This Is For You
This is my heart.
Take it.
Read it like the books on your shelves.
Examine it,
Like your monthly blood.
Let my song be heard; my whisper upon you.
Walk down the aisle with me, a vision shared,
For I have invited, and our children will follow.
Your scent still lingers upon my own person.
I drift endlessly in your blue eyes.
Get wrapped up in your beauty.
Take you to the basin,
Wash your hair
Under the canopy of the stars.
Your smooth ivory skin in my hands,
Soft to my touch.
I follow your voice, a loving haunt;
Like the wind carrying my soul.
You walked away; I followed your path,
There I saw, our journey of love.
Finally realized with respect and passion.
After a flexure on the rippled sea.
You are everything I want, more for my heart.
Everything beyond my working day;
My working week. And my today.
Listen to my hymn; you know I will be he.
My luminosity is more than an ephemeral moment.
For my heart has skipped before my third decade.
Listen to the hidden psalm,
An arresting kiss; speechless you are left.
My heart needs to be mourned,
By the very grace before me.
So let the chariots of love be summoned.
Beneath the silent moon I will surrender.
I have fallen; my seed is forever yours,
And yours; I shall be.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.07.07.02:57:22@296NYC
Opa (Version #2)
As I entered your building,
it smelled of urine.
All the elderly gather there,
and die young at heart.
You confuse time,
You cannot operate the alarm clock
You cannot operate the telephone.
You don’t know how to tie a tie
You don’t know who to call.
You are my Opa,
My Opa I love.
Today you slept.
While I visited.
I read your book of letters.
You wrote Oma for 65 years.
Mother’s Day. Anniversary. Birthdays. War Letters.
You have experienced something I never have.
We’ve recently discussed.
That I have been looking.
Looking for one.
Going on dates.
Here and there.
Every time I phone you now,
You ask,
“Still looking?”
Yes,
Opa.
I am still looking.
If I could have
Just one second
Of the amount of love
You and Oma had,
I’d be happy.
Couldn’t help but think,
As you slept on the couch,
If I should suffocate you,
And let you be with Oma,
Once more; forever.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.07.07.01:30:00@296NYC
How Many Times
Do I masturbate,
before I fall in love
with my non-existent
lover which completes my life?
Do I masturbate,
to the fantasy
of falling deeply in love
with that single one other person?
Do I masturbate,
while listening to the music which saddens me
because of the eternal lack
of a significant other?
Do I masturbate,
to the playboys plastered in my mind
while contemplating my age
before I’ll meet the lover of my dreams?
Do I masturbate,
myself to sleep,
with my hand on my heart?
© 2005 David Gerg Harth
03.09.27.03:14:04@296NYC
05.07.06.02:35:06@296NYC
Love (Version #19)
Every time I’m about to fall in love,
I get shot down,
Not from my own doing,
Which is why,
I’d rather put a barrel
In my mouth.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.06.29.11:11:31@205HudsonNYC
Peach
I was eating a peach,
and I thought of you.
The soft fuzzy skin of the peach,
Reminds me of your soft cheeks.
Your touch.
Against my hands
Against my soul
The rose red color of the peach,
Reminds me of your rose lips,
Your pink tint
Your hue of love
The orange color of the peach,
Reminds me of the joy
You brighten the day with
You bring to my heart
The yellow color of the peach,
Reminds me of the happiness
We’ve shared with our times
We’ve bloomed upon
The sweetness of the peach,
Reminds me of the sweetness of your heart
The glow you possess
The glare you share with my eyes
The firmness of the peach,
Reminds me of your sensuality
Your desire within
Your breasts so perfectly you
The moistness of the peach,
Reminds me of your inner beauty.
The heart you encompass mine with
The lips you grasp me with
The scent of the peach,
Reminds me of when I shed my amorous gaze upon you
Your smells from the back of your neck, below your ear
Your smells from your clean washed hair
The peach in my hand,
Reminds me of love
That you are an angel
And you are my peach.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.06.27.11:27:05@205HudsonNYC
River Rock
As you eat your donuts,
And you sip your tea,
I can’t help but think,
If you’d be suckin’ on me.
