False Artist
“False Artist”
I am a false artist
I am a fraud
A fake
I’m a scam, a cheat, a dupe
Bogus and phony – Shit
I am invalid
I’m such a fake fucking artist
I’m a coward
With knees shaking at the entrance
Graphite on my fingers
The scent of oils in my mouth
Angst of the unaffordable
Torn and twisted of what is attainable
Gutted
Drenched in tears
Claimed to be without fears
Often lying in pain from my man made disease
Studio walls close in on you
Art supplies come crashing down
You sink in the quicksand
Swallowing your last stand
And you give up
So easily you surrender
Because you’re a fake fucking artist
Making up deadlines
Drawing portraits and lines and lines and more damn lines
Coughing up blood
Oozing a better symphonic plea
Born in Canaan
Got hit by a landslide and walked once more
My spine raddled
Spew forth the nightmares of encephalitis
A snake’s autosarcophagy has become my wet dream
Poisoned by the hollow promises of 213 feet
I am a false artist
I am a fraud
A fake, an invalid
© 2019 David Greg Harth
2019.09.24.12:06:27@130BklynNYC
The Fall Of Heaven
I.
The rickety rackety of the train kept me up all night
Rickey rackety, rickety rackety
The train would sway back and forth
As we catapulted straight for long stretches
Rickey rackety, rickety rackety
Then, grasp onto your seat!
We’d almost be jumping off the tracks
As the train would bend around a sharp curve
The blinds would titter tatter, titter tatter
Wind rushing inside the rail car
Swooooosh!
Rustling my hair about with dirt and dust
Dirt and dust
II.
Twelve flights up
I would gnaw at my restraints
Attempting to escape
This internal prison where I was held hostage
Vanquish out the demons that would possess my mind
The bondage was ironclad
I’d scrape my fingernails on the wooden door
Edging splinters deeper beneath my skin
Peering at the intersection down below
Hoping for an interrupted fall
Scolded for stroking
Living on yesterday’s potatoes
III.
Behind the teacher’s desk
We exchanged gifts for Valentine’s Day
I gave her a tiny box of sugary candy with pre-printed messages
Various colored hearts with words I never wrote
She gave me a much larger box in the shape of a heart
With individually wrapped chocolates
Each with a different delicate presentation
And unique taste memorable impression
And I wore blush for that photo
And I wore blush for that photo
Can’t you see?
IV.
Walking back empty handed
Along the long gravel road
Hands bloody
My forehead dripping
Precum at the tip of my –
Walking aimlessly
Trying to locate my plot
Helpless before the sun rises once more
I’ve had my faults
And I’ve given my apologies
I’ve had my excuses
My lies and presumptions
But this dedication
After my heart was demolished
© 2017 David Greg Harth
17.02.21.17:52:00@200VeseyNYC
Five Years Too Late
Five years too late
Our love affair
Seems to coincide again
I find myself
Crossing the Baltic Sea
North once more
I left my heart behind me
For a moment’s gaze
Is about to become
A debauched reality
Without awareness or reason
She emerged from the sea
As my canopy of Eden
And poison to which
I surrender
There is something about
These fluid waters
Creating an ignition of
Craving to dedicate
A bonding word said
Remember my name
I’ll find you again
For your allure
Is what carries this current
In your direction
Descend into
The madness
You are my cure
My hope
And my only love
© David Greg Harth
16.02.28.20:40:00@BalticSea (Tallinn > Helsinki)
The Family Announcement
After washing my hands
I dried them with the towel that hung just to the right of the sink.
The towel was blue, freshly washed, slightly warm from just being removed from the dryer.
It felt good on my hands, soft to the touch.
For some reason I thought of childhood as my wet hands were wrapped up in the towel.
Which made me think of the buzzing sound of a lawn mower.
And the scent of freshly cut grass.
And the clumps of green grass left on the yard or in the street.
Leftovers from a mower’s passing.
And the sound of other neighborhood children playing outside.
Their laughter and screams of joy.
After washing up, I went down stairs to join the family.
I walked slowly, passing the picture frames on the wall.
Examining each one quickly.
Each contained a different portrait. Some in black and white. Some in color.
All of family. Some older than others. Some depicting long deceased family members.
Some formal portraits. Some candid shots.
I got downstairs to the family room, which was busy with people.
It was like a major transportation hub. People moving from afar to near. And near to afar.
Talking and noshing and greeting and hugging and sharing and telling and listening and smiling.
The family was new, or, at least we had some new members to introduce.
It’s been many years since we all gathered in the same place.
But this was an event we all looked forward to.
A big announcement was to be made.
She knew I was nervous as I ducked into a corner.
A corner which managed to drown in shadows.
A corner which escaped the outside sunlight.
The sunlight which was doing an excellent job of draping most of the room’s walls with warm light.
