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
Untitled (Mystery Woman)
You are a mystery woman to me.
You are large at heart, nothing at sight.
You are everything at mind, everything in the imagination.
I know you by words, not by sight nor by sound.
I know you by vibes, feelings, and truth,
But not by lies.
You are a wind.
I am an angel.
You are a flame.
I am an angel.
You are a rose.
I am an angel.
You are a berry.
I am an angel.
You are a valley of sweetness.
I am an angel.
You are hope
I am an angel.
You are missing.
I am an angel.
You are perceived.
I am an angel.
You are words.
I am an angel.
You are there.
I am an angel.
You are who?
What color are your eyes?
Your eyes?
© 1996 David Greg Harth
96.10.07.12:30:00@31USQWNYC
Untitled (Thoughts Behind)
I come to you in the night
by way of the stars.
I awake with you at the yellow dawn.
by way of the morning sun.
I embrace your loveliness
by way of my arms.
I take you by the hand
I guide you to my water.
I cleanse you up and down
I show you the water.
I clear your thoughts
I soothe your back.
I tear at your heart
asking for more.
I stand behind you
My hands on your shoulders
Rubbing your back
My knee against your bottom cheeks
My arms wrapped around your waist
I guide my hands to your navel
The suds glide downward, my hands upward
My fingers run across your breasts
Tight squeeze
A hug of love
Behind you, I am not ashamed.
Behind you, I am erect.
My hands run across your hard red nipples.
© 1996 David Greg Harth
96.10.07.03:30:00@31USQWNYC
Untitled (Dark Love)
allow me
bend your neck
curve toward the shadow
let me in
a penetration
sunken teeth
withdraw thy blood
allow me
to show you a way
a river shadow
a dark lover
be with the blackness
come toward the light
the light of grey
show me your beauty
the puncture I will create
let me suck out your blood
be a devil to the daughter
be a horror to your imagination
be real to thy flesh
I in black, you in black
lace and silk sheet tonight
candle burns
heat in overdrive
turn towards the mirror
and beware
no reflection in sight
an angel came down one day
he said
then again
a devil dug upwards
toward the sky
toward her inner thigh
suck and suck
the one in black
wings of glory
in all its fury
soar the skies
the midnight moons
then,
you might discover...
his drive
his shadow
his beneath-the-belt
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.10.02.01:27:00@NYC
Roy Lichtenstein
I had a friend,
just the other day,
my friend Roy,
he died today
From little ones
to big ones
his dots always
had me
grabbed me
made me unstable
on solid ground
His retrospective
winding up the Guggenheim walls...
His thin, structural body,
standing tall,
another member,
of that Cedar bar,
I’m sure.
Roy,
why did you have to go?
my bible is empty?
my letter undelivered?
Roy,
where will you plot?
without a last dot?
Roy,
how come there is a fighter jet
a child with a toy
yet an image of
destruction?
Don’t go,
for I only knew you...
for so many years...
and more to come
more to dream of
dream with...
I had a friend,
just the other day,
my friend Roy,
he died today
In New York City
he passed away
Center of POP
for you and me
I’ll be there
will U2?
In the city
glorious lights
Mondrian’s Broadway
city delights
Roy,
tell me your daughter’s name,
before you go
send me a present
a lesson of the future,
before you go
A beg
a round-a-bout
come inside,
have a cup of coffee,
it’s all I can offer
to a god of pop
a god of pop.
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.09.30.12:45:00@505MAHWAH
Erotic is...
a midnight wonder
a slick date
a shy pussycat
a feather
an ice cube
a shower above
a cold touch
cozy socks
and flannel pj’s
back rubs
family and friends
your place or mine
today or tomorrow
sunsets and sunrises
the bay shore and the gulf of
cruises without bruises
no fighting or war
troubles gone with sorrow
news of good; not evil
clouds that bring sunshine
memories, in the memory box
communication
partners whom speak
beating down; that sunshine
doves, blue birds, and penguins too
arches, golden, an inspiration
sex over there, sex over here
seas, oceans, and a bed of roses
petals, fields, fluffy puffy stuff
backyard swing sets
barbecue spice
holiday time
seasons in the air
fresh baked
no mother is fake
your grandmother’s stories
sister’s too
your friend’s best cherished orb
and your last year’s card
Erotic is...
a fireplace
a hearth felt warm
cotton, earth tones, valleys too
boundaries and contributions
covered by law, conquered by bridges
babies, a kitten’s first light, a kangaroo’s hop
a skip skip, skip to my loo
a mountain top,
a scotch
and a cover band
the jetsons, play-doh, and scooby-doo
Mr magoo, where are you?
an island with gilligan,
and a Family in the All
Whose line?
i’m not sure,
ask benny or monty,
they are erotic too
a wim wenders film
a crashing car?
latex, lace, and leather too
handcuffs, silver, a beggar’s change
a tribal beat
a fresh piece of meat
a heavenly god
mary’s st jude
lucifer’s actions
and god on his knees
art
poetry
your music inside your head;
let’s get wed.
numbers and letters
jumble too
jingle all along the way
and then one day -
E R O T I C A ! !