As you study your lines,
And you think of photography,
I can’t help but think,
If we’d make our own choreography.
As you wash your hair,
And you think of the sky,
I can’t help but think,
If I’d go down on your thigh.
As you wet yourself with soap,
And you clean your soul,
I can’t help but think,
If you let me go on and cajole.
As you bend forwards,
And you deliver your rump,
I can’t help but think,
If in the night we went thump.
As you sing your song
And I put you in a gag,
I can’t help but think
If we went for a shag.
As you moan your words,
And hear the twinkle of a flute,
I am the Eden,
And you are my fruit.
That is my tale,
A Friday morning,
I am here,
and you are there,
I am a rock,
and you,
a river.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.06.24.10:22:41@NYC
Friday Poem
As you eat your donuts,
And you sip your tea,
I can’t help but think,
If you’d be suckin’ on me.
As you study your lines,
And you think of photography,
I can’t help but think,
If we’d make our own choreography.
As you wash your hair,
And you think of the sky,
I can’t help but think,
If I’d go down on your thigh.
As you wet yourself with soap,
And you clean your soul,
I can help but think,
If you let me go on and cajole.
As you bend forwards,
And you deliver your rump,
I can’t help but think,
If in the night we went thump.
As you sing your song
And I put you in a gag,
I can’t help but think
If we went for a shag.
As you moan your words,
And hear the twinkle of a flute,
I am the Eden,
And you are my fruit.
That is my tale,
A Friday morning,
I am here,
and you are there,
I am a rock,
and you,
a river.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.06.24.10:22:00@NYC
Poem for J-Dog
Spice My Dice
you’ve got ade
I need to get laid
turn your tongue over
I’ll be over you in a hover
take her from behind
something I surely wouldn’t mind
tell it like it is
flat out say the biz
she wants to fuck
he is in luck
a swallowing serpent inside
forever a penetrating glide
a heated Thursday
I’ll put you at bay
put her in restraints
we’ll be called saints
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.06.23.17:02:18@NYC
Spice
Knock at my door,
I’ll show you the floor.
Touch my wrist,
I’ll put your heart in a twist.
Kiss my lips,
I’ll jive your hips.
Meet in the night,
I will surely bite.
Bend the curve,
Work up the nerve.
Sheets are on the bed,
She might just give head.
The heat sinks in,
Time to make our sin.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.06.23.16:17:20@NYC
Love (Version #18)
She twisted my soul in pieces.
Parts broken on the hard wood floor.
Her dog licked my fingers,
And I licked her cat.
I was about to admit,
Try something new,
Something toned.
I rang the bells,
and heaven answered.
She lured me in,
with her beauty dance
and smile.
All I could do was go forth
And walk across the water.
I was about to become,
One for some.
She was winning my heart
And she captured much more.
Every day a thought.
Race gone by.
She slept at my side.
A cool breeze lifted.
Sheets above her thigh.
My mind intensified.
The world came to peace.
My grandfather asks again.
I was prepared to tell him,
that I have stopped,
and no longer need
to see.
She awakened my senses.
Most of all, she began,
to occupy my heart.
No fear is near.
On the field,
or in the kitchen.
For my heart does not belong
to her.
My heart belongs
To January.
for it is January that
I am not over,
but could have been.
Instead,
I am in love.
In love with you.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.06.14.13:00:01@205HudsonNYC
Under David’s
I am so excited. The Mayor is very kind and wonderful
Three entire floors. Levels. Little nooks. Little crannies.
So, I can curl up and read a book to my daughter.
In a chair. Beneath the iron cast ceilings.
Smell the scent of street sausages and cotton candy.
I am so excited. I’ll have all the access to this knowledge.
