Chaos: A new Beauty
chaos is in the air
the scent invades my mind
my senses take over
by a truth of lust
chaos is in the air
the doves flew home tonight
brown eyes stare
blue eyes welcome
love is defined
he paints a picture
together they are poets
separated from birth
a welcoming horizon
never thought to exist
a real being found inside
can no longer hide
a barrier once built
now taken down and defeated
a castle of overwhelming magnitude
tracks leading to the fields
vast plains constitute
lions guard the dens
as perfume prevents desires
a cure is near
chaos penetrates my being
the smell conquers my thoughts
she moves swiftly
stinging lioness going for a kill
infiltrates my mind
intrigues my inner self
a poetry writer
a sculptor at heart
beautiful bi-line
twist and turn
a recommended St. Jude
I see an angel in my reflection
running through God’s waters
I find a lasting place
an unexpected face
is what I found in this state of grace
a gyration of fluid
a simple mind
a complex thought
share, bond, comprehend
a goddess from heaven
a Botticelli’s last dance
sunset colors
and blood dried dreams
an embrace of warmth
glowing from within the heart
I tear at myself
rip apart my soul
so, you can enter
and dance with me
in the midnight sky
a small town womyn
Japan a far
romantic scenes
portrait of an enigma
classy through choice
an 80’s lover
a 90’s conqueror
a developed reason
chaos is in the air
someone fainted back there
lift me up, guide me through
I found someone tonight
chaos is in the air
I breathe it all the time
chaos is in the air
I make love to my dreams
chaos is in the air
the beauty is stunning
the mind is beyond a wish
chaos is my lioness
a reality of my truth
an existence together
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.12.08.23:45:00@NJ07430
97.12.09.23:45:00@NJ07430
97.12.10.23:45:00@NJ07430
The Lion & The Blue Man
He died today
They wanted to shoot him
That Anthony man
She took photos
Remembered the scene
For later poetry
She defined love
He painted a picture
The winter breeze
Passed the sirens galore
He died that day
Obesity set in
And the womyn
No performance of CPR
She carried a cane
And two weighed bags
She smiled at me
And retreated to the sea
A scent of chaos
Sitting beside a lion tonight
A mosaic of utopia
Last night’s St. Jude
Bloated man
Down the aisle
Shifting feet
911
Let us plea for life
Anthony’s
An English accent
A lesbian lover
A line cutter
And a 3 some
4,5,6 trooper
Jerry curl at front
Go out for a ciggie
Wish it was for a shag
Go out for a rescue
Shove through the glass
Let’s all move on
As the dead are dying
Let’s all move on
We have to illustrate
Then the life is shortened
A distant fighter
A right hook
To the jaw; to the gut
Deep down inside
The man in blue
His flesh tone of cobalt
The cold man
With a Hong Kong’s 137
He died that day
Back in the center
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.12.06.00:00:00@NYC
97.12.07.00:00:00@NYC
A Life Of Listening (The Beauty Of Passion #1)
Do you hear me?
As I plead guilty?
To the crimes I did not commit?
To the suicide of the others?
To the love I was denied?
Do you hear me?
I tear out my tongue and twist it around
I long for your dreams
And put power into your soul
I eat at my own flesh
To hear your own pain
I live for your feelings
To comfort your life
Do you hear me?
As I cry myself to sleep
To deal with the pain
To survive from the hell
And bring dead to the graves?
Do you hear me?
As I press a stake through my heart
And pound at my feelings
I last a short while
As long as you want
I last the longest time
The day of your life
Do you hear me?
As I call upon your mother and father?
As I sit beside you at your lonesome night?
As I stroke your hair
And caress your face?
As I take care of you
Nurse you to the life you had
To the gift you are
To the one I dedicate my life to
To the one I burned for
Died for
Decomposed for?
Do you hear me?
As I yell in sheer agony?
As nails of love puncture my dreams?
To the one I have not forgotten
To the one I will forgive
For I have sinned
Take me now.
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.11.26.08:37:00@NYC
ASSIGNMENT
I wonder if it’s true
The invitation
To tomorrow’s party
The one down under
The one with wine down the back
A channel
An influence of animals
A Zoo Channel
One to be discovered
An Assignment completed
Yet just started on a statue
A sculpture from heaven
With the gaze of mystery
A rose with its thorns up
Protection, a front
Boundaries broken
Until I come inside
I wonder if it’s true
The beloved ghost’s last train
The pondering thoughts
And lasting impressions
An Assignment given and taken
One with ends that meet commons
One with twists and turns
From the waist to the breast
Sexy
Eyebrows to shout
I imagine, a navel
Navel of no other
A French kind for me
A brown-eyed sunset
Down from the earth, so very near
Together an experience
Every time, she wonders
I wonder if it’s true
If he is the one in the sea
She dances with me
I know she will wear that shoe
If the blue matches
The brown mixes
The painting is like a Warhol
An origin of delight
Beauty upon a platter
A lasting lust of crime
Danger is near
Around her curves
I can feel them here
Every bend
Every turn
Mind set to go
A deliver punch of intensity
I wonder if Assignments should be given
Or if he just died in heaven.
