Just Like That
And just like that
The loaf of bread is gone!
No more crumbs
No more bread
No more for you
No more for me
Just like that!
© 2022 David Greg Harth
22.09.08.15:15:55@130NYC
Judgement
You’ve all become witnesses
Hear me now and hear me clear
Time has come and time is near
All before me now have come to this ritual moment
When time collides with existence
Mind leaves inclination at a distance
This space between becomes unnatural
Filled with fire and rage
Motionless and trapped in a cage
You wanted truth and honesty
From the deepest crux, I gave you all
My ship has departed, carried on this mammoth squall
As the ocean always does
Put up your walls and keep your locks
I shall voyage until I find new docks
Embers always glowing
A tortured soul brings awareness
Covering the innocent from bareness
Wait for the arbitrator and wait for the guardian
I pull off my cloak and lie down upon these rails
The purest heart now sails
Judge me now
For no matter my shortcoming
I’m dissolving into nothing
Dismissed into eternity
Ideal time to be fleeing
Terminated from being
Until we meet again
My limbs disconnected
Until I’m resurrected
© 2013 David Greg Harth
13.04.04.03:39:07@323BklynNYC
Joleen Grussing
She was the Lord’s answer to a pillar of salt
She was salted before me on Jerry’s wall
Socially we don’t know, electronically begun
One day we finally broke bread
Before the African kingdom
With introductions to strangers
And participants of the Lord’s book
I sent an invitation
Once, twice
She asked “How much?”
I couldn’t come up with a good answer
Even in her castle unseen
I wonder if she’ll take me for a ride
On her triumphant
Triumph
To our church
At least once more
With plastic lips
From West to East
She knows every he and she
And now knows me
Electronically, begun
Physically, started
See you again,
See you again
© 2012 David Greg Harth
12.09.29.13:27:30@130BklynNYC
Jorge Castano
He lit up my journey
And gave me spicy chocolate
He offered me a bite
And invited me to join him after a long flight
He made the hours go by fast
And reminded me of my approaching past
He collected my art
And was at the beginning of the start
He was about 35,000 feet
And he never did mistreat
© 2012 David Greg Harth
12.07.08.11:41:59@130BklynNYC
Jamaica Liberation Movement (JLM)
You don’t need much;
A good job, a roof over your head, some food.
Is that Jesus I see at the subway door?
Or is that Che? Or Daniel from yesterday?
I’m joining the Jamaica Liberation Movement
It’s something you should know about
As I begin to rid myself of these possessions
No longer needed and no longer necessary
I’m disposing of all the ones not in use
No sense to have them with me
Even the Volvo must go
It’s better I work for the district
And see the shows
From the Brighton Beach Q
From Afghanistan’s long ass haul
I’m joining the Jamaica Liberation Movement
And I’m not coming home
I’ll be gone forever
Even with broken glass knocking at my door
My back turned, I won’t turn into Middle East seasoning
You don’t have to trust me, take my word, or make any promises
A good listener always finds the faults
Who is to blame? Who takes responsibility?
With no one answering these questions, they exist unanswered
I’ve joined the Jamaica Liberation Movement. The JLM.
From Valeria of Panama to Cuba’s hope.
From the injustice of my Brooklyn streets
To President Obama’s incompetence
My laughter is here now, my pain is here now
I’ve joined the JLM. I’m not coming back. I’m not coming home.
You don’t need much;
Just a good job, just a roof over your head, just some food.
© 2010 David Greg Harth
10.01.29.24:53:07@130BklynNYC
Just Like
I’ve lost you.
Everything you stood for.
I opened up my heart to you.
Completely, my door was open forever.
I was innocent. I was available. I was yours.
Wednesday.
You toppled my everything.
With a divine thrust of misguided trust.
You deceived me, placed a black widow down my throat.
You drenched me in gasoline, you lit me on fire.
I am poisoned from the inside.
You commanded.
My veins and arteries wrapped around you like unearthed roots.
Like a parasite you sucked me dry of anything I had left.
I could not hurt more.
My eyes cannot produce any more tears.
You killed my heart.
You killed my love.
It’s just like suicide.
