Lights
You turned on the lights,
When you got home.
Found me lying in bed,
Undressed and unclothed.
The music was playing,
And the candles were lit.
Motionless I lay,
Waiting to be fed.
You took my pulse,
And felt my disease.
You saw me dead,
You fell to your knees
© 2007 David Greg Harth
07.06.28.17:44:42@299BwayNYC
2003-2007
7
1. In September I’ll be 96
2. My wife died a couple of years ago after 65 years of marriage
3. My son does not talk to his own son and daughter
4. I have not seen my brother and sister in over 20 years.
5. I’m tired and I shit in my pants
6. No one visits me.
7. I can’t remember
I sit at table number 7. And those are the top 7 reasons why I wish to die.
© 2007 David Greg Harth
07.06.25.17:52:21@599BwayNYC&KittayHouseBronx
With Love
Autumn Is Gone
Stop feeding me
This sugar solution
Stop at the 12th floor window
My hands are on the door
But you don’t let me freshen up
I watch you pull the sheets over your body
I see you do the Thorazine shuffle
But you —
you are still silent
Because if you were to speak
A loud roar
And you’d wake up from your wet dream
Thinking it was Autumn
© 2007 David Greg Harth
07.06.25.17:47:06@599BwayNYC
This Is Hardcore
In a back and forth motion
Almost a continuous pacing
Stroking repeatedly
It’s a remedy
In a vibrating moment
A counter attack
Slippage of something
Dripping out
So dewy
And succulent
Sinking in
Deeper into the ooze
Preaching thoughts shared in screams
Devoted to the wavering of two
Quivering intensifies
The wave crashes down
Gushes in its place
A treaty with sweat is made
At peace we are laid
© 2007 David Greg Harth
07.06.18.17:36:54@599BroadwayNYC
War Payment
Laid the flowers down on the earth
Daisy after daisy
Made a chain of love
How do I submit payment for the War?
© 2007 David Greg Harth
07.06.12.14:48:21@599BroadwayNYC
I See
It seems so current
Insignificant
I’m a risk
A hazard
Toxic for the heart
Turned away
Rejected
I’m left
Cold, frail, dying the last days
They don’t talk
Communicate
Or even share a smile
They haven’t spoken
I haven’t seen them
She’ll get wed, without him there
My underwear is soiled
I smell
Don’t get near me.
I bruise easily
I sleep constantly
Nazis separated my family
Haven’t seen my brother or sister
And now my great grandchildren
Have lost a grandfather
My son
He is dead, and he doesn’t even know it.
© 2007 David Greg Harth
07.06.12.11:27:51@599BroadwayNYC
False Love
Love was false
I shall not shed a tear
It was wrong
I shall not share a weep
Love was not reality
I shall not ever be the same
Love was a mirage
I shall not make mends
© 2007 David Greg Harth
07.05.16.12:59:08@205HudsonNYC
Mr. Domino’s Sugar
Move over
Move over Mr. Domino’s Sugar
Get out of the way
You must move
Move over Mr. Domino’s Sugar
Move over
© 2007 David Greg Harth
07.05.02.14:29:08@205HudsonNYC
Removing
I breathed heavily
And she went to heaven
I saw blacks and whites
Or, you might even say
Blacks and Crackers
Mingling at the back of the bus
Smoking junk
Hitting up junk
Consuming junk
They performed
Exorcisms and ballets
Carefully calculated choreographies
Like moths traveling around a flame
Like bees bringing pollen back to make honey
Sticky
And sweet
The bear in the book
Brings back memories untold
So, this is my story
And my story is wed
Controlled
Cemented
Catapulted
© 2007 David Greg Harth
07.04.28.09:20:54@296NYC
Sad Heart
I hate my day job.
I love a woman.
I can’t perceive that I will live the rest of my life doing what I do today.
I contemplate regularly killing myself, more often than you could imagine.
I wish I could see my niece and nephew every day.
I wish I had unlimited funds of money.
I wish I was a little taller.
Despite my great girth of my cock, I wish I was a little bit longer.
Sometimes I wish my nose sloped differently.
I wish my gut was smaller.
I don’t understand why there is crap at some galleries and I’m at none.
I wish I was a better poet.
I am darker than anyone can imagine.
Not my sister, not my one
Not a therapist, and not a psychoanalyst.
I’m dangerous. Be aware.
This is not a note of death.
Its truth. Its honesty. And I’m not afraid to admit it.