E R O T I C A ! !
a fourth floor song
a street on 42nd
come, cum to the place
a grand ‘ole time
25 cents a 125 channels
Erotic is....
a Miami girl
a Sarajevo accents
a womyn on a television
the weather person’s prediction
a heroin’s addiction
a guy named nixon
i think a cat will need a fixin’
Erotic is....
strawberries, whipped creme, bananas too
strap-ons, if you can’t handle it - -
you shouldn’t be here
or in there
or able to
read, right of the nation
political nation
songs about peace
agony on the streets
Please, a Warhol cover
a tune to make a lover
Please, a Warhol show
they won’t ever,
ever,
be this low
Erotic is....
that first kiss,
a bear hug
when that train pulls up...
out pops your lover
your lover
a gaze into an eye
amber or gold
blue or oceana
green or pigment
a raised eyebrow
or nothing more
pollution making beauty
a stunned white nudity
Erotic is....
at that moment,
...
that one moment in time...
when you realize...
he is for you...
she is for you...
together, a moment,
shared but understood...
loved.
the feeling...
nothing can explain it...
Its Erotic.
erotic - adj; 1. of, devoted to, or tending to arouse
sexual love or desire <~art>
2. strongly affected by sexual desire
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.09.28.23:00:00@NYC
Untitled (Christmas Two)
leather straps
huge mountains
big trees
nature hikes
christmas stuffers
and midnight wonders
christmas is coming..
who will be..
under that mistletoe?
christmas is coming
who is weak,
who is strong?
please
on your knees
song from above
a heaven once lost
a gray cloud
no longer embraces
a hope
a glare
a sheer dress
slip under
over and out
white blouse
shower with
behind and around
frolic on the ground
playground
and heat
i think they will meet
time will tell
the tale of two
and two be it
when two are part of you
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.09.18.22:12:27@NYC
Untitled (White Mess)
Sheerness
Attractiveness
Make a mess
Clean up the spice
Wipe me clean
It’s not lean
Take it apart
Undo the button
Later
a lotion on your back
Tonight
back up against the wall
feel you around
clean up my mess
My mess
Pulled in
Squeeze
Thin, tight, tiger
up down, barret and all
curve #1
curve #2
mountain, feel it
valley, portray it
reflection
in the mirror:
make a mess.
white rose
lather
cleaned it up
white rose
blow the wind
white rose
with thorns
white rose; took her from the city
took her to the tropics
white rose
she cleaned up my mess
white rose
she made me make a mess
back rub
bend over
back rub
clean up the mess
outside
blinds down
a wonder and a john
then inside
wet down
smile
perk
a midnight nap
a twenty dollar ride
a late ride
then you wake up
try to explain
take an invite
after the mess
after, only,
that mess.
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.09.15.15:29:41@NYC
Rain
it’s like that angel
one of heavenly desire
wet
dripping
it comes from above
and with all its honor and courage
it carries us inside
into the warmth
under the wings
we are guided
the rain pours
mixing the streams with rivers
rivers with oceans
a dance of water
a splash of wonder
he wonders
she sees a reflection
in the distance the sun
a rainbow color
together a one
the rain above
the water flows
cold and down
but the touch
the feel
that soothing rain
let it pour
let it come one
let it be
let it rain
rain
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.08.20.16:36:00@505Mahwah
Untitled (Love)
it holds you tight
holds you in
showers you with guilt
all about
it grasps you
the more you go
the deeper you are in
the more time
the greater the grip
it encompasses you
engulfs you
swallows you up
doesn’t let you breathe
it makes you think
makes you weak
takes your time
and makes great taste
it’s over there and over here
it’s all around
but never right here
but when inside
deep inside
it holds you
doesn’t allow you to leave
until you go
and wave goodbye
and then
a new one comes along
but, how long?
has it been?
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.07.21.02:06:00@NYC
Untitled (Comments On Love)
The measurements exceed
The unpredictable is only around the corner
The levels are complex
The confusion lies within
The alterations are not made
The voices are never heard
The thoughts race like buffalos
The memories intrude
The fantasies never become real
The dreams are death defying
The love is passionate but not local
The real time has come
The real one is here
Here I am.
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.01.12.00:00:00@Earth
The Victim
who’s the victim?
I am.
You are.
The lion is.
The bastard is.
The love couch is.
The battered wife.
The fat kid.
I am.
You are.
The president is.
The tree is.
The ground is.
The food is.
Last night was.
She is.
My mother is.
My sister was.
Your lover will be.
I am.
You are.
Today will be.
The operator.
The listener.
The controller.
I am.
You are.
She is.
He is.
The inventor.
The consumer.
The watcher.
The walker.
Saturday & Sunday.
The midnight blues
The screen above
The ocean below
The thunder distance
The headlight under
The round corner
The leap
The current; electrified
The peg
The bird
I am.
You are.
The candle burning
The paper wasting
The weight holding
The tight rope
I am; you are... always.
I am.
One of them.
Always.
With or...
It’s time to go,
I have realized it
That I am a victim
Of abuse and loneliness
Of selfishness and pain
Of murder and draught
Of politics and art
Of love and hatred
Of rape and death
Of slavery and racism
Of sexism and complications
Of numbers
and letters
Of signs
and signatures
Of meadows
and pastures
Of priests
and food poisoning.
I am the victim.
I always was, always will be.
I am the one,
the one that “they”
are looking for.
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.05.18.01:00:00@Earth