She grabbed my nervous hand.
My palms were sweaty.
But with her hand in mine, I began to feel more secure.
Conscious of the sounds around me.
The high-pitched greetings, the grumbling of elders, kids telling imaginary secrets.
A lonely chocolate candy without its wrapper sat on the floor unclaimed.
We all watched as he took center stage.
Which was actually just a chair. A chrome metal chair with a vinyl seat. Green-yellow. Left over from the 70’s.
He carefully got on top of the chair. Balanced like a professional tight-rope walker.
He stood tall and proud to deliver the announcement we’ve all been waiting for.
© 2015 David Greg Harth
15.06.25.07:45:02@130BklynNYC
Four Apologies
Four notes of yours.
I found shortly after.
An apology for you on this day.
I’m sorry I couldn’t be the man you wanted me to be.
I’m sorry I couldn’t be the father for our son.
I tried my best to raise him alone.
Painfully, shortly after you departed us;
I had to give him up.
We were so young.
I was so young.
What was I to do? Now that you were gone?
What was I to do? Alone with him.
A memory of you daily.
The pain was too much.
I wanted him to have a good life.
A solid one. With a good foundation. A good support system.
You know me. The artist that I am.
I couldn’t give him what someone else could.
You know that. I always knew that.
But as you forever drift,
Know that I will always be his hidden angel.
I watch him from a distance;
I observe him in my own way.
He carries a different last name,
But has your hair and your nose and my eyes.
Between the two of us, I’m sure he is a creative soul.
I wish you didn’t leave me.
I wish I could hear you say good morning,
I wish I could smell the nape of your neck.
I wish I could hold your hand.
I wish we left five minutes later or five minutes earlier.
I’m sorry the train came along the tracks.
I’m sorry I’ve lost you forever.
I love you.
© David Greg Harth
15.06.24.14:39:20@200VeseyNYC
Five More To Parisi
I wish you had told me that you were about to commit suicide
These are the disclaimers of death
That we should have listened to
Before you took your last breath
Every time I leaned in closer to you
And would whisper words into your ear
The ear that I would nibble upon
Whisper words which would hide my profound love for you
But you knew what I meant, when I said every word
Except for the one word
But you knew that I was in love with you
Because I did everything for you
I crossed rivers and climbed mountains for you
I halted the world and put down my bible for you
I was a witness to your running
You tried desperately to depart
You would fiercely make every attempt
To hide the truth and seek an escape
But you would let me in
Your hollow eyes seemed so lost over the years
Kept secrets from everyone with your weeping tears
Everyone thought we were so innocent
No one knew the truth of the despair
How much pain we were in
Or the magnitude of our wrenched hearts
As we longed for each other
And each generator of our creations ignored
Despite us having our finest Sunday sword
I still yearn for you
A thousand times each twilight
And yet still I refuse love
Even when it is so real
Right there in front of me
Echoes of your haunting last plea
I am hopeless with stories of you
When you’d wake up in my arms
Crying in fear of abandonment
Even though the greatest love
Was in front of you
You were ready to ignore another suffering day
Putting treasured ink and voice foremost
Compositions of an unusual ghost
Our hearts were so caliginous
Enemies of each other
Conquering the very life which kept us alive
So near in distance
Impervious emotions
Separated by boundless oceans
You did it before I could even hit the ground
My door was always ajar
And now you have gone too far
So, I wander and walk upon this earth
Lost and broken without you
Blood flows in my veins
Until the day I join you
That day is not today
Five More To Parisi
© 2013 David Greg Harth
13.10.07.01:59:12@130BklynNYC
Finding
I am weeping inside
Do you taste my tears in your morning cereal?
Do you hear my screams in your evening sleep?
Do you feel my heart trembling beneath your daily footsteps?