The data. The documents. The concepts. The history.
So much to consume. Right here. So many books.
I’ll read. I’ll look. I’ll borrow. I’ll check out.
All within walking distance. Right under David’s place!
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.05.27.24:09:29@296NYC
Legend of a Man
Year 3975,
After the war of the Americas
After the small nuclear accidents
After the continental plates shifted once more
And the newly Gondwana has formed,
Being named Euroecalia.
People across the land
The metropolitan gothams,
And fresh dairy farms, vegetable farms, and organic farms,
Across the plantations of wheat, corn, and soy.
Across the salt seas and lava rocks and urban communities.
They would talk and tell the tale,
The great story
They would call that story,
“Legend of a Man”
Most people knew of the man.
Who the man was.
The years he was living
In the late 20th century and early 21st century.
Doctors still study his childhood illness.
Still a mystery today.
Many professors teach their young art students
About the work of this man.
Many religious leaders share their thoughts
On this great man,
And his power to bring people together,
For his stand against religion
And for his stand in the belief of the human race.
Many poets still write about
His powerful sensuality and sexuality
And most importantly,
His love.
In his 45th year
Doctors performing a triple bypass
Like that of his father
And his grandfather
They discovered the vacancy
The emptiness
Like never before
The man had an abnormal heart
A heart with standard four chambers
Two ventricles and two atriums
However, his heart only allowed love
To be given and not received
They noticed the radiating love
Like ghostly mirages of water in the desert
Pouring out from his heart
They concluded then
This was a clear scientific reason
Why the man could never fall in love
Why he constantly would ache to be in love
And why he could never actually be in love
So, the legend continues
Of the man who changed art
Of the man who changed religion
Of the man who changed the world
And
Of the man who changed love
Legend of a Man
A man at the age of One Hundred
Early last millennium
After 100 years of never being in love
To his heart he took a blade
And died of a broken heart
Of never being in love
That is the Legend of a Man.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.05.20.03:41:06@296NYC
five
five fingers
five toes
five thoughts of you
five bare
five snail
five up stream
and five deep down
five inside
and five alive
five to six
and six to five
beg for five
and give you high
up your thigh
goodbye tonight
with all my might
fire the five
and news at o’clock
return the sent
and send the scent
forgot the five
sugar up my hive
salt the vinegar
and shake my hand
say the five
prayers till you die
alone again
on the 5th of five
in zero five
here i am
and there she went
could not have said
you better be wet
five is what I meant
and five is what I had
five
five
five
five
five
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.05.05.05:05:05@296NYC
53 Floors
As I passed the 52nd floor,
I thought of you, Cara.
As I passed the 51st floor,
I thought of you, Jordan.
As I passed the 50th floor,
I thought of you, Sophie
As I passed the 49th floor,
I thought of you, Marshall
As I passed the 48th floor,
I thought of you, Martin
As I passed the 47th floor,
I thought of you, Rochelle
As I passed the 46th floor,
I thought of you, Nili
As I passed the 45th floor,
I thought of you, Julie
As I passed the 44th floor,
I thought of you, Lance
As I passed the 43rd floor,
I thought of you, Samantha
As I passed the 42nd floor,
I thought of you, James
As I passed the 41st floor,
I thought of you, Tiffani
As I passed the 40th floor,
I thought of you, Meryl
As I passed the 39th floor,
I thought of you, Jill
As I passed the 38th floor,
I thought of you,, Jack
As I passed the 37th floor,
I thought of you, Richard
As I passed the 36th floor,
I thought of you, Linda
As I passed the 35th floor,
I thought of you, Jacqui
As I passed the 34th floor,
I thought of you, Christine
As I passed the 33rd floor,
I thought of you, Peter
As I passed the 32nd floor,
I thought of you, Robert
