Goodbye (Version #2)
We kissed goodbye
She went one way
I went the other
I knew that was the last kiss I would give her.
© 2002 David Greg Harth
02.06.25.16:32:05@1515NYC
The Game Of Love
There are no rules
To the game of love
© 2002 David Greg Harth
02.03.03.03:03:03@296 NYC
Green Alaska
I adore you, Green Alaska.
Your mountains, your beauty, your forests, your animals.
Your courage, your hidden talent, your devilish intentions, your dance.
I adore you, Green Alaska.
Your intense kindness, your happiness, your sounds, your silence.
Your belief, your children, your eyes, your drive
I adore the green shade of your skin
The coldness of your heart
And the ache that is found within
I adore you, Green Alaska.
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.08.15.22:00:20 @ 296 NYC
Geography Is Irrelevant To Sexual Ecstasy
I’m going to shoot it off
Be happy
Be a lover
Divide
Duck
Shoot
You make me want to be gay
A homosexual
A gay lover
A happy man
A happy face
You make me want to dance
Sweat
Shake the ground
Bite you
I’m going to dance
Give you a strip-tease
An art show toast
Create
Inspire
Revolt
You make me want to climb
A rockstar
A molded earth
A mountain
Higher
You make me want to smoke
Drink
Do the drugs
And feel my wet feet on concrete
You make me want to stutter
With rolling words
Of wisdom in the category of
Lions
Lust
Leave
Lonesome
Lie
Leap
Like
Learn
You make me
You turn me into an animal
Happy
So Happy
Happy Face
Bouncing around
Like a rainy-day masturbator
Happy
Now I’m cool
Cold
Feeling the cool breeze
No hot summer weather in my crotch
Tonight, I will sleep
Tonight, I will think of you
And Tomorrow
I will create art
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.07.20.03:12:27@296NYC
G & G
It’s like eating a banana
When you are done with it
You have a useless peel
Like a string I use for dental floss
Bitten and strapped
I’m going to be a professional Necrophiliac
Don’t you just love it!
She had a strap on
And took him by surprise from behind
Kissed around, been around
Out front back-yard big Kong
It’s like peanut butter
Gettin’ stuck down your sore throat
Thick skull
Don’t want to be
Like a silent lover
Tied down and knotted
Seeing the blind and hearing the deaf
Repair yourself a cafe
She had a dream
And took him by surprise in front
Kissed around, been around
Spring day on the lawn
And the other ego
Self
He says
It’s like stepping in a bag of shit
Because once you do,
You can never get that shit out between your toes!!
Smile, and I’ll always smile with you...
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.03.10.05:17:15 @ 296 NYC
00.03.11.13:07:23 @ 296 NYC
The Great Masturbator
This is a true story.
You have my word.
8:30pm March 1st 2000
I was standing on the uptown platform
At the Broadway/Lafayette subway station
Waiting for the B or D or Q train
I was at the very front of the platform
I was in front of the closed-off storage room that blocks the other passengers
From seeing me, and I seeing them
The same layout was across the tracks
At the platform for trains going downtown
Into Brooklyn
To my surprise
I was being watched by a man
He was a light-skinned African American
And his jeans were pulled slightly down
And he had his big dick out
He was masturbating
Jerking off his hard erect dick
As he looked at me
Fascinated
Disturbed
I couldn’t believe it
Personally, I’ve known women who have witnessed men masturbating to them
But this was reverse
Weird
The man had his dick out right there
In the open
And he was feverishly stroking his cock
Back and forth!
I just stood across on my platform
Staring at his eyes
Letting his imagination run wild
Maybe it was great
To have a guy jerk off to the image of me
To raise my ego
He thought I was sexy!
My B train came
And I didn’t see or hear
Him cum
But odd, As I got on that train
The stench smelled like cum!
Must be psychological
And that’s my story.