In the end, it’s just language, words written, a poem perhaps.
© 2007 David Greg Harth
07.04.24.14:15:08@205HudsonNYC
Departing Love
My hearing is gone
I can no longer listen
Your voice is not heard
The music no longer plays
Softening of footsteps in the distance
The gentle rustle of leaves in a tree
Active children at the playground
The static noise of nothingness
I hear nothing
I’m deaf now
My ears have died
It is my eyes that now listen
© 2007 David Greg Harth
07.04.16.15:11:49@205HudsonNYC
Shit
I’m tired of this shit
Shit on the walls
Shit on the stalls
Shit here, there and everywhere.
I’m tired of your shit
His shit and her shit
My shit and their shit
Political shit, emotional shit, and art shit
I’m tired of painting shit
Sculpting shit, producing shit, pushing shit
Making shit, eating shit, drinking shit
I’m tired of all this shit.
I’m tired of the shit standing
Shit traveling, shit escaping, shit music
Shit reads, shit plays, shit films
Shit mom, shit dad and shit you.
I’m tired of the shit
But mainly the shit on the wall
No more shit on the wall
Tired of the shit
© 2007 David Greg Harth
07.04.13.20:01:23@296NYC
Peter Cetera
I admit it
Right now, I’m listening to the song
“Glory Of Love” by Peter Cetera.
And you know what?
I’m not embarrassed.
Nothing embarrasses me.
I’m proud of the music I listen to.
Each song over the course of my life
has a special moment
and continues to bring back that moment.
Music sparks a certain memory
in the data bank of my brain.
Brings back the history of that time.
I recall the moments exactly.
I enjoy this song.
It has helped form me into the person that I am.
Into the knight I am.
Chivalry still lives.
© 2007 David Greg Harth
07.04.11.12:01:57@205HudsonNYC
Who I Am
Once
I was the man
Women dropped to their knees
They banged on my door
Asked for midnight pleasure
I was servicing dozens of women annually
Just once
Is all it took
A trace of hair
The scent of another
And the wind carried me
To the bottom of the ocean, I sank
I wait no more
For you, you know who I am.
© 2007 David Greg Harth
07.04.10.15:51:55@205HudsonNYC
Slow Madness
I’m going mad
Telling you lies
Why won’t you love me?
He knocks his head against the door frame once more.
© 2007 David Greg Harth
07.03.15.13:09:41@205HudsonNYC
Vaginatarian
Everyone knows it
They know the facts
I can’t hide the truth
I’m a Vaginatarian.
It’s an ongoing problem I have.
Like a drug, it’s my fix.
I need it more and more.
I need it now and need it later.
Because I’m a Vaginatarian.
This disease will never be cured.
It’s not a preference, but a must
- a reality.
Like blood in my veins
And oxygen in my lungs.
I need that vagina so much
Because I’m a Vaginatarian.
© 2007 David Greg Harth
07.03.13.12:03:09@205HudsonNYC
3T26
Took me from mustache city
As the dog did bark
Uplifted her skirt
Was afraid of the dark
Took me where the artists inhabit
As Kiki Kern passes with a skip
Got back to the street
Bent her around, made her strip
Took me from East to West
No more of that long fight
Not even a struggle
My beauty is in sight
Took me back home
After the ugly tucked under
Lesbians crawled out
The Casbah residents always will thunder
© 2007 David Greg Harth
07.03.08.12:31:04@20HudsonNYC
Losing Toes For Richard
It was the wind that did it
Afterwards I visited the Saint
He removed three of my toes
I continued on to the Armory
To gather my secret weapons
Later in the evening
I had a meeting with David
© 2007 David Greg Harth
07.02.24.01:24:07@296NYC
Old Man Asian Cat
Had his hat on
Was reading the New York Times
Rocked back and forth
Back and forth
Rattle of the surrounding machine
Down the tracks
He had workman’s pants
From a boiler room
A shade of oil
His beard hid his honesty
Long nails flipped the paper
Back and forth
Black boots stood him tall
As his sitting told his story
His blue eyes scattered the paper
For winnings or stories unfolding
Crystal like yesterday’s ocean
Didn’t catch the date of that paper
As we rocked back and forth
His umbrella was next him
Used it as a cane
Walked around when woken up
Out the door
A rattle, a rattle, a rattle
Left his paper behind
My finger nails get longer
My beard needs a trim
© 2007 David Greg Harth
07.02.09.16:11:24@205HudsonNYC