Falling Airplane
If I was an airplane,
I’d fall from the sky
Like a feather gently riding the wind
Until I slowly and safely and steadily
Landed in a grassy glen
Hidden from all the people
That just moments before
Looked at the sky with their fingers pointing
Exclaiming, “Look at that airplane falling from the sky!”
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.10.13.13.15.00@345ParkNYC
Zombie Psychologist
One foot in front of the other
Left foot
Right foot
Out of bed
Made the bed and tucked in the sheets
Fluffed the pillow and the cat sat down
Committed to plans and kept them
Cooked dinner and ate it
Prepared breakfast and ate it
Scrubbed the dirty tiles
Washed the floor spick and span
Did some book binding in my imagination
Sharpened some pencils in the studio
Attended to the honeybees outback
Watered the dying dry plants
Looked up my old forgotten enemies
Said hello to new friends over the phone
Read the newspaper from front to back
Finished the crossword puzzle in record time
Fixed myself up while gazing in the mirror
Tied my shoes and felt I needed new soles
Ate gumbo from the swamp shack
Put out the cigarette on the cement wall
Chased the ocean tide high and low
Never for a moment did I have any doubt
Danced around the crackling campfire
Wished upon a star that was falling from the sky
Kept every told secret hidden all my life
Whispered the truth to the old man on the park bench
Heated up the oven to 375 for a fresh bake
Laundry day came early with so many worn clothes
Dusted the shelf and admired my specimens
Collected downtown ash on the hood of a cop car
Naughty tales shared and swapped
Like wives and husbands at the swinger’s ball
Flew a kite as high as it could go
Buried a spotted dog in the backyard
Looked up the tree and what did I see
My younger self yelling back at me
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.10.13.13.06.00@345ParkNYC
Black Dick
Black Dick
Black Dick
Where are you?
Back Dick
Black Dick
Where are you?
Black Dick
Black Dick
Where are you now?
Never had Black Dick
Never had on my leg a deer tick
Never said no to an invitation to The Frick
Never had Black Dick
Cause I don’t like Dick
Except for my Dick
Which is sorta like a Black Dick
But I’ve got a Big White Black Dick
So, take out your tongue and have a lick
Be prepared for a late-night kick
Up my sleeve, a stratosphere trick
So, take it down and slurp up my dip stick
Black Dick
My Big Black Dick
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.09.23.14.43.00@345ParkNYC
Strange Things Happen In Ohio
So many things
Are happening everywhere
Outside closed doors
The world rotates
On an imaginary axis
Slowly orbiting the sun
Knock at the door in Cincinnati
Led to a phone call to the police
A cruiser came by
Officers arrived and made a call
An unmarked vehicle came by
Detectives took fingerprints, took notes, took coffees to go
I-75 was just outside her door
Big potted plants stood like soldiers on her porch
A dim light danced with night-time moths
But the moon is what really claimed the night
She exited through the back door
Slipped on out and bypassed all the investigators
Went to the bus station for a Greyhound
Decided it was time to flee
And make for the Eastern Seaboard
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.09.23.14.42.00@345ParkNYC
Tired
I’m tired.
I’m so tired.
I’m tired of my knees giving out.
I’m tired of being too short.
I’m tired of being too fat.
I’m tired of not being able to lift more weights.
I’m tired of my migraines.
I’m tired of not being able to jog.
I’m tired that I don’t read more.
I’m tired or rejected applications.
I’m tired of no press.
I’m tired of no exhibitions.
I’m tired of not being a better artist.
I’m tired of not being a better designer.
I’m tired of losing my breath.
I’m tired of mentioning my cock too much in my writing.
I’m tired of this poem.
I’m tired of washing dishes.
I’m tired of attempting to catch up on email.
I’m tired of living.
I’m exhausted.
I’m tired of the routine.
I’m tired of making art.
I’m tired of doing design.
I’m tired of forward.
I’m tired of reflecting.
I’m tired of cardboard boxes.
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.08.28.16.50.00@NYC
Strangers Are Listening
Recently
I found my way to the internet
More specifically
Actually
An app
Which is short for application
An app called
And on this billionaire owned platform
I find myself in absolute confession
About fears
About truths
About failures
About dreams
About depression
About imagination
About sexual encounters
About …
Thank you, Strangers
For listening
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.08.15.15.31.52@130BklynNYC
The George Washington Bridge
When I was younger,
I thought about jumping off the George Washington Bridge
But I decided not too
Because I didn’t want to inconvenience the drivers
I was younger yesterday
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.08.09.01.17.17@130BklynNYC
Everything Is All Right
Everything is all right
They tell me
And I tell them
But really, what is the truth of it?
Would I be lying if I told you I am no longer depressed how I once was?
Would I be lying if I told you that I don’t contemplate suicide anymore?
Would I be lying if I told you that I don’t think of suicide daily?
Tell me that everything is all right
Tell me that everything is going to be okay
Tell me that everything will work out
And I’ll tell you,
Everything is all right
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.08.07.15.50.12@130BklynNYC
Infamous Ashlee
Sat behind a desk at 599
Overlooking the city’s Houston
She had Doberman pinscher temporary tattoos
Displayed on her big guns
That went rat-tat-tat-tat-tat
She was a wild cat wild for fast cars
That growled and meowed and purred and went
Woooooooooosh!