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.10.16.20:39:36@130BKLYN
June
I can’t help but wonder
What’s eating at you
Gnawing at your insides
Has my heart opened to you
Like no other woman before
The eyes of a pond
Why won’t I be bound
Committed to love
It’s not what my heart can contemplate
Your brown sky
Looking down upon me
Trace your thigh with a blade of grass
Native tongues
What we could share
Is the quad of possibility
But I am one
and one I shall remain.
© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.05.28.12:00:00@PortAuthorityBusTerminalNYC
Just Doing Rebecca
You can gaze,
You can take my portrait,
In Goldin’s light.
Bring me home to your waters,
We’ll throw tea overboard,
And make for the tunnel.
Shed your shoes,
Allow me to take you,
And maybe even Matthew will watch us.
© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.03.25.03:43:21@29NYC
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
Jaw Machine
Up and down
Inside and out
Twirl around
Show her what it’s about.
© 2004 David Greg Harth
04.07.25.20:08@ATRAINBRKLYN->NYC
Jesus, I’m In Love
Jesus!
I’m in Love!
Jesus, I’m off of my knees!
Jesus!
I’m in Love!
Jesus!
I’m done with the praying!
Jesus!
I’m in Love!
Jesus!
I’ve got honey suckle bees.
Jesus!
I’m in Love!
Jesus!
I’m no longer decaying.
Jesus!
I’m in Love!
Jesus, I’m off of my knees!
Jesus!
I’m in Love!
Jesus!
I’m not betraying.
Jesus!
I’m in Love!
Jesus!
I’ve got honey suckle bees.
Jesus!
I’m in Love!
Jesus!
I’m proud in my saying.
Oh, Dear Jesus!
I’m in Love!
Jesus, I’m up off of my knees!
© 2004 David Greg Harth
04.07.06.23:50:11@296NYC
Jobless, Homeless, Loveless, Loneliness and Despair, Hunger, Ache
I asked you for forgiveness,
you gave me shame.
I asked you for protection,
you gave me abandonment.
I asked you for bread,
you gave me not even a crumb.
I asked you for guidance,
you gave me shadow without light.
I asked you for love,
you gave me empty hope.
I asked you for healing,
you gave me illness.
I asked you for comfort
you gave me hell.
I asked you for safety,
you gave me processions of death.
I asked you for someone’s heart
you gave me nothing but grief.
© 2004 David Greg Harth
04.04.20.21:46:11@296NYC
Jordan
It’s beyond amazing.
Beyond beautiful.
Beyond wonderful.
Beyond all of the great words and terms and feelings,
I could describe using words from the dictionary.
The feeling is pure love.
Love like I have never felt.
Love that I have never experienced.
Love that I never knew existed.
When I sit Indian-Style,
you approach me with book in hand,
make your little grunt for me to read that book to you,
and you plop yourself in my lap.
Your back against mine.
You fit your tiny body on my lap.
Your little shirt,
your little shorts,
your little socks,
your little shoes.
You carry the smell of baby with you.
Your curly hair and big baby green eyes.
You sit in my lap and listen to me read to you.
You are a genius, pointing to the fire engine, the horse and the kittens.
This overwhelming feeling.
I had to write about it.
It’s so hard to express.
So, beyond anything I could possibly write.
But that feeling of love.
That overwhelming feeling of when you’re in my lap.
Knowing I will protect you from ocean to ocean.
World to world, barrier to barrier, land to land.
Knowing that you are more precious than gold and diamonds.
It’s beyond amazing.
Beyond beautiful.
Beyond wonderful.
Again, that overwhelming feeling of when you’re in my lap.
You are the definition of love.
© 2003 David Greg Harth
03.08.12.04:13:32@296NYC
Johnny, Bring Me The Gun
Johnny,
I’m calling your name.
Come down the stairs,
Washing the damp walls.
Scurry about,
Collect the papers,
Find the holes
And patch them up.
Patch them up.
Johnny,
Come down the stairs.
Scale and climb,
Run your fingers against the wooden grain.
It’s time to go.
Time to go.
Feel your way down,
Pass the pigeon-blood red walls,
And step down the carpeted stairs.
I’m waiting for you here.
Come quickly,
No time to waste today.
Johnny,
Come as swiftly as you can.
I left the silk work upstairs.
Safe keeping is the best way to keep.
It’s raining, don’t keep me waiting too long.