As I passed the 31st floor,
I thought of you, Oli
As I passed the 30th floor,
I thought of you, Ryan
As I passed the 29th floor,
I thought of you, Liliana
As I passed the 28th floor,
I thought of you, Stacey
As I passed the 27th floor,
I thought of you, Leora
As I passed the 26th floor,
I thought of you, Courtney
As I passed the 25th floor,
I thought of you, Kristy
As I passed the 24th floor,
I thought of you, Nackie
As I passed the 23rd floor,
I thought of you, Sarah
As I passed the 22nd floor,
I thought of you, Sue
As I passed the 21st floor,
I thought of you, Kai
As I passed the 20th floor,
I thought of you, Amanda
As I passed the 19th floor,
I thought of you, Tim
As I passed the 18th floor,
I thought of you, Robyn
As I passed the 17th floor,
I thought of you, Thom
As I passed the 16th floor,
I thought of you, Sol
As I passed the 15th floor,
I thought of you, Emily
As I passed the 14th floor,
I thought of you, Bobbie
As I passed the 13th floor,
I thought of you, Dana
As I passed the 12th floor,
I thought of you, Anitra
As I passed the 11th floor,
I thought of you, Sheila
As I passed the 10th floor,
I thought of you, Melissa
As I passed the 9th floor,
I thought of you, Erin
As I passed the 8th floor,
I thought of you, Kaare
As I passed the 7th floor,
I thought of you, Matt
As I passed the 6th floor,
I thought of you, Kurt
As I passed the 5th floor,
I thought of you, Tony
As I passed the 4th floor,
I thought of you, Jerry
As I passed the 3rd floor,
I thought of you, Babette
As I passed the 2nd floor,
I thought of you, Pablo
As I passed the 1st floor,
I thought of you, Diane
I stopped thinking.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.05.03.21:21:59@296NYC
North Dakota
Love is in the air,
for I’ve bitten your lip,
your blood flows,
falls, scrolls,
drowning my tears
in your gown of thorns
Love is in my step,
for I’ve kneeled before you
your outstretched arm
gently caressed
my virgin head
Love is beneath you,
I sit worshipping
between your legs
panting like a wet black dog
from across the Styx
Love is stolen,
straight from the cabinet
wooden ornaments misplaced
silent souls escaped
my heart pounds for you
Love is lost,
I shrivel in the light of the day
dust is what I become
as you forbid me to love you
with a thickness of gore
in the wound under thy breast
Love has died,
your soft skin never against mine
I fade into the darkness
the downward spiral of the abyss
never to love
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.04.22.04:32:58@296NYC
Beneath The Sea
Here I am, existing,
floating a drift,
thirsty for water.
I cannot drink
for this sea is ladened with salt.
The medusas swim freely,
I am unaware of the truth,
but their beauty intoxicates my beliefs.
So, I continue to sail
The high seas of love
With a search of no other
For love
Existing in this world
Of chaotic misery and joyful births
With women of beauty all around
They have all wet my appetite
And I hope to have wet them.
The dance continues
On threatening seas
I rise and I fall
Like the solar stars above
This delectable planet.
The sea is vast
And wide open
It’s power lures me
Swallows me whole.
I permeate through
Fight in the tight
Until love is thrusted upon me
I am nothing but alone
Perhaps it will be
or perhaps She
Is beneath the sea.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.03.23.12:52:11@205HUDSONNYC
January 22, 1974
I love you.
Every day I try to stitch up my heart.
But I cannot. It bleeds forever, for you.
There is nothing more I can do.
There is nothing more to say.
I love you.
I want to make a difference.
I want to make a change.
I want to turn back time.
I want to turn back your heart.
I love you.
Every day I think of how it could have been.
But all I have are lost reflections.
Patterns of your beauty
Retain their intensity on my mind daily.
I love you.
I want to make love to you.
I want to make you remember.
I want to invite you.
I want to hold you.
I love you.
I do not say these words often.
I do not say these words to anyone.
But for you, I say them.
For you, I love.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.03.17.04:01:36@296NYC
Oma and Opa (Version #7)
I adore both of you forever.
