Beauty (Version #2)
Wanting you
Is the last thing
I’ll be happy to remember
Before my death arrives
Tomorrow
© 2003 David Greg Harth
03.07.06.19:55:55@296NYC
Booties (Version #2)
Booties.
I love you.
For 15 years you were a part of my life.
From childhood to young adulthood.
You witnessed me in my crying times.
You were beside me when my brain escaped the world.
You were beside me when I stayed up late to study for tomorrow’s high school exam.
You were beside me when I opened up Holiday gifts.
Of course, you always just wanted the box to play in.
You were beside me as I slept. Most nights, if not every.
You shared my bed and my bathroom sink.
I gave you dinner scraps, not below the table, but on the table.
I took you outside for exploration.
I held you tightly whenever I needed you.
You taught me about love.
With no language or instruction.
You did not speak to me or read to me.
Your comfort. Your fur. The love you provided me with. That is what taught me.
I could hear your heart beat.
I could hear your purr from down the hall.
I could hear your bell from down the block.
Booties.
You are a crazy cat.
Remember when Mum & Dad got that new mirrored closet in their bedroom?
You were racing around the house and into their room.
You then smacked right into the mirror! (You thought the room was longer!) ha ha!
You are a crazy cat.
Remember on Clay Street,
I had two windows in my room. One facing North and one facing West.
You were in the window sill and then ran downstairs. I then shut that window and opened the other.
A little while later you came racing in and jumped right up to the window sill where you just were.
Only that window was closed! And you went SMACK! right into the window, and fell down!
Remember?
You are a crazy cat.
You escaped outside (Mum is usually at fault)
You ran through the woods.
And I bolted after you! You were so fast! But I needed you! So, I caught up and brought you back home.
You are a crazy cat.
Remember exploring?
You got stuck in a wall 5 feet down!
Mum had to punch a hole in the wall just to get you out!
You are a crazy cat.
Remember how many times you would run into the garage?
What would I do?
I take the plastic wiffle ball bat and bang it against the floor!
That would scare you and you would race back inside!
You are a crazy cat.
Remember you would always hide in the front closet each time you had the chance?!
You would run in whenever someone grabbed a jacket or took out the vacuum cleaner?
Sometimes after the entire day went by, we would find you sleeping in the locked closet!
Silly cat!
Booties.
I recall all of your favorite spots.
All curled up in the bathroom sink.
Even if the water still dripped on your tail or back; you didn’t care.
In the heap of fresh warm clean laundry, right from the dryer.
You would love it, of course Mum wouldn’t. Your fur got all over the clean clothes!
How about that black bean-bag chair. The one with the green and orange blanket.
You made that little dip your home, didn’t you?
Of course, my bed too. I’d find you there all the time.
What about the living room chair? And sofa pillows.
You would flatten those pillows to fit your every curve.
How about the dining room chairs on occasion? Hiding under the table.
I could always find you.
How about all curled up in my dresser draw or even just a shoe box?
I also remember another favorite spot.
How about wrapped around the back of my neck?
That was pretty cool, eh?
Booties.
You loved Tuna night.
It wasn’t tuna for you, but Tuna for Cara and I.
You knew it immediately. As soon as Pop took the can opener out. You were down in the kitchen right away!!
You loved French fries and pasta and potato chips.
You loved fish and meat and even had a fine taste for ear wax. (Yes, I know what you like!)
Booties.
Remember how we played?
I used to take that tiny gold Christmas ball and unravel some of the gold string and drag it
around the house. You chased those balls all over. And I would have to take the cane and
get the ones you lost from underneath the couch.
You would always go after flashlights or the laser pointer.
You went crazy for bugs.
And loved catnip.
Remember stalking each other?
I was pretty good, for a human, eh?
Booties.
Your soft grey fur.
Your white tummy.
And white little paws; making those boots, those booties.
Your half white mustache.
Your white whiskers.
Your golden green eyes.
Your curiosity.
Your love that no one could forget. No visitor, not even an enemy.
Your desire to sleep and eat and play.
They are tiny compared to the energy, that you had devoted to love me, and to love others.
Booties.