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.11.26.02:19:00@NYC
The Phone Man
The man on the phone
he stared at me today
his curly hair
like a cherry tree
He gazed at me
glass ball-eyed
he yelled and screamed
did not piss in his pants
Hand in pocket
he knows me
I try to pass
he stabs through me
The man on the phone
he hunts for me
I ran down the hall
pass a sign
he follows
the man on the phone
I ran past the crew
and the bed men too
I ran to the alley
and past the white ghosts
I have a glimpse
woman in the window
her bare breasts
sticking out
Her nipples hard
as can be
man on the phone
on my ass
I stare at the woman
the woman in the shadows
out from the window
she gives a yell
I climb the ladder
to the woman
her breasts bare
in front of my stare
She takes me inside
the phone man behind
I lay on the bed
as she straddles my waist
The window crashes open
the man who knew me
he runs into the room
as the woman grinds her hips
The phone man approaches
the woman atop
pulls a caliber
out from his jacket pocket
Points it behind her
In front of me
behind her bare breasts
her stiff nipples
in front of me
The phone man
he pulls the trigger
I bleed
Her nipples toss
In front of me
The phone man
he knew me
I lay there
as he calls 911
as his lover
falls to the ground
as I die
beneath dead bare breasts...
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.11.20.22:17:57@NYC
Beauty
I gaze into your beauty
see strength deep within
sexy in a grey color sweater
underneath, slip a few
Eyebrows
lifted to enjoy
explore
and protect your eyes
leading to the bridge
slender
like the figure below
I get lost
in your brown eyes
over and over again
I can travel your pathways
and long hallways
any day
all day
Traveling through
your mystery brown eyes
baby seal eyes
attraction at its peak
your eyelashes at guard
only a glimpse
captures me
and makes me dive deeper
and sink into your eyes
beautiful brown eyes
I trace your curves
your smooth skin face
with my eyes
or feathers or ice
to your mouth
parted slightly
rose lips
pink in tone
for a nibble tonight
When you smile
all wars come to a halt
around mother earth
we stand still
at sight of your
glorious smile
healing a wound inside
Still a passenger
I travel down
see your sexy neck
outside you protrude
from the sweater cover
your hair
perfect
with the black
the brown
and the red color around
Slick
to the touch
feel
fingers through your hair
streak down
stroke upwards
The surrounding
incase
your mind of wonders
intelligence projected
ice water placed
down to earth
of Egyptian decent
If you were across a sea
I would row a boat
build a steam ship
create a bridge
If you were atop a mountain
I would be the first to climb
parachute down
or fly to your soul
Come with me
take a walk
an imagination
a chance of no other
your beauty interlocking
exchanging
finding
becoming “a one”
Dance with me
to the moon’s hymn
and the sun’s first open arms
with the animals of the forest
and the wonderful desert skies
and later
a dessert
to expand a horizon
And now I wonder
If your bolted tongue
slithers like that of your mind
and your beautiful brown eyes
down a slippery escape
of today’s reality
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.11.18.13:20:00@NYCUSA
Brown Ashes
they danced
exchanged
slithered up
each other’s bodies
melted
bended together
they bonded
candles ignited
the waitress laughed
customers scattered
rotations rushed
water poured
but did not stop us
wooden ones left
as the glass shattered
the mirror busted
drinks on me
they don’t sell well
we are being fed
as the others
left to bled
that night
I lay in bed
wonder how
I escaped
I survived
as a pile of slender ashes
lays beside me
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.11.07.12:52:00@505MAHWAH
Reaching
I’m reaching out
I try harder and harder
an open arm
I guide my hand
She fades away from me
each step I take
I can see her faintly
every inch I move
her curves blow away
with the wind from under my breath
and from the heavens
I try to stop myself
from being under
but I can’t help it
I only want to try
try for a welcoming hug
a feel
a touch
But every time I near
she pulls away
further and further
into the darkness
of a corner unknown to me
I try to see her
I push myself
I dig in deep
I conquer any obstacle
tackle warriors
break boundaries
cross borders
all for her
But
as I get nearer
she fades away...
she becomes silent
pulls herself out of reach...