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.03.01.20:30:00@BWAY/LAFAYETTE NYC
00.03.02.10:55:00@CPMC NYC
00.03.02.16:16:00@1515 NYC
Green Shit
For 7 nights and 7 days
My shit was green
And green was my shit
I shit in my green
With green in my shit
An Irish green
In my ass shit
Shit in my green
Four leaf clover shit
Green shit
Shit
My lucky charm
And Leprechaun shit
I shit green
And green was my shit
For 7 nights and 7 days
I shit green shit
Shit was green
Like a fookin’ Irish green
Green was my shit
And shit was my green
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.12.31.00:41:00 @ Dublin Ireland
Give Up
I give up
I’m wasted
Exhausted
Extreme
I give up
There is nothing left
No sorrow or bare trees
No grounds to hunt on
No leftover space
Or corners to mold and form
I give up
Silently awakened
In the moist midnight air
Nobody to eat
And nobody to die
I give up
Stranger’s umbrella
A holocaust nickname
A king
I give up
Let me entertain you
And kiss you on the thigh
Let me swallow you
And kiss you on the cheek goodbye
I give up
It’s only natural
I’ve never seen it before
I’m tired today
Tomorrow is a new old day
I’m bringing in the welcome mat
I’m bringing in the traps
I give up
They wrapped me in gauze
And traveled me through time
Developed my horror
And fed my veins
I give up
It’s a back seat driver
And a live-in maid
A rainy holiday
Virgin flowers and settlements
By the brooks in the land
I give up
My eyes have bags
I’m a skeleton today
My ballad has gone home
I’m left with nothing in my hands
Your wet stringy hair clings to me
And my teeth still fall to the ground
I give up
My birds have died
The cash is done
I’m looking underneath the rabbit holes
And you left me starving
I give up
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.10.19.17:54:03@1515 NYC
99.10.22.01:08:23@296 NYC
Grey Hair (Orange Juice & Coffee)
We took the sour Orange Juice together
soaked in the wetness of health
and had a delightful toast
She massaged my back and that was that
Like dead animals living
flesh eating flesh
She quivered in her own cum
She used salt chalk for make up
Q-tips until her ears bled
brushed her teeth until gums bled
choked on her tears
He laughed and laughed with me
We ate sweet bananas together
And laughed at the fat laugher and the tall guy
That guy was really tall and skinny and always shook
He did the Thorazine shuffle
Wish I was in the Day.
She really knows how to burn a friendship
and scatter the ashes
across the plains of death
I wonder if she will tuck me in at night
Read me a bedtime story
Knowing I cannot respond
or remember her name?
I got dressed up in my tuxedo
We wined and dined and she did her usual grind
We had a ball, a grand all time
but it wasn’t her who I wanted
All these years
I wait and wait,
search and search
I see her reflection
her dirty ragged old hair
her aged skin with valleys of wrinkles
Liver spots and dead skin drifting to the floor
I comb her thick hair and hold her fragile hand
We talk for lasting hours into the night
I learn about her two sons and her daughter
The life she had in the vivid colors of greens and blues
Tomorrow a new day
it’s today
to see my friend, I dive the traffic
and I find her dead
Her silver hair
She gave me ten-dollar bill in my hands
I never said thankyou
It rained down
Oil upon my face
I go outside
Rub chalk on my face
and wash up
brush my teeth
and discover my feet under the covers
You know I did wrong
but I only sang the song I knew
and now my hair is grey.
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.08.25.24:08:13 @ 296 NYC
99.08.27.08:58:09 @ 296 NYC
The Gallery/The Artist
A gallery is there so a tree can get cut down to be made into pulp to be made into newspaper so a journalist can write a column on the gallery white-walled opening in the paper so mothers and fathers can read about the naked wine-drunk opening and so the artists can show work on the clean floor and eat dead birds and dish out secret service blow jobs for an ongoing dispute and so someone developed ink to print on and so children can be offended and old grandma will turn over in her grave and mothers won’t support and people get jealous and art wars raid your mind and so people can buy art to appreciate and or possibly just for the hell of it to make a buck we don’t know we only represent be ourselves do the art be the art conflict the art and so tourists have a place to go and view and so culture can see what we think and where we are going and what we will do in trench coats and postage stamps that say Kill All Artists while cardboard thieves line the streets of Broadway to Tampa tribune miles away and the gallery is there for us to meet greet and massage our lonesome feet and shave ourselves clean of the beauty we once knew and to listen to an arch of McDonalds frenzy and creme filled donuts and smokers cars and blue eyes and money and models and chicas and cock fights and luxury cars and hostess cupcakes or airline stewardesses and mighty mighty let’s go play baseball and hit and hit and hit pull the revolver up the bunny rabbit and the gallery didn’t notice those who didn’t laugh but the gallery is there for the artist for the self to be safe to feel like a groovy a musician a poet and parent a human a gatherer a co- you never know or do we with just make a simple phone call the gallery pays bills makes bills is a bill is a bitch is a boredom is a bore is a whore is a heap is deep is dough is divine is wrong is write is right and real and now and here to stay because we chose to go in to be artists to do what we do best and we took an oath to our heart to be all we can be without the army but in our brain our heart we are ourselves and we are artists.
We are artists.
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.05.04.20:03:48 @ 1515 NYC
Good Samaritan Of New York
Let me introduce myself..
I’m the Good Samaritan of New York
Here is my story...