I love you forever
Thank you for waiting for me.
I’m sorry it took so long.
But you knew I would be there for you,
as you went, when you were ready.
Gracefully. Peacefully.
I love you forever.
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.10.19.03:00:44@296NYC
Dedicated to Booties, my cat.
Booties
Booties is dead.
I saw him go in peace.
His eyes locked with mine.
He was calm and innocent.
Not a meow or a flinch.
He seemed to lay lifeless on the table even before injected.
His tumor now the size of an eggplant.
His body frail.
He wasn’t able to drink for days.
A 22 pound cat now a 4 pound skeleton.
His bony structure unstable on four feet.
His drive to explore still there.
Curious as can be.
Dehydrated into nothingness.
Sadness.
A decomposing filth.
His stench was an invitation to death.
Now dead.
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.10.19.01:29:13@296NYC
Burn
I want to light you on fire
You in your suit
White collar
Golden nugget around your finger
I want to burn you
Burn you to death
I want to see the fire come between your teeth
In the cracks see the fire
See the lies light up in reds and yellows and oranges
Burn you
Burn you to death
I want to show you the blue light
The intense heat and take your Italian suit to the morgue
I want your flesh to burn and all at Broadway to watch
Burn burn burn
I want to light you on fire
And throw a happening around your stench
Burn you to the cross
Or burn you to the market stock
Burn you to the television
Or burn you in the Hamptons
I want to see you burn
I want to hear your heated screams
I want to see your flesh melt
And the dollar coins fall from your pockets
Back to my earth
Burn, burn, burn.
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.08.28.16:30:00 @ 1515 NYC
01.08.30.03:13:00 @ 296 NYC
Buh- bye
And with those last words
She paid her dues
She’s gone forever
Turned the corner
Never before here again
“Buh- bye”
“Buh- bye”
She said in her muttered voice
Her hair messed up
Like she just got up
From last night’s pancake house
Flattened
I won’t see her around here no more
Not at the cornerstone
Not at the bar
Not at the leftover room
Or under-stove stool
“Buh- bye”
She said
In her soft-toned voice
Her scratchy vocals
Her song of songs
“Buh- bye”
She said in my ear
Whispered to my insides
Kept from me for years
“Buh- bye”
She said along
Sing along
A children’s song
“Buh- bye”
She said
And she was gone
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.08.16.16:37:19 @ 1515 NYC
Bible Is The Womb
Inside I only hear lost voices
Taste buds of the tongue
And burnt sensations at fingertips
Healed now
Forgotten cries and howls
Daughters lost and stolen
Sons sent for battle to fight
Gone now
Her new spring dress bleached
Stained from the power struggle
Laughter kept away
Hidden from yesterday’s children
The trees now sway
Without a trace of wind
The rain soaks up the ground
And the dead rise from the earth
You are not sad today
Just remembering the horror
Of airplane dreams
And truth of today’s news
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.05.23.17:43:00@GUGGENHEIMMUSEUMNYC
Blue Moon Daddy
High sky times
No more punk
Just corner planters
And teenage crowds
She made Daddy pay for the cab
And bubblegum
She made Daddy pay for hair bronze
And dance lessons
Four star tribute
And no one in white cares
Twenty-Four heroes
And not mine
She made Daddy pay for the work order
And golden pop
She made Daddy pay for the alcohol
And television show
Limousine won’t pick me up
And black cars ignore me
Irving Plaza wanted sex with me
And I didn’t even dare
She made Daddy pay for the pony ride
And limited edition vinyl
She made Daddy pay for court papers
And thankyous by grace
Candle memorials with signage
Directional turns and onlookers
Leather jackets and photographers
A piece of apple pie
She made Daddy pay for the helmet
And cherry flavor
She made Daddy pay for the holy prayer
And cream
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.04.18.12:09:16@296NYC
A Brief Funny Story
I was at my Opa’s apartment last night.
In case you didn’t know, Opa is my grandfather.
Anyway, he is 89 years old and has an older brother, about age 94? in South Africa. They both fled Germany when Hitler decided to kill people.