Scared in such a terrible fear
I can no longer think straight
Every subject and every errand
Every gesture and every to do
Every moment and every breath
No longer
Can I commit to this existence
Early exodus was always inevitable
As I strangle my cock from too much masturbation
As I slam my migraine-ridden head against the pavement
As I cut off my ears and gouge out my eyes
I cut off my tongue and offer to you
My
Very
Last
Speech
© 2013 David Greg Harth
13.07.17.22:44:08@130BklynNYC
For The Vanished
The grey skies swallowed up your colorful existence
Disappeared under the blanketing clouds of New York
They tell me that time brings healing distance
My subconsciousness repeats visions of you
Reproducing each evening walk and day light kiss
Wish I had viral encephalitis again from the flu
Affection for you overflowed like scorching lava
That love I had was of the deadliness venom
Placed a tourniquet around my superior vena cava
I’m the faithful poet soldier with the greatest fidelity
Only memories of you are constant
Like a hamster spinning its wheel of eternity
Recollections of you begin to fade
I hope for a life full of amnesia
It was inevitable that my heart was to be betrayed
The echo of your voice now dissolved
No more whispers of unlawful infatuation
Now free from my clenching heart and absolved
You were a humming bird’s song and a tulip’s bloom
Long vanished from my existence
Forever I’m buried in a lover’s tomb
I did not ask for this torture and anguish inside
Perpetual unbearable pain and agony
Makes me want to commit the grandest suicide
© 2012 David Greg Harth
12.10.02.16:59@323NYC
Fetish Sex Party: The Report
It was just the other evening
It wasn’t too cold out it wasn’t too warm
It was five flights up in a loft in midtown Manhattan
We took the elevator up
There was a mysterious liquid on the floor of the elevator
We didn’t know what it was
It didn’t smell like sex juice
And it didn’t smell like pee
It didn’t’ smell like anything flammable
And it didn’t smell sweet
The elevator door opened
Two naked women greeted us at the door
They took our coats
And took a small fee
For we came as a couple
For the evening’s festivities
The night started off slow
We arrived just shy of midnight
The bar was open
A small petite woman in a tight purple dress served us
At the foot of the bar was a man wrapped in a blanket
We were instructed to step on him
Step on his body
Step on his face
We did
This man got off on this
He was a “Human Carpet”
Even the sign said so
I had a Guinness
She had a vodka cranberry
The loft was a decent size
A front room, we’ll call it “The Blue Room”
Because of the blue lights
A back room, we’ll call it “The Red Room”
Because of the red lights
And the main room, with the bar and multiple couches
Most of the couches had a black and white zebra print
I’m sure they were covered with stains of various fluids
I heard the loft was usually used to shoot porn films
There was also suspension points and restraint equipment
A large flat screen TV that played porn
The floors were wooden, the ceiling beams exposed
The Red Room had some chairs, a beanbag sofa, a bed, and a bowl of condoms
The Blue Room had some chairs, a sofa, and a stool chair
Which was perfect for bending people over
There were some single men
But not many
There were some single women who arrived with other single women
There weren’t many single women who arrived solo
There didn’t appear to be many lesbians
There actually weren’t that many gay men
But there were some
There were young people, perhaps early 20s
There were older people, perhaps early 60s
There were people too skinny
Only bones
And they needed to eat some hamburgers
Some had tattoos
Some had piercings
Some had neither
There were some voluptuous people
Some average people
Some well-toned fantastic people
Some really tall people
Some short people
Some people with bellies
Some people with short hair or long hair or no hair
Some wore leather and some wore plastic and some wore PVC
Some wore lace and some wore fishnets and some wore suits
Everyone was there for fun
Everyone was there to show off
Everyone was there to witness
Everyone was respectful
Everyone was social
There was a woman in a silky red dress
She spanked numerous submissive men
As anyone watched
There was a middle-aged man with silver hair and eyeglasses
He had an attractive middle-aged female partner with flowing blonde hair
Small breasts with perky nipples
He chained her up
And flogged her ass
And flogged her tits
As anyone watched
There was an old man
I would say around age 55
He was dressed as a baby
He called himself “Potty Princess”
He carried his own pink diaper bag
Which had a baby bottle
And a wooden paddle
And change of diapers
He wore baby shoes
Baby socks which glowed purplish in the black light
He wore a bonnet, diaper, and baby dress
He even changed his own diaper
And sucked on his pacifier all night
His binky
He would always stare at you in your eyes
Whether you were a male or female
But he truly wanted a woman to boss him around
There were two men dressed as women
They weren’t gay
Although, secretly, I thought they were
But no, they were just submissive
Seeking a woman to boss them around
Use them
Treat them like dirt
One of these guys had pussycat ears
And a pussycat tail
Between his thin pasty white ass
There was a time
When we went to the front of the loft
And looked into The Blue Room
And in the corner
We saw a woman
With a fat chunky ass jiggling
As she gave head to a seated man
A gentleman
All nightlong
There was rigging
And there was flogging
And there was tipping
That woman in the purple
At the bar
And the young man with her
Also serving
And maybe
Being served
There were spectators
And voyeurs
And exhibitionists
There were professionals
And amateurs
There was a very quiet Asian couple
Dressed in black
Early in the evening they were fully clothed
