear to be many lesbians
There actually weren’t that many gay men
But there were some
There were young people, perhaps early 20s
There were older people, perhaps early 60s
There were people too skinny
Only bones
And they needed to eat some hamburgers
Some had tattoos
Some had piercings
Some had neither
There were some voluptuous people
Some average people
Some well-toned fantastic people
Some really tall people
Some short people
Some people with bellies
Some people with short hair or long hair or no hair
Some wore leather and some wore plastic and some wore PVC
Some wore lace and some wore fishnets and some wore suits
Everyone was there for fun
Everyone was there to show off
Everyone was there to witness
Everyone was respectful
Everyone was social
There was a woman in a silky red dress
She spanked numerous submissive men
As anyone watched
There was a middle-aged man with silver hair and eyeglasses
He had an attractive middle-aged female partner with flowing blonde hair
Small breasts with perky nipples
He chained her up
And flogged her ass
And flogged her tits
As anyone watched
There was an old man
I would say around age 55
He was dressed as a baby
He called himself “Potty Princess”
He carried his own pink diaper bag
Which had a baby bottle
And a wooden paddle
And change of diapers
He wore baby shoes
Baby socks which glowed purplish in the black light
He wore a bonnet, diaper, and baby dress
He even changed his own diaper
And sucked on his pacifier all night
His binky
He would always stare at you in your eyes
Whether you were a male or female
But he truly wanted a woman to boss him around
There were two men dressed as women
They weren’t gay
Although, secretly, I thought they were
But no, they were just submissive
Seeking a woman to boss them around
Use them
Treat them like dirt
One of these guys had pussycat ears
And a pussycat tail
Between his thin pasty white ass
There was a time
When we went to the front of the loft
And looked into The Blue Room
And in the corner
We saw a woman
With a fat chunky ass jiggling
As she gave head to a seated man
A gentleman
All nightlong
There was rigging
And there was flogging
And there was tipping
That woman in the purple
At the bar
And the young man with her
Also serving
And maybe
Being served
There were spectators
And voyeurs
And exhibitionists
There were professionals
And amateurs
There was a very quiet Asian couple
Dressed in black
Early in the evening they were fully clothed
As the evening progressed, she had less clothes
And he had a collar and chain around her neck
Leading her around
At one point they were in The Blue Room
And the Asian man asked a dominant woman
To spank his woman
She obliged
We all watched
As she was bent over that stool chair
Which was metal
And had a blue strobe light beneath it
Which made a cross like image on the wall
When flashing
This Asian couple
Is the type of couple you would see in an Asian porn film
Their body parts
Their privates
Should have been blurred
Digitally blurred
Pixelated
At some point
The woman in red spanked Potty Princess
I hope that made him happy
All should have happiness
There was a very large black man
He wore a leather kilt
I wondered if he had a small dick
I never did ask
I only did wonder
Later in the evening
The big black guy
In the leather kilt
Brought a passed out skinny boney white girl
To The Blue Room
I’m not sure what ever did happen to her
The last I saw her she was on a couch
Like an overdosed rag doll
There was a very large white man
He was very large
Like big, but not fat
Tall
He wore a black top hat
I’m nick naming him
“Edgar Allen Poe”
There was a man playing with fire
He had a nude woman lay before him
She had big tits and an eager smile
She was on a table in front of everyone
He would light his glove on fire
And trace her naked curves with flame
As we all watched
There was an exquisite woman
With smooth creamy white skin
Soft to the touch
With penetrating hazel eyes
With perfect lips
And her tits protruded forth
From her outfit of black
She wore black stockings and a black garter belt
A black bra that accentuated her perfect breasts
The slight hair on her mound
Displayed in the open air
Throughout the evening
Her eyes caught mine
And I caught hers
There was a group of women
Dressed in black lingerie
I would have taken them all home with me