So...
I wait,
with my hand on my soul
folded arms
I wait
for her
to reach
me
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.10.30.17:30:00@NYC
Slip
If you slip
wearing that black
a slip under
satin against soft smooth
A slip thru a curtain
silky sheets
slip thru a net
down below
Were you wet?
slippery at the time?
Under the ground
deeper and deeper
You slip
and fade
into the shadows
under the earth
under your slip
You slip away
you hear secrets
a whisper
of warm breath
in your right ear
than left
a whisper
a slip of the tongue
and then you wonder...
Am I slipping...
or is this just a dream?
a climb?
not slip...
but a climb....
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.10.30.16:57:00@NYC
Red Addiction #1 (False Version)
slicing up my skin
my vein
clenching my fist
pumping my arm
puncturing it
sliding it in
deeper
inject it
an orgasm
a delight
a daydream
an experience of no other
a highlighted color
a god-blessed Mary
my soul intertwines
with the tree trunks
and pathways of arteries
within my flesh
I release
let go
fall backwards
upon the mattress
explore it
feel it
pump no longer
and then
I pass away
at the sound of a doorbell
ringing
ringing
buzzing in my ear...
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.10.29.22:46:00@505MAHWAH
Laughter
it makes one happy
and clears the tears away
putting a smile on your face
from cheek to cheek
it’s funny and romantic
cherish the moment
friends can laugh
and cuddle too
smile at the uniqueness
the special bond
the broad whiteness
that they display
olive against pasty
smile wide
for that photo shoot
in a Miami booth
smile and laugh
all through the night
take no moment for granted
just laugh and laugh
Laughter
two smiles share it
two friends create it
Laughter
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.10.23.15:17:00@NYC
Untitled (Autumn Leaves)
The leaves were out today
in different shades
yellow and red
green and brown
orange and burnt sienna
They were beautiful
changing colors
with the swaying trees
the cool breeze
and all over
they are on their knees
Two intertwining souls
wrapping around
the thick trunk
leading up to those fascinating
dying leaves
The mountains were covered
with all kinds of foliage
each little bush
each little tree
was a place for you and me
The breeze continued
the trees still swayed
the leaves fell today
but we are still
on our knees
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.10.21.14:09:00@NYC
Dream
I met her
just the other day
she was walking
in my shadow
I knew her all along
but just met her the other day
Beauty presented herself
In my darkness
She came in front of me
My lonesome path
She entered me
passed through me
but she got caught
caught in my heart
She is dancing there
dancing, wearing black velvet
She thinks there
and as She does
I whisper to Her
during the nighttime
and day
I try to dream
but no memories come out
accept the one in my shadow
the Princess of my heart
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.10.20.21:46:22@505MAHWAH
Stranger
there he was
he sat in front of me
today
he sat there
his moldy face
his crew cut
in front of me
that there,
that strange man
reading the foreign hieroglyphics
looking out my window
his smell haunted me
seeped thru my clothes
made me choke on his hovering shadow
the stranger
that strange man
he sat there
reading all day
small light above
his amber eyes
stared back at me
wondered if I was the one
wondered if I was getting off
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.10.20.21:28:00 @ NYC USA
42nd street
I used to walk those days
passing the whores
the drugs
the sexy stores
see the lights
flashing arrows
light up the sky
hot pink, bright yellow,
neon green and orange too
smell of sweetness in the air
weed on the side
black man white man
inside out
girls in heels
knee high boots
mini skirts
cheeks seen
feathers around necks
stocking covered long legs
I used to walk those streets
filled with motion
and sperm lotion
with chaos and nudity
pornography
and money money money
twenty-five cents
televisions
I have 125 stations
it’s time to go back to join other creations
prostitutes
no institute for freedom
where the men all go
to dance and prey
where the men all rape
the young of their innocence
the children still cry
for cigarette butts
was inspiration
for artists and poets
musicians too
for films and movies
and womyn too
Now it’s no more lust
but falling dust
demolition
to create a new political nation
filled with children
not selling
but buying
mickey mouse
and donald duck
theatres and candies
no more sluts
Now its towers of products
no more vibrations
just new fun
no more poetry
no more art
that is dead
instead,
corporate business
making a buck
instead of a fuck
Now it’s no strip
for the men who tip
it’s just a collection
and only a few
stand at 42nd and 8th
offer me a smoke
or a blow
but don’t ever
ever
offer me disney again
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.10.16.18:46:00@505MAHWAH
Earth Gift
I will bend you
take you by the hair
slap you
turn you
around and around
I will fuck you
up the ass
and between your legs
shove in
pull out
blow me over
I will slam you
up against that wall
your breasts against my chest
grinding away
two souls
two bodies
in the heat
I will torment you
eat you
feed on you
rape your thoughts
and bite at your tits
I will bang away
at your pussy
push harder
deeper each second
my head will go
in and out
in and out
I will be in black
you in your nightgown
slipped over your waist
I can smell you now
Taste your blood
as I bite your scarred lip
Taste your tears
as you yell in pain
in joy
I will look down at you
as you take my cock
in your mouth
suck it
all down
down your throat
until I give you
a gift from the earth
an earth gift.
