I Saved Your Life Twice In A Cafe
I gave you directions.
I reminded you of your almost lost package.
We smiled.
I saved your life, twice.
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.05.25.18:07:38@296NYC
Bullet For A Fuck
Took the train to eighteen,
To spread your legs and enter between.
Your husband had a gun to my head,
He said I was about to be dead.
Unfamiliar frontier did not break,
Even with the power of the mighty snake.
Mounted my bull cock,
Squealed to the stare of a pointed Glock.
You kicked, you sucked, you screamed,
You licked, you fucked, you creamed!
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.05.24.02:33:33@296NYC
Starting Ending
If you are entitled to only
One dream and one heart,
How do you pick?
If you cannot pick, cannot select
If you cannot control time,
If you cannot do so many things
In the limited time of life
What shall you do?
Sleep in your coma?
Give birth to your children?
Love your lover?
Do you sing your songs?
Believe in your religion?
Carry your Bible?
Take it to the longest day?
The poetry? The diary? The drawing?
What will you do?
When you have but one choice -
One choice only?
Do you discard your memory?
Your experience? Your future?
How do you decide?
What makes the decision?
What starts the fire? What makes the heat?
What drowns the sadness? What makes the tears roll?
How does your day get better?
How worse?
How common?
How do you tell the truth? Or live a lie?
How do you live the truth? Or tell a lie?
How often are you real?
How often are you someone else?
They ask -
What will you do? What should you do?
Some day -
It may be just the day you are in love with
While the day, is not in love with you
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.05.18.19:26:55@296NYC
Guides, Rules, Lessons, Book
The crowd raises their voice
Yell through the streets
Bring him to the town center
String him up on the highest pole
Let him hang with rope around his neck
Allow the blood to fall and be soaked up by the dirt
Strung him up
Bound, tied, gagged
He lies
He lies
Upon that highest pole
He bleeds
He bleeds
The crowd raises their pewter cups
And drink the sorrow from the sand
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.05.16.15:29:39@599NYC
Morning Bear, Night Swallow
Approaching sun rises above skyline enemy
Walks down separating the waves
Two floors above they leap into truth
Discovery of reflections reveal a lair
Story unfolds, flights escape
No entry present, no stone, no judge
Bright light overcast cloud
An infant walks before paint dries
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.05.16.01:30:22@296NYC
Flesh, Blood, and Bones
What am I? Who am I?
I’m just flesh, blood and bones?
I have a brain, I’m taught to think, I’m taught to love?
I attempt to write poetry, perhaps I do write poetry.
I create art, I think its good, some even great.
I don’t show in galleries, I don’t show in museums.
I work Monday thru Friday.
I love and hate.
I hate and love.
I even masturbate.
But really, who am I?
But just flesh and blood and bones.
Could I be anything if you were not here?
The one I’m talking too?
Would I be nothing without an audience?
Without participation?
A viewer? A listener?
Who am I?
What am I doing here?
Why am I here and not there - right now?
These are all unanswered questions.
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.05.12.13:31:01@599NYC
I Don’t Know In The Short Blood
Lessons, assignments, tests.
Exams, tutoring, studying.
Entrance, rejection, graduation.
Birth, life, death.
Sliding scale, weighing scale, colour scale.
Hidden, shoveled, exercised.
Re-run, re-heat, re-try.
Exit, depart, end.
Silence, quiet, whisper.
Tasted, dropped, stream.
Drink, lost, disappear.
Fail, flunk, despair.
Funeral said, rest done.
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.05.11.24:59:06@296NYC
Waking Up
On a different day
The sun sets upon the morning dew
The moon is twelve hours away
Loneliness is your best friend
You hold her warm hand again
Locked eyes penetrate within
It is the heart that lies
The direction that spoils
You are flooded
The moon now rises
In this short day
When the west moved east
The sails took an end
Tomorrow is no more
Apologies in hollow scared places
Petrified in salt
You exist once more
Like before
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.05.10.02:04:08@296NYC
Often Light Buried Deep
The wind had died down.
The sailors stripped bare.
No mission, no drive, no salute.
The ocean’s vastness is too painful to conquer alone.
Anchor has dropped, has dragged, has pulled.
She’s afloat.
Nine of us left at sea.
Nothing to eat, nothing but me.
Salty tears is what I’m made of.
Never a father.
These waters are now drained.
Hollowed like the heart they once filled.
Dusted bottom.
Upon the shore, he waits once more.
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.05.07.17:34:25@599NYC
Farewell
Just listen to me for a second.
You aren’t even listening?
Don’t shut me out, shut me down.
Take a moment.
I might not speak aloud.
I might not speak at the right moments.
I might not share, I might not spread, I might not declare.
But right now, I need to talk to you.
I need to shed, to whisper, to reveal.
But you aren’t even listening.
You are blocking me. Paving me. Closing me.
You’ve sealed me. Locked me. Rejected me.
Just listen for a second.
One second.
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.03.25.15:43:16@599NYC
Every Long Day Has An End
I was born at the wrong time
I learned thousands
Soon, today will be over
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.03.21.16:30:57@599NYC
Hidden
Crying tears
Easily dispensed
Love is dispersed
Uneasy, unset
Hollowed hearts
Cold dark eyes stare
Suited men purchase your emptiness
Taste is your treasured enemy
Inflamed disease
Lips infected
Collections ruptured by way of rejection
Punctured by the hatred of blue chip patrons
Maiden years denied
Two ceremonial decades total
At the end of the day,
I’m hidden in the dirt.
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.03.19.02:15:06@296NYC
Twelfth of March
Upon the leap
He couldn’t see the span across the Hudson
But he could see all twelve floors on his way down
He hit west 168th street
The thirteenth of March never came
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.03.12.01:33:33@296NYC
Orange Grandfather
I got a box of oranges in the mail today.
Special delivery from out of state.
My Grandpa Bob sent me some more oranges.
I always found it funny.
He lived in Florida.
I live in New York.
We have oranges in grocery stores here in New York.
But he always sent the oranges from Florida.
As a kind gesture.
A gesture of his love.
When he would phone me, he would often say “This is Florida calling.”
I’m not sure when the Queens-transplanted-Floridian became a state.
I remember him having big ears, a big belly, a big white beard and a big red car.
He may have died a couple of weeks ago.
But he still sent me oranges from Florida.
I just got a box today.
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.03.11.17:42:54@599NYC
One More Left
He is dead.
She died first.
Then she died.
Now he is dead.
And only one more is left.
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.02.18.22:56:07@296NYC
Invitation
If I sent you an invitation
Would you come to my good-bye party?
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.02.09.10:45:55@296NYC
Let The Doves Cry Out
Let the doves cry out,
Let the mocking birds repeat.
Let the buzzards feast,
Let the hawks return.
Let the humming birds sing,
Let the pigeons march.
Hoist up the flag,
Drape the banners.
Lower the casket,
Cover the mirrors.
Dig the dirt,
Place the stone.
Cry the last call,
Haul the last thought.
Cry the last plea,
Sit down, he was only me.
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.02.07.17:18:18@599NYC
Remember As He Did
I’ll ask you all once
And only once
Remember the first moment
And put the last moment
Far away
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.02.07.13:01:33@599NYC