Ladies adored her
Jealous of the brunette upstairs
Men lick her big black boots
Vicious red meat demolished
Light the booze on fire
Explosion of desire
Melted the asphalt street
Years later alerted me to the celebrities at heart
Lost touch with years between
Admire her photographer
Close so very near
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.08.01.19.20.00@130BklynNYC
08.05.13.16.03.00@599BWAYNYC
Briefly
Brief
Moment
Witness
It was brief
It was just a moment
Almost timeless
It was the whisper of a witness
A long good-bye
A hand-held
Just last night
I spoke to her on the phone
We laughed, we made plans, we said our good night
The phone rang this morning
I’ve been summoned to the city morgue
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.08.01.17.41.04@130BklynNYC
All That Remains
The prey for the predator
The fading last dawn
Carcass on the floor
Judged by authority
Living interpret my will
One stands
In water not of this mother
Wind wraps her hands around her ears
Broken glass intrudes anniversary
Knocking
No water will drown his tears away
No fire will burn like his lasting pain
No earth can bury his devotion so deeply
No wind can carry his desire so upwardly
No love will heal the broken heart of a forever hopeless man
Knock on the door of inferno
Dance on the back of a fallen man
It is not
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.08.01.17.24.36@130BklynNYC
07.10.29.17.20.00@296NYC
Nurse Betty
The window was open that day
Letting the unusually warm January winter breeze to swirl about inside
Flirting with the curtains that shouldn’t have been there
Teasing the tenants of the locked floor
Nurse Betty stood about 5’11”
She was black and reminded me of my grandmother Charlotte
A sharp square jaw
Thin lips
Big rimmed eyeglasses
A bob cut
Nurse Betty caught me more than once
With my pants down
First in the dayroom
Sitting on the couch
Erection in hand
Attempting to break free of the dream
Oma would bring me a banana at her daily visit
We’d sit on the couch
I’d watch the television I didn’t comprehend
Oma would give me back scratches
Her hand on my back
Up and down, a slight tickle, a calming touch
Nurse Betty will scold my Oma
Telling her it was too sexual
My Oma would scold Nurse Betty in return
I’ve never quite seen her so angry
I rotated the hot knob and cold knob in the shower
The running water came to a slow grinding halt
Still wet, I stood there naked, exposed, vulnerable
Nurse Betty opened the door to the bathroom
Called me by name
And said that I couldn’t do that
I couldn’t masturbate
That she knew I’ve been masturbating
She said “I see your penis is all red. I know you’ve been touching yourself again.”
And she told me I couldn’t do that
She told me I couldn’t do that
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.08.01.17.06.08@130BklynNYC
Salt To Taste
I took the meat out of the freezer
I let the meat thaw overnight
I turned off the alarm
I admired the sunrise
I got out of bed
I cleaned my body and cleaned the house
I took out the trash
I washed my hands
I put on my apron
I placed the meat on the cutting board
I carved the meat in preparation for cooking
I placed the meat chunks on skewers
I grilled the meat over the open flame
I opened the door for my dozen dinner guests
I sat them down one by one
I finished preparing the meal
I placed some cooked meat on every guest’s plate
I told each guest to salt the flesh to taste
I listened to my dinner guests admire my cooking
I told them what kind of meat it was after they inquired
I told them my wife died just last week
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.08.01.16.56.56@130BklynNYC
Elevator to the 77th Floor
After entering the lobby of the art deco building
The desk attendant instructed me to take elevator five to the 77th floor
I got in
With a woman
Who had auburn shoulder-length hair
She was in a grey pantsuit which I think was made of linen,
Or something easier to wear in the summer months
With a man
Who had a clean-shaven face
He was carrying a briefcase which had brass hinges with a gold finish,
And a worn leather shoulder strap
With another man
Who had a beard and a baseball cap with the word “DETROIT” on the front in orange stitching
He was deeply involved in a texting conversation
Or perhaps he was just scrolling
With another man
Who was dressed in all shades of various black
He was looking like a young Johnny Cash
And he also had a swagger like Elvis
It was just the five of us
Going up in the elevator
The first man got off on floor 67
The second man got off on floor 71
And the woman got off on floor 75
Then came my floor
- 77 -
I suppose the third man got off on another odd numbered floor
But I really don’t know
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.07.13.20.22.44@130BklynNYC
I’m Sick and Tired of Your Love Poems
“No more love poems.”
She demanded
It was a tough sentence to hear
How could I just stop cold from writing love poems?
Poetry about love?
About romance?
Affection?
Obsession?
Infatuation?
Searching?
Yearning?
How could I just stop cold suddenly?
Merely because she demanded.
Or did she request?
So, I stopped writing love poetry
And you should too
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.07.12.08.15.13@130BklynNYC
The 11th of July, The 11th Floor
I’ve struggled to make it one day more
I’ve struggled to get to the floor below
If I made it to the next day,
Then I would have considered that an accomplishment
For I went one more year
Without killing myself
If I made it to the floor below,
Then I would have considered that an accomplishment
For I managed to escape the locked floor
Without waking up from the dream
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.07.10.09.00.00@130BklynNYC
Held Dream
I held onto the dream so long,
I forgot to live
and
I didn’t make my dream come true
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.07.08.11.01.00@130BklynNYC
Lucille’s Sandwich
I