We’re about to get wet, soaked,
I felt this before, leaking.
Inside, it’s time to run,
Past the deep ochre hallways.
We really must go.
Johnny,
Bring me the gun,
We’re not fooling anyone here.
Let’s hurry up and go.
It’s raining outside.
© 2003 David Greg Harth
03.08.06.05:17:53 @ 296 NYC
July 10th
Everyone has gone
They have left the green grassy hill
Seen the rain come down and wash away the dirt
Umbrellas retracted
Sunshine opening up behind the dark clouds
All have dispersed into their own daily events
De-constructed paintings lie on the fresh mound
No words spoken or exchanged previously
Only broken down tears
Everyone has gone
No one is coming back
Don’t dig me up, I’m gone forever
© 2002 David Greg Harth @ NYC
02.07.10.10:10:10@NYC
Julie & Meryl
Julie & Meryl
Are two lucky ladies
Two lesbian lovers
Loving in love
Julie & Meryl
Jam & Jelly
Cock-a-doodle doo
Laughter ruff ruff whooo!
Julie & Meryl
Smack my bottom
Meet you at the gallery
I’ll be gathery
Sigs from them and them
Julie & Meryl
Sitting in a carriage
Singing in a tree
Sweeping the cookies
Wish I was under her knee
Julie & Meryl
Silly girls at toe
Whose toe?
Tow my toe
I don’t like or tell
Tell a tale
I have no tail!
Julie & Meryl
Meet you at blue
See you at two
Right over here and there
Julie & Meryl
Are two friendly ladies
Met em years ago
And now I’ve written Poe, a tree.
© 2002 David Greg Harth
02.05.05.01:36:30@296NYC
JFK
USS Grasp won’t lift me out of the sea
The United States Citizens won’t pay to fly my father via helicopter
to my crash site out in the ocean bed
At least now I know there is a big loft available in Tribeca
I could be doing lots of art there, and not be just a rich folk
How come I’m not famous?
Because my father didn’t die?
Because my father didn’t work for the government?
Maybe my father did more, if he saved one person from suicide, does that
make him famous? A hero?
Would you dive for me?
Would you dive for my dead father?
And his airplane?
Would the President give a damn?
Will Newspapers cover my death or will I be buried in lonesome without
public knowledge?
Will a Coast Guard ship ferry my father out to see my dead plane?
Will England and Australia and Japan write about my disappearance in the sea?
Why is it appropriate for the Navy to find them?
Aren’t we all equal? all human? Isn’t there an Amendment?
If I contribute the birth of a child or a smile, is that not enough to save
my life?
Or now, my taxes, my money, must pay for the salvage of three I never knew?
I know what really happened, you see...
It was just a little Orgy.
You know the car fun, why not airplane fun?
JFK’s wife was going down on him, giving head, on that airplane, now there dead.
Her sister got hot, and her panties, damn wet - before you know it, the
windows were foggy
and wha-la! JFK was going speedy, and kaboom! (remember that cereal?)
All right, you may be disgusted, but we all know what happened.
It was a double murder-suicide.
You see - JFK was smackin’ around his bitch. The bitch’s sister interfered.
JFK lost his cool and punched her in the face and pushed and pushed and now
she’s gone without a trace; he pushed her out of the plane
JFK knows he done wrong - so now he must beat his bitch out of the plane too
He beat and beat and killed two - that’s a double murder on his plate - what
to do?
He didn’t want fame nor George nor boats nor airports nor common sense,
murder just led him to heaven,
so, he committed suicide after a double Dutch!
And now i buy the papers, it’s what we call art,
or I use for kitty litter and abbey road junior can make a piss on.
How can you say, that the Kennedy family contributed more than the Harth family?
And this justifies why I spent my tax dollars on a man I never gave a damn
about?
I would never get the USS Briscoe out to sea for my commitment
Now I have to go home and take a JFK Jr highway home or bridge over waters?
And later plan my schedule to go around blocked streets because I’m paying
for the President to come to town to pay respect. Fuck that, It’s a free
world, let me walk on the street, or If I do, I’ll be arrested?
I went on the online auctions today
Did you see them?
You can get the first issue of GEORGE magazine for currently $150
You can get the current issue of GEORGE magazine for currently $26
You can get the next month’s issue of GEORGE magazine for currently $26
(with JFK Jr on the cover!)