But that night I was not free
I was dedicated to one
I was eyed
By women
By men
But there is only one set of eyes
That has me whole
At around 5am
As I sat on the cum stained zebra print couch
She took my thick cock out of my pants
And just started to suck away
Giving me a nice sloppy wet blowjob
In front of any gazer
Any audience member
She choked away on my cock
And sucked and sucked
I stopped her short
And led her to The Blue Room
Where I put her on the couch
And thrusted my thick cock
Inside her
It was so easy
Since she was wearing a crotchless fishnet body stocking
And she was dripping wet in anticipation
Spectators watched
We could have charged admission
Because we were such a hot fuck
The smell of our sex drifted from room to room
And from room to room
We went
Until it was time to go
And leave
This
Fetish Sex Party
© 2012 David Greg Harth
12.02.17.10:18:00@130BklynNYC
The Lonely Corpse
The lonely corpse sits on the sidewalk
Half distant and half personal
The corpse was once so full of life
He was a sparkled gem to some
An artist to others
To some, he was “David”
To others, he was “Harth”
Right now, he is an investigation
Surrounded by yellow tape
Blue and white cars
And numerous gawking pedestrians
Strangers taking mobile phone photographs
To be distributed through the internets
To numerous other strangers
It went so quickly
So far down
That last end
But now at least he’s not alone
Now he is famous
In printed media and tomorrow’s daily news
Online reports and tourist’s digital media cards
He is history now
A memory to some
An enemy to others
A once lover to some
And now he is just a corpse
A corpse on a sidewalk
© 2012 David Greg Harth
12.02.09.14:55:05@130BklynNYC
Endless Possibilities
She took my heart
I offered it for free
I told her she could have it
I told her it was hers
She took my heart
She had it for a week
She remembered me entirely
For weeks and months to come
Only to discover I am not who I am
She threw out my heart
She threw it away
She disregarded it and disengaged
She refused to do anything with my heart
She disposed of it
She let it escape without a resting soul
She could have done anything with my heart
The possibilities were endless
But instead, my heart is now gone
Forever disappeared
And forgotten
© 2012 David Greg Harth
12.02.09.13:58:43@130BklynNYC
Diagnosed
They transported me by ambulance
Making numerous turns down congested streets
Rain plummeted down upon the grids of chaos
The windshield became a kaleidoscope of city lights
Reflecting hollow truths and past memories
They said I had a very faint vital sign left
A slight pulse which would fade in and out
Gradually it would come into existence
And disappear just as easily as it came forth
They said I was found unconscious on the concrete floor
They didn’t know how long I was there
They were unsure what happened to me
They found me bare, bruised and alone
As I have come out of previous deaths before
It is no marvel that I survived this brush as well
Slowly digesting what the doctors revealed to me
I lay in this hospital bed I’m quite familiar with
The team of doctors in white coats
Came into my room just as I was eating the hospital lunch
Which consisted of slightly warm pasta with tomato sauce that tasted more like ketchup
A pear, a roll with butter, and plasticware wrapped in clear plastic
The plasticware package also contained a napkin and salt & pepper packets
Also included with the lunch was a small carton of 2% milk and a ginger ale
It was then, during my hospital lunch that the doctors informed me
I’ve been diagnosed with a broken heart
© 2012 David Greg Harth
12.02.04.24:51:56@130BklynNYC
Speaking At My Funeral
Not fearing death comes easy to me
Quite simple actually
And quite often I seek death
I look for death
I welcome death
It’s an uncontrollable habit
And even easier at this moment
One day I’ll commit suicide
It won’t be a surprise to some
It won’t be a shock to others
It won’t be a performance art work
But the day will come
And I’ll be dead
By my choice
This is an invitation
To all of you
You may know me well
Or not at all
But you may come to my funeral
And speak
Now I must go
Because there is one more thing to write
One more work to create
And one more love to love
© 2012 David Greg Harth
12.02.04.24:31:31@130BklynNYC