I was showing Opa what I do at work. I had brought my laptop computer up to him last night and for the first time he was able to see and hear what I do at work and in my art world. I showed him websites I worked on and other things. Even played a video for him.
He was quite amazed at the technology.
We then emailed his brother and some other relative.
But first, he looked at his watch. He noticed the time and he said we couldn’t because if we did that, it would wake them up. I had to take about 4 minutes and explain to Opa that emails don’t wake up people like phone calls do. I still don’t think he fully understands. But it was funny.
And that’s my brief funny story.
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.10.10.15:31:42 @ 1515 NYC
Barnes Summer
If I see an apple on the street now
I’ll pick it up and drink its juices
I’ll be allowed to
It would be appropriate
There is nothing you can do
But Pray, I don’t punch you in the face
And remember those nights
When I called down the hallway
While you were paid
And now you are left in my memory bank
And there is nothing I can do
But hope and expand
But I warn you now
As I do every year
Pray I only punch you
Punch you back
And don’t kill you
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.08.25.01:15:29@296NYC
Beautiful
You are my heart
You are the eyes to my soul
You are beautiful
You are the symphony of life
You are soft
You are filled with the kindness of an angel
You are real
You are a white dove of truth
You are sunshine
You are always brightening the day
You are sensual
You are admired by mother earth
You are warmth
You are the fire that burns inside
You are my heart
You are the eyes to my soul
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.06.28.09:14:13@296NYC
00.07.06.18:09:05@296NYC
00.07.07.01:21:15@296NYC
Alaska
Being Alone: Isolation
Silent Towers
Discrete Mountains
Cotton Plantations
Communicative Efforts
Reaching Regions
Pilgrimage Cross Checks
Limitation Events
Dying Ageless
Forgotten Chairs
Left Creme
Sugar Daddy
Silent Auction
Super Puppy
Sexxy Girl
Burnt Sienna
Survival Guide Complete
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.06.22.12:16:11@296NYC
Bitch
She’s my bitch
my honor
my mother fucker
why am I forced to lover her
i don’t even know her
Who she is or where she came from
i don’t know her true history
As I become the alcoholic I’ve always dreamed of becoming
Get me my scotch glass
That bitch
That fucker
Why do you need it
You’ll just be in pain anyway
And you’ll just eat the sand from which she grows
No please or sorry or children’s disease
No ammunition of romantic love for me
No words of wisdom
Or thank you for my art
Fuck you
go to Hell
see you on the other side of God
Like me now?
She didn’t whisper in my ear
didn’t even hold my hand at the shot-put zoo
didn’t even envelope a thought
I love you – the same.
She followed me up to the sky
Slowly I dripped a delivery
One time quicker than last
Nothing left, Nothing to do
She’s my bitch
a conquer
an underdeveloped nightmare
A picture perfect nothingness
A beauty for results
A bad ass
A smooth-over turn table
A crybaby
A silent asshole
She was my dick
My hole
My other
A dust
A tear
A bitten lip
A rose
Now
I can die
In peace
Leave me alone.
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.05.26.13:23:18 @ PH17OBNC
Brown Paper Bag
I’ve always known
What it was like
To be alone
In the cave of shadows
Being the person whom you only see in a mirror
And wanting
And craving to peel back your skin
And reveal your inner self and inner truth
I’ve been in that state
Standing still
For so long
But now with the current warmth
I can no longer hide
I can no longer let my eyes roll back
Because now I’ll let someone else
Inside
And lay my trench coat on the puddle before you
Now I can stand in motion
No longer still
But traveling
With a possible
Great big
Brown Paper Bag...