I got mine; did you get yours?
You can also buy domain names, like JFK-Jr.com and such, for five thousand,
fifteen thousand and twenty thousand dollars. There’s something I need!
I went to St. Patrick’s Old Cathedral
Just a few blocks away
I was just there, a few weeks ago
Out on the street watching girls eat mangos and French films projected on
the church walls.
The old Irish lad came out and said it was a circus in there
Kind of like the media circus out here?
I heard the bag pipes
And took some photographs
The priest came out to those who couldn’t get in, though those that were in,
were hot smelly sweaty pigs and dogs. With no air conditioning, the FDNY
went in often. And Con-Edison, that I paid for, set up unique
air-conditioning that didn’t work.
The priest giving Communion. He came around. He placed a wafer in my hand,
circular with a cross in the middle. I saved it in my palm close to my
heart and now tomorrow, check out the online auctions I’ll make a million
with it!!
After services I toured the church, couldn’t find my art but lit a candle
for a friend.
I ran away and got more tape
I ran away and printed up signs
I trekked down to Tribeca where I posted signs on the Police barricade.
They said
“
(in small letters):
WE LOVE JFK-BASSETTE
(in big letters):
PRESS
LET
THEM
REST
“
A woman asked me, “What organization are you with?”
I replied, “None, I’m just Human.”
But the press didn’t like me.
Gave me weird looks
Yelled and called me names with sarcastic thankyous.
I took photos of my art and went on the waiting line.
It’s time to fuck up the mainstream, and I’ll start with my medium, the media.
so, I went to the flower shrine in TriBeCa
waste of money flowers? how about all the dying children and cancer?
i left an “I AM AMERICA” bill there to lay
and on it I wrote
‘In JFK we don’t trust to fly us’
I have photos to prove it, I’ll show you one day.
And I taped up all over the walls and flowers my signage to the press;
PRESS LET THEM REST
I passed the candles, American-flags, teddy-bears, signs, photos, children,
letters, drawings, paintings, guitars, caps, dead flowers, 20-dollar bills,
glitter, marker, ink, non-American flags, poetry, hands, flashes, elevator
shaft ways, and life
went back to my Police barricades and my signs were ripped down
The press doesn’t like it when I fight back
So now I plead with you all
Realize today we play the bagpipes all together
Like the bum on the corner making a dime
We once were told we were equal, but you see we are not.
Some pigs are more equal than other pigs
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.07.23.02:10:17 @ Tribeca/New York City
Jacksun Polluck (Talk This, Talk That Revisited #2)
dun dun - dun dun - dun dun
dun dun dun
Jacksun Polluck
My potluck
Feel a bit Warholee?
Prime time colour Me!
Pin stripes
Smokin' pipes
Velvet girls of 4teen
Loosing feathers, what I mean
Elegant arrogant
She is so hesitant
Gracias Do
It meanta lot for me to go
8 Cathedrals and 1 Trojan Horse
In my pocket of course
Ice protector
Erection for her
Flat chested fake marriages
And cheetah languages
The sequence man, or warrior, or queer
Tongue Red-framed glasses showing no fear!
HOLY CRAP!! What nice leggs! (advert)
She makes me hurt!
Lady bare back
I'm gonna have a heartattack
Romantic wood
I'd be serious, if I could
Some gay boys
And girl toys
Plastic surgery
King of imagery
Lighted memory
Enchanted glamoury
Blue tunes
Cigar log flumes
Orange Man crossing my path
Just after the noon bath
Old busy poppy bags
Salt & Pepper hags
Blue eyes, blue dress - contact
I've been backed
What the fuck is that!? -
That string around your neck!
Round-a-bout cat! -
You look like a fuckin' wreck!
“Is it Beauty, or is it Art?”
“It's Art”
“Can they both co-exist with eachother?”
“Yes”
“Something to think about...”
Purple pusher, fuzzy man, sexy status, beg me tun, rafoss spiffy
tuxedo warrants, maniac laughter, Egyptian short tight silver skirts
BLUE
PoeticK jazz
& jazz rain
dance to the jazz
the jazz
the jazz .....
© 1998 David Greg Harth
98.10.28.23:00:00@MOMANYC