As the evening progressed, she had less clothes
And he had a collar and chain around her neck
Leading her around
At one point they were in The Blue Room
And the Asian man asked a dominant woman
To spank his woman
She obliged
We all watched
As she was bent over that stool chair
Which was metal
And had a blue strobe light beneath it
Which made a cross like image on the wall
When flashing
This Asian couple
Is the type of couple you would see in an Asian porn film
Their body parts
Their privates
Should have been blurred
Digitally blurred
Pixelated
At some point
The woman in red spanked Potty Princess
I hope that made him happy
All should have happiness
There was a very large black man
He wore a leather kilt
I wondered if he had a small dick
I never did ask
I only did wonder
Later in the evening
The big black guy
In the leather kilt
Brought a passed out skinny boney white girl
To The Blue Room
I’m not sure what ever did happen to her
The last I saw her she was on a couch
Like an overdosed rag doll
There was a very large white man
He was very large
Like big, but not fat
Tall
He wore a black top hat
I’m nick naming him
“Edgar Allen Poe”
There was a man playing with fire
He had a nude woman lay before him
She had big tits and an eager smile
She was on a table in front of everyone
He would light his glove on fire
And trace her naked curves with flame
As we all watched
There was an exquisite woman
With smooth creamy white skin
Soft to the touch
With penetrating hazel eyes
With perfect lips
And her tits protruded forth
From her outfit of black
She wore black stockings and a black garter belt
A black bra that accentuated her perfect breasts
The slight hair on her mound
Displayed in the open air
Throughout the evening
Her eyes caught mine
And I caught hers
There was a group of women
Dressed in black lingerie
I would have taken them all home with me
But that night I was not free
I was dedicated to one
I was eyed
By women
By men
But there is only one set of eyes
That has me whole
At around 5am
As I sat on the cum stained zebra print couch
She took my thick cock out of my pants
And just started to suck away
Giving me a nice sloppy wet blowjob
In front of any gazer
Any audience member
She choked away on my cock
And sucked and sucked
I stopped her short
And led her to The Blue Room
Where I put her on the couch
And thrusted my thick cock
Inside her
It was so easy
Since she was wearing a crotchless fishnet body stocking
And she was dripping wet in anticipation
Spectators watched
We could have charged admission
Because we were such a hot fuck
The smell of our sex drifted from room to room
And from room to room
We went
Until it was time to go
And leave
This
Fetish Sex Party
© 2012 David Greg Harth
12.02.17.10:18:00@130BklynNYC
Fall In Their Midst
I’ve been hunting
And I’ve been searching
Repeating this sequential confronting
I execute the daily working
As my enemy is waiting for me
Always behind the mountain lurking
Watching every move I make
Silently in the valley they remain unseen
Listening to every step I take
They wait for me each day
Stalk me by my trailing scent
I become their prey
I continue with my crusade
With an enveloping heart
No matter how much I am dismayed
With all my given reason
Advance with colossal potency
Even if held accountable for treason
It is my duty as a man with a wounded knee
In this midst I will reach out for you
And release your innocent soul free
© 2011 David Greg Harth
11.11.25.02:27:45@130BklynNYC
Frost
Frost
Chilling up my spine
Executing my mortality
Frost
Delivering the final blow
Echoing my dreams into eternity
Frost
Deleting my memories
My bones being pulled by gravity
Frost
Catapulting my fantasies
Interfering with my true destiny
Frost
Wishing I was never erect
My heart is always an empty cavity
Frost
Transporting my mind everywhere
Emotions in an uncontrollable velocity
Frost
Claiming what is rightfully mine
Taking early my innocent fidelity
Frost
Losing control to pressure
Giving up my sanity
Frost
Exquisite corpse cold to the touch
I have no immunity
Frost
Now that I’ve been dismembered and disemboweled
Love and Life is filled with absolute clarity
© 2011 David Greg Harth
11.10.07.16:37:17@130BklynNYC
F, F
I got your letter in the mail yesterday.
You told me —
your feelings, your thoughts.
your poems, your memories.
Included a photograph of how you look now.
I see your son, he looks just like me.
I wish I hadn’t moved so far away.
I wish we didn’t part.
I wish for so many things.
We could forget, we could forgive.
But I don’t know if I could, with Franklin being there.
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.12.04.01:38:17@130BklnNYC
Fat Men Sing, Too
Flying high
On the white rock
With a big thick black dick up your ass
$100 richer
I’m no pancake
But I’m not a virgin either!
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.06.17.21:35:16@296NYC
The Final Fall
I fell down
The space is narrowing down on me
I have nothing left to do
No more options, no ways out
I can’t get out of this place
The walls are closing in
I tumble, I fade
Morning rises
Body is dead
I’m free in the plains
My mother is in happiness,
She swallows me whole,
Puts her arms around me,
The roots never let me go.
This is my final resting place.
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.05.27.24:58:00@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
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
Fallen Night
Monday morning,
20th of August,
All wake up in a city of dawn,
Sun rises across the shifting.
Tea drinkers realize first,
Doctors second,
Grandmothers rise, they wait for flowers.
He never became the artist he was,
Murdered by his own cause,
Defeated.
I won’t wake him,
Just let him sleep,
He’ll wake once more.
Never mind,
I’ll soak up the floor.
© 2007 David Greg Harth
07.08.20.02:27:27@296NYC