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.03.30.17:14:44 @ 1515 NYC
00.04.07.03:07:13 @ 296 NYC
Whispers
Burned
You didn’t touch me
You didn’t come inside
Or hold
You burnt me
Left me to the ashes
Where I might belong
Where maybe I’ll grow
You shut off the light
And slept until the next month
Until the daylight
And I was heated
And thrashed
And converted
You didn’t let me go
You only showed me the tunnel
With your open palms
That my fire couldn’t engulf
I backed
And backed away
Before you could say something
Now I’m burned
Nothing left to ignite
Or start over
Or revive
Relive
I’m burned
Dead
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.03.08.17:36:43 @ 1515 NYC
Bagpiper
Blow me into the heaven I belong
Make me feel the pain that I have caused
Demonstrate the suffering I only dreamed of
Become the death beat in my pulse
Remind me of my father’s love
Listen to my buffalo thoughts roam
Tear open my skin and reveal my truths
Prevent me from eating the disease
Make me shiver in the coldness of tonight
Deliver your message with more conditions and rules
Show me the reflection of the past and image of the future
Become the agony from which I cry from
Get lost with my soul and make me beg for life
Reach for the sockets that hold my art sight
Make me wash my clothes continuously and never remain with the blood
Become my fallen teeth nightmare and crack me
Settle the upwards issue
Blow to my brains that will be televised
Let the hollow hole bring light to the earth from which a flower does not grow
Restore my history with your learned beauty
Stare at my darkness and hidden causes
Make me think about swallowing and never do
Feed me to the pit and make me never decompose
Cut loose the ties which bound me to my beliefs
Make a run for the silent hills
Make me shackled and naked and false
Make me love until I ache in fetal pain
And forget about me as I become my gorgeous depersonalized self
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.01.12.23:16:36 @ 296 NYC
00.01.19.01:07:16 @ 296 NYC
00.01.27.04:19:03 @ 296 NYC
Black Cars
I ain’t nothin’
I’m scrap
I’m trash
My sign is nothing
My image is nothing
My style is stolen
My behavior is imitated
My look is manufactured
I ain’t nothin’
I’m low
I’m invisible
They don’t notice me
They don’t consider me
They don’t allow me
They don’t acknowledge me
They don’t follow me
They don’t fondle me
I ain’t nothin’
I’m a no body
I’m worthless
I’m a piece of dung
I’m not heard
I’m not sought
I’m not reported
I’m not stalked
I’m not felt
I ain’t nothin’
I don’t have a voice
I don’t have a friend
I don’t have a telephone
I don’t have a white glove
I don’t have a back door
I ain’t nothin’
Because I don’t travel in black cars
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.01.21.24:59:00@296NYC
Banana Republic
In my mailbox the other day,
I received an advertisement from Banana Republic.
It said:
Introducing
The Flagship Store at Rockefeller Center,
featuring accommodations, a person should be able to take
for granted, plus some very fancy gadgets:
A coat and bag check to free you for more noble pursuits.
Cell phone re-charging while you shop.
Store concierge. Whatever you need, someone will take care of it
within the limits of the law.
Complimentary delivery anywhere in Manhattan
(for purchases of $300 or more - through the end of 1999).
Palm Computing® connected organizer uploads of the store (and
other similarly fabulous places in Manhattan).
In other words, there may be more service than you can use at any
given moment, but don’t let that keep you from trying.
...
Now what I find amusing about this advertisement is statement number 3.
Let’s go over it again:
“Store concierge. Whatever you need, someone will take care of it
within the limits of the law.”
I have a question, actually, several, or, maybe they are propositions.
Would anyone here ask the store concierge to....
rob a bank?
murder someone?
rape someone?
bomb something?
hold up the store?
etc.
Now, why was this included on the advertisement?
Did lawyers suggest it from a fear of possible lawsuits?
Customers complaining that the concierge would not rob a bank with them?
I don’t know.
Advertising is weird. America is weird. I’m weird.
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.11.16.02:15:40 @ 296 NYC
BB
B because I never knew one
B because I never was sleeping
B because I never got lost
B because I never fell in deep
B because it’s a combination
B because it’s a wild roar
B because it’s the sun in the West
B because it’s a reflection
B because I never twisted along
B because I always imagined and hoped
B because I believe
B because I saw her smile
B because it’s real
B because it’s together
B because it’s a portrait
B because it’s about the warmth
B because I never was wrapped
B because I never was washed
B because I never was written
B because I never was willed
BB is an equal, a spirit
A hunted hunter
BB is lost and found
A laughter of captures
BB is tonight, a song
A magnet from the future
A heaven, a self, a crying animal
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.11.05.03:48:12 @ 296 NYC