I walk around these filthy streets
Filled with dirty scum, pimps, hookers, low-lifes, dead beats, tourists,
great masturbators, Wall St yuppies, freaks, killers, rapists, cops, pigs,
kinkos fuckers, druggies, and myself.
I walk around, probably with a sign on my forehead saying,
“I’m a nice person, ask me for directions.”
Of course, people do all the time, maybe because of my smile, or my frown, I
don’t know.
But they ask me, so I tell them, like a song.
People get in my way, walk into me, bump into me.
They say ‘sorry,’
but damn it, I don’t give a shit - just get the hell out of my fuckin’ way!
I have to walk on the streets
Skipping the sidewalk as the tourists take up their time there
Like California beached whales
Sometimes I pass a homeless bum or drug addict stretched across the
sidewalk. Horizontally, blocking my way and intimidating others. Just the
other day it happened - So I yelled at the guy,
“Get The FUCK UP!,” He rolled over and drooled.
But you see, he’s different than the others.
Some bums are lying dead on the curb. Those, if you are a true New Yorker,
you just pass them.
And go on walking to your destination. Let the Times Square Business
Improvement Wanna-Be Cops deal with the dead. Not me, I have to go -
I passed a guy handing out cards to visit a go-go bar strip joint. He was
on the corner by the newspaper machines - looking odd, looking funny. Then
I realized, the mother fucker had his dick out and he was just pissing on
the street corner in broad busy working daylight!!! That god damn fucker!!!
So, I yelled at him as I passed by - “DON’T FUCKIN’ DO THAT!! – THERE’S A
BATHROOM FOR THAT!!”
I was fuckin furious, I’m tired of these assholes pissing all over my
sidewalk - damn it!!! He said something back to me, but my Walkman was on,
so, I didn’t hear the fucker. I should have just whacked him. So I told the
traffic patrol officer about the fucker who was publicly urinating - she
didn’t seem to give a crap - she told me to call the go-go bar and tell
them, then maybe the guy would get fired. Sure. Ticket your cars pig.
And those fucking pissers remind of those spitters. Damn it, if you have to
spit - spit at home or in a tissue or in the garbage can. And don’t fuckin
litter in my city fucker! - There’s a damn garbage can on every corner save
your trash - you live here fucker!
And what’s up with the Budweiser-drinking construction workers who mimic
Asian people who pass them by. Damn it, I should slice their racist throats!
And am I the only good Samaritan here? I throw my trash in the can, piss in
the toilet, spit in a napkin -
Also - how about this, there was a guy on the train, a homeless disturbed man.
I saw him standing in the subway doors next to a young lady sitting. And he
stood there in his own absorbed stench. A smelly fuck. Why - I know, you
ask... Let’s just say, his fly in his pants was open and in his soiled
underpants he praised his erection.
Underneath he went towards his one, you know - and thank goodness he didn’t!! -
But I was prepared - If that bum dare started to stroke away on my subway
car!!--
I would have gotten up and decked the fuckhead!! I just want you to know, I
was ready!
It’s happened before, numerous female friends suffering from the male pig
masturbating on subway cars....
The other day I passed a bum who asked me for change, I said, “No, sorry,
not tonight”
I then went into the deli next door and got myself a sandwich. Kindness
wrapped around me and i bought another sandwich, drink and chips, not for
me. On my way out down the block I gave the sandwich and goodies to the bum
and he smiled with thankful appreciation.
That’s a good bum.
A few weeks later I was uptown at a deli with a friend. We were eating
inside and I noticed a bum outside on the street, begging for change from
people in their cars. So, with the food I had bought for myself I went
outside to offer it to the homeless man. He denied. That fucker! He wanted
dimes and pennies for alcohol and drugs! Damn it! You try to help the
helpless fucks and it’s just not worth my time!!
and what about this, let me tell you...
Here in New York City, people die. They die because butt fucks in cars don’t
let the fire engines and ambulances through. It’s horrible. So, what do I do?
While others sit with their thumbs up their ass?
When a fire engine has to get through traffic, and beeping and screaming
and blowing its horn, and the moron New Jersey fucks and others block the
road and are deaf to the upcoming death in their cars- I stop the oncoming
traffic. Yes, I do - really. I jump out into the avenue, spread out my arms
and stop traffic, sure, some cars and taxis and trucks try to race thru and
run me over, but I stand my ground, and smack the sides of cars that race by me
and finally, I stop traffic. Because if i don’t do it,
no one will, and if no one does, then the stranger across town
dies because of the inconsiderate fucks here on the road.
I save lives every day, do you?
So, I’m The Good Samaritan of New York.
And that is my story.