But one of you passed away the other day.
The morning of the 15th of February.
The morning after my celebrated Valentine’s Day.
Dear Oma.
You’ve passed on. You’ve left us. No more.
Opa is empty. Alone. Wanting to escape. End.
But we’ll not let him. Not with our love.
Dear Oma,
You died in Opa’s arms. Lifeless. After 65 years wed.
Your great grandson says “Omama died, Omama died”
He knows and he’ll know your legend. Your story. Your love.
We’ll teach him and your little baby great granddaughter too.
Dear Oma,
At age 90. So many battles won. I’m so happy to have known you.
For my 29 years. So very proud that you made it to this point.
So very proud that you were able to attend
your great grandson’s third birthday celebration.
Just 10 days before you left us
Dear Oma,
I missed you at home. I only saw your box draped at the home of funerals.
I had the most silent car ride to the cemetery. With Opa and Dad. It was so quiet.
You could hear the wind speak. You could hear the tears roll on one’s cheek.
You could hear birds sing in Lithuania. You could hear the leaves sway on the trees.
Dear Oma,
You could hear sorrow from each mourner’s footsteps.
We buried you completely. Your fragile pale body placed in a pine wood box.
Lowered to the dirt at the bottom of the grave. We did what Dad dreamed of.
What Dad needed to do. Shovel after shovel. We buried you completely in dirt.
We did not stop until the grave was full. Completely.
Suit jackets off. Shirts cuffed up. Shovel after shovel.
Why? Because your two sisters and mother never got,
the proper burial from the Nazis.
On your day, with our hearts, with our kindness, with gentle care,
we buried you and properly buried your sisters and mother.
We did with our tears, our sweat, our souls, our love.
Because we love you all.
As soon as we finished. The drizzle began.
The drizzle quickly turned to rain to pour.
Giving flowers around the earth a chance to grow.
Dear Oma,
I have a blister on my thumb from the shovel. My arms and hands are a bit sore.
I’ve washed mud and dirt from my shoes. My heart aches for you and Opa.
Opa says, “That’s it, it’s all over.”
Opa says, “I want to go up. I want to go away.”
Opa says, “Maybe I should stop eating.”
Opa says, “I want Rochelle back”
Oma - I want you to know. I’ll be here forever.
For your Martin. For your Marshall.
For your Cara. For Jordan. For Sophie.
I will take care of them. For I have the loving strength from you.
Dear Oma,
Dad looks at his old Bar Mitzvah photograph album.
Places his finger upon each person’s face.
He says “Gestorben, Gestorben, Gestorben,” and he arrives,
at your beautiful face and with tears shared by all he says,
“Gestorben”
Dear Oma,
We ate Cervelot Wurst the other day.
In your honor. In your kindness. In your love.
I wrote the warmest Eulogy. I think I’ll read it every year.
More than once. As I look at photographs of you.
Such beautiful memories. Such wonderful memories.
You will not be forgotten.
Dear Oma,
Phone calls were made. Cookies were shared.
I will visit the Vermont mountains.
I will visit Auschwitz. I will visit Lithuania.
I will go to Second Avenue Deli. I will go to services.
Dear Oma,
I’ve been taking care of Opa for days now.
Sleeping with him. Putting him to bed. Caressing his hair.
Kissing him. Holding him. Speaking to him with my eyes.
Speaking to him with my soft voice. Spending time with him.
At his pace. His aging slow pace. His warm pace.
I’ve been eating dinner with him at the dining hall.
You should see all the people coming up to him.
You were special to all. An extraordinary being.
Dear Oma,
I will never forget. I will always remember.
So much sadness. Yet for me, I have happiness.
For I know how much you changed the world.
For I know how much you have changed my life.
And how much you made my life better.
Dear Oma,
I love you.
I will love you forever.
Thank you for you.
I love you.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.02.24.03:15:46@296NYC