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.10.16.18:28:00@NYC
3 AM
It’s 3am
Outside
the rain pours
I wonder what you wear
in your midnight sleep
I wonder what you are dreaming of
tonight
and tomorrow
I think about you
what you look like
who are you
I ponder the wonderful things
the bonds, the poetry, the art
and the darkness
I hope for truth
a belief
maybe a dance in this rain
a naked rain
Outside
the rain comes down
continues to flow
down the window pane
I hope to be in the nude one day
when one paints a picture
of me today
I wonder how you sleep
curled up
on your stomach
or on your back
in the heat
or no covers above
I wonder how the moonlight
shines in your room
reflects across your bed
your face
your glorious breasts
I wonder if the rain will end
so, the black sky will be quiet
so, I can lean over
and
at 3am
whisper into your ear
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.10.15.02:54:14@NYC
take her there
slivering
searching
beaming down
flying thru the night
smelling the way
peering thru the darkness
following the scent
the trail
the beauty
to the castle
the forest
the deep ocean
the midnight skies
the moonlight guides
the sweetness leads
the thighs open
take her there
to that place
the cliffs alongside
beachfront horror
death below
orgasm above
She is there, He is there
take her apart
bite at the neck
knife to the hand
He cuts his, and cuts hers
trickle blood
down her spine
way down low
and around again
finger the blood
around her every curve
ice blood
warm to touch
animal heat
thickness
a meat
slowly push
take the dripping finger
up to her thigh
glide inwards,
in her inner thigh
smell the horror
the taste of shadows
the taste of angels
devils too
in he pushes
his finger
over and over
with blood boiling
hot; around
inner walls
tear the inside
heal the outside
the mind
push
deeper
feel her need
give her a want
take her head
on her knee
push
the seas below
the danger surrounds
the cuffed
the bound
the broken
red, black, silver
make a night
nighttime true
She is there, He is there
take her there...
Now answer this,...
Who is she?
Who is he?
And where is there?
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.10.13.19:58:00@NYC
Talk this, Talk that
Security
Black ties
and gourmet dresses
diamond backs, running up their shoes
studs
diamond rings
diamond earrings
necklaces; galore
ostrich feathers
from lace to leather
pure Italian fabric
to the American blend
No Gucci,
a higher standard;
of living...
young, old, mostly mid, mid old
thin, physique
pretty frame; in a picture
fifty year old
woman
sheer dress
white ruffles above black
what’s this?
Her dried out nipple
nipples
seen
drive-thru
walk by
crowd
heat
all over
sipping
but no smoke
champagne
bubbled water
walk thru
no eats
figures
rubenesque
and beautifuls
french, asian, american too
men of high,
none of low
except me
and mine
and a few others
beautifuls:
satin, silk,
black
soft skin
white
older; bring out the breasts
younger; bring out the crime
blue eyes
red eyes
flash
1-2-3
blue eyes
green eyes
why isn’t my art here?
men in haircuts
tight
fitting suits
navy and midnight
glasses
pipes in the pocket
frizzy hair man
always there
always here
always
on the wall
spread open
wide for us
the viewer
the rich folk
the non-common folk
the irony of
of
high art/low art
no snobs
we did not talk
just drink
laughs
and talk
lots of talk
meeting
no security
surrounded
outdoor garden
a picasso?
a magritte?
a water baby
towers above
pollution outside those walls
or is it in these walls?
the artists hide
the contributors pay
who is the judge
not you
not I
but they
Why is it them
and not I
Why is there crap
on that bottom floor
Again
a mention goes out
a radio talk shout
beauties
americana clean
slender
and one with
a black
slender
steps
little ones
get out of my way
a smile
a rub
a portion,
un-done
a smile
a rub
a friendly hello
and an eyebrow liner
a stream down her leg,
talk this talk that
pornography on the walls
talk this
talk that
its pornography they want?
talk this buy that
its garbage they have
talk this bought that
its shit in their pockets;
death at their head
bring out the artists
and the irony
i do not get
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.10.10.01:20:00@505MAHWAH