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.03.12.17:05:37 @ 1515 New York City
99.03.17.23:24:15 @ 296 New York City
99.03.21.16:32:18 @ 1515 New York City
All Contents are TRUE
Growing Beautiful
When your hair turns grey
And a silvery white
After the sweaty tears
You rolled down all those nights
I’ll still be with you
And after your fingernails grow older
Become numb to the coldness
And become thick and yellowish
I’ll still be at your side
When your back begins to turn
And you lean towards the earth in honor
Of the years you have walked
I’ll still be with you
As you take showers to baths
And then less frequently
As grandchildren have grown
And our own have moved on
I’ll still be at your side
While you roam around
Finding the medication
Or comforting yourself
In an oak rocking chair
I’ll still be with you
No matter how long it goes on
How many wonderful wrinkles your skin develops
Or how many times I visit you in the hospital
I’ll be there for you
I’ll still brush your hair nightly
And kiss you goodnight
And goodbye
I’ll sit with you and speak with you
And hug you good morning
I’ll help you up from the chair
Or up the stairs to the door
I’ll light candles for you
And still do the dishes as you rest
I’ll reach the high places
And make the holidays perfect
I’ll still gaze into your eyes
Just as if we were young again
For all the years
That I grow with you
I want you to know
I’ll be there for you
And I still
Will be there for you
Forever
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.02.14.19.11.55 @ 296 NYC
Golden Years
Golden Years
Tempted cherry pops
Freezing Cold Rain
Just inside from the federal trip
Drug dealing happiness
Favors returned
Listening to her complain
Bitch
Her/ass the leftover
Clap! Clap!
Your hands together
Bounce around
From California
I’ll remember your ass.
Ha! You make me laugh
Golden Years
Let’s make a fabrication
Let’s make a baby
Darlin’
Come celebrate
With art and poetry
We’ll go down in history
To the fan’s syndrome
You dirty giant
You mixed media event
Feeling groovy
Like Mrs. Robinson
Keep the faith
Mr. Goldberg
I hardly know you
Take
Straddle
1, 2, 3 -- I fall asleep
McDonald’s
I’m your brain
Confuse my confusion
And I’ll be your left foot
For your Star Wars money
and 25¢
Dinkel Berry Trabant Man’s disease
Please play music
at my dear
Very own knees
Itis.
Itis.
Itis.
Months
With no mainstream
Those other boroughs
They burn like mosquitos in the sky
Rat-Tat-Tat! Rat-Tat-Tat!
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.01.14.04:05:43 @ 296NYC
Goodbye
Saying goodbye
My heart is closed
Sealed forever
Because what you have done
You all, out there
My heart is dead
Suffocated to lifelessness
You have destroyed myself
Are you happy now?
You have taken down my fortress
And the thorns which protect
I’m saying goodbye
To nothing we had
I’m saying goodbye
To the angels in the sky
Harps are playing
I hear them with my adaptations
My love for you was always there
Even though I was unaware
You have killed me
And made me flat on this planet of dust
And leftover distributed feelings
I’m saying goodbye
To your ignorance
Your pathetic behavior
Your lack of lust
I’m saying goodbye
To all of you
On this autumn day
And I put the blade away
Just to give you one more chance
© 1998 David Greg Harth
98.10.17.18:36:17@1515NYC
Ghosts (Version #2)
I am rapacious
and cannot be penetrated or thought about
Those who do tend to be defunct
Straight jacket tuxedo boys and gals
Laughing gas chambers
of ghosts come and gone
© 1998 David Greg Harth
98.09.02.17:25:00@VISNYC
98.09.09.16:14:00@VISNYC(NaonlyT)
Ghosts
Dark cloudy skies
Open and come overcast
My eyes begin to water
Ringing Church bells
Lovers getting wed
Making love in honeymoon suites
God watching over
Telling me
And guiding my destiny
Tears rolling down
Make me silent
Through my own twists
© 1998 David Greg Harth
98.09.09.16:06:00@NYCVIS10036
Green Eyes
Golden shimmer
Holding me
Commanding me
Her emerald green eyes feeling
Trying to see through
Examine
Her golden red hair
Flowing down
Back alley High School
Remembrance
Twos by twos
Not the same day blues
She looks out across rivers
A daily job
A friend by day
A memory at night
No drink at all
After daylight
We go to our locations
To sleep and wonder
She sleeps in new bedrooms
As I twist and turn
She knows my thoughts
About loved ones
And hated ones
She sleeps until the sunrise
As I tread the waters to meet her
She comes down fast
Upon my poetry and dollars
She shimmers in lights
And is a delight
A Times Square beauty
On the west most face
Staring out
I wish it was
Sleeping
Sleeping
I thankyou
Wonderful Friend
© 1998 David Greg Harth
98.07.20.24:38:31@NJ07430