No One
My love is gigantic.
Larger than a long gone prehistoric reptile.
Greater than a sailing blue whale.
My love is cosmic.
Stretches far past these terrestrial galaxies.
Beyond the suns and the moons.
My love is wind.
Soaring and swirling with nineteenth century clouds.
To carry you throughout your life.
My love is fiery.
It is an ignition.
Fuel to light cities across the planet.
My love is heroic.
A shield to protect the aged and the ill.
The weak and the poor.
My love is honorable.
The heart I possess has been bludgeoned.
Coat of arms is yours.
My love is an empire.
Searching wide and far.
To give all to its rightful Queen.
My love is passionate.
Dedicated to the pleasure of my lover.
External and internal; body and mind.
My love is everything.
It is what makes me continue.
Makes my heart pulsate.
But I have no one to give my love to.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.12.19.01:06:05@296NYC
Going Down (Version #2)
It is where I would like to be most.
You are my leopard; you are my host.
Tonight, my tongue is a serpent.
My touch upon your lips will be potent.
Let me gaze upon your passage way.
Welcome to the kingdom of foreplay.
As I taste your inner beauty.
Inside I explore deeply.
Our tryst has just begun,
It’s where I nuzzle upon your sacred garden.
I will lick voraciously forever.
I’ll move in even closer.
With my tongue I orchestrate a symphony.
I first start out so very gently.
Then with a strong powerful thrust.
I taste, I must.
You are my Aphrodite in essence.
I swallow your innocence.
Summer moon in the mist.
Gyrating in and out, just kissed.
Humming birds have nothing on me.
My speed is fiery.
I gather your moist lips with my tongue.
Your orgasmic chorus has been sung.
The clock strikes midnight.
A torrid affair we unite.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.12.10.23:21:56@296NYC
Visible
You are nothing,
and you are everything.
You present yourself,
while being speechless.
You live while being dead,
and you are motionless to one’s eye.
I cannot see you,
but I can witness you.
I cannot touch you,
but I can feel you.
I cannot hear you,
but I can listen to your sounds.
People skip you.
They ignore you.
They don’t know that you exist.
People laugh at you.
They don’t understand you.
They can’t comprehend your concept.
People walk inside of you.
They walk around you.
They walk right by you.
Invisible before the viewer,
Visible after they have left.
Daring vision
Concealed creation.
Magnificently invisible,
Defying the visible.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.11.28.24:11:27@296NYC
Head First
I knew nothing then of what I knew today
She had bright red hair
Above her head and below.
Freckles covered her body
In between her pasty white skin poked out,
Said hello.
I was innocent then.
Not even a lover.
We just swallowed each other’s kisses.
An hour before she rode me dry in my car.
Fogged autumn windows
Tail lights were out.
In the wood paneled basement, we sat
Lying on the leather couch she began
Slowly inching downwards
Unbuckled, unbuttoned, pulled
She encompassed me with her lips
Whole in its entirety
The feeling reminded me
All the previous times of self-pleasure
Growing up so unexperienced
Sliding, gliding with her tongue
Such intensity
I could not believe what I saw before me.
Her red hair is all I see
What I feel is wet
Explosive in my teen sensations
Her parents walked upstairs
Back and forth, back and forth
On the linoleum kitchen floor
I feared they would come down
To discover their innocent daughter
Mouth wrapped around me
Before they took steps downward
I drowned her throat
With my first vocal cavity emergence.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.11.14.23:37:42@296NYC
Opa (Version #4)
Bruised
Leftover
Crumbled
Tinted
Wrinkled
Pace set to extra slow
Aging beyond
Fill him with formaldehyde
He lost his tongue,
He lost his mind.
He lost his heart,
He lost his wife.
Your Quaker Oats
Your bayonet
Your bushy eyebrows
Your lost causes
Burnt
Shot
Witnessed
Tailored
Flaking
Beats set ten more
Falling to the street
Find him one borough north
He lost his son,
He lost his remote.
He lost his time,
He lost himself.
Your giving grace
Your slicing of hallah bread
Your sketching of corners
Your newborn smile
Not yet dead
Rolled over
Pissed on
Amnesia
Loved
Time standing still
Tick Tock
When will you join her?
He lost his hope,
He lost his mother.
He lost his dignity,
He lost his life.
Your thumb twiddling
Your eggs of February
Your constant prayer
Your daily humor
Almost gone,
Just not yet –
You are my Opa
I feel like we’ve just met.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.11.07.23:36:40@296NYC
Forever (First Version)
With her digging tools she lifted out my heart
On the table she placed it still beating
It was time for me to go, it was time to depart
Now I leave my loved one with a greeting
Know that I have loved you so wholly
I have reached deep within, my severed lines now dead
Even as I now sink in the swallowing dirt slowly
My love for you has never been shed
As my vitality clock ends and tells the tale
Death will never take my love for you
My body lays so empty and frail
Let it be heard, my love for you is true
Tediously I dissolve and oblivion welcomes me
“I love you forever” is my last plea
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.10.04.11:21:23@205Hudson
Without Warning
Exquisite and intricate,
like an angel she fell from the sky;
She encompassed me with her loyal affection until I die.
Divine and graceful,
like Venus wading inward from the sea;
She swallowed my heart entirely.
Seductive and brilliant,
like a Siren with admirable intention;
She lured me deep into the flames of an untimely passion.
Inspiring and philanthropic,
like an exemplar to the entire people;
She guided me with warmth and a gospel.
Falling into place,
unexpectedly before my eyes of blue;
She smiled with whispers of her virtue.
Beauty surrounding me,
a Goddess like you I never witnessed;
From this day forth, I am your artist.
So, I surrender to you,
and without warning,
I have fallen in love,
in love with you.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.09.26.01:49:51@296NYC
Spoken Silence
May my open door accept death;
May my welcoming arms embrace you.
Come inside
From the cold wet snow.
Let me greet you
Where the staff of the rich bound the poor
When floods meet the sanctuaries of the divine.
May my soul not escape the serpent of death;
May my feet be always planted on soil of the mother.
Take everything
From the dignity of myself, the bloody boar.
Let me taste your decrepit sickle
Stretch the carefully honed blade
Across thy impeccable neck.
May you sharpen your hunt;
May you disengage the roots of my teeth.
Disembowel me
Carve loose the very insides which define me.
Let me be drained by your fury
Sever off thy tasting instrument
Fill my open passages with leeches.
May you lead the wrath upon me;
May you abduct my spirit forever.
Prevail life
Seize my wisdom.
Let me decompose to pure cypher
Lay in thy body excrements
Smolder in the acids of my entity.
May I become dead without one last cry.
May I profess the love I have lost,
For I am to die.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.09.04.03:46:07@296NYC
Sunday (Version #2)
I woke up Saturday morning.
And the Sunday Early Morning shows were on the
Television.
And it was Sunday and not Saturday.
Saturday was gone, and Saturday became Sunday.
I did not understand.
Had I slept through Saturday?
Had Saturday just disappeared?
Had I confused my days,
Confused my calendar?
Today is now Sunday
And Saturday is gone.
Saturday became Sunday
And Sunday I’ve become lost.
I woke up today,
Today was Sunday,
And not the day I thought,
Saturday.
The date was Sunday’s date.
The correct date of the month.
But what happened to Saturday?
Did we just skip it?
Am I in an alternative universe?
Where did it go?
Where did Saturday go?
Just last night it was Friday evening.
I woke up this morning.
I knew it was Saturday.
But I discovered,
That Saturday was Sunday.
And Saturday was gone.
Because today is Sunday.
And Sunday is now.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.08.28.12:12:46@296NYC
Going Down
It is where I would like to be most.
Right between your legs,
You are my leopard; you are my host.
Let me gaze upon your passage way.
Right between your legs,
Welcome to the kingdom of foreplay.
Our tryst has just begun,
Right between your legs,
It’s where I nuzzle upon your sacred garden.
As I taste your inner beauty.
Right between your legs,
Inside I explore deeply.
Tonight, my tongue is a serpent.
Right between your legs,
My touch upon your lips will be potent.
With my tongue I orchestrate a symphony.
Right between your legs,
I first start out so very gently.
Then with a strong powerful thrust.
Right between your legs,
I taste, I must.
I will lick voraciously forever.
Right between your legs,
I’ll move in even closer.
You are my Aphrodite in essence.
Right between your legs,
I swallow your innocence.
Summer moon in the mist.
Right between your legs,
Gyrating in and out, just kissed.
Humming birds have nothing on me.
Right between your legs,
My speed is fiery.
I gather your moist lips with my tongue.
Right between your legs,
Your orgasmic chorus has been sung.
The clock strikes midnight.
Right between your legs,
A torrid affair we unite.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.07.29.03:33:19@296NYC
Boys Are Toys
Boys are toys,
And toys are boys.
The boy is a toy
And the toy is a boy.
Toy the boy
And be the boy.
Boy the toy
And buy the boy.
Toy to buy
And be the boy.
Toys are Boys
And Boys have toes.
Toy with the Boy,
And buy the toy.
Become the boy
And toy with the boy.
Boy Toys
And toy boy.
Boy my Toy
And Toy my Boy.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.07.27.01:57:23@296NYC
Opa (Version #3)
Opa,
You die before me,
Quickly your aged body crumbles,
You become a frail ghost.
Opa,
With scars on chest and tongue,
On leg and heart.
Your wounds go unnoticed.
Opa,
Still a smile to the last day.
My eulogy is being prepared.
Your eyes meet mine nightly.
Opa,
Your hands touch my hands,
My childhood world swiftly races through my mind.
Airplane Park, Train Park, New York City, Concord.
Opa,
You taught me light and shadow.
I danced in your army uniform.
We built Quaker Oats vehicles.
Opa,
A bayonet resides beneath your bed.
Your love awaits you in your heaven.
You are a gift to this world.
Opa,
So silently full of love.
A whispering howl of giving.
You are a knight.
Opa,
Without you the world will be smaller.
My plains of passion will be completed.
As compassion is greater.
Opa,
You taught me to give,
You taught me to love.
I will never stop giving and loving.
Opa,
Thank you for your love.
You will remain alive forever.
For your heart will always remain beating in mine.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.07.12.03:36:57@296NYC
Thirty Minutes
In thirty minutes,
I can claim a victory.
In thirty minutes,
I can devour my love.
In thirty minutes,
I can be saved.
In thirty minutes,
She’ll pull the trigger.
In thirty minutes,
An end is near.
In thirty minutes,
It’s more than easy.
In thirty minutes.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.07.10.23:25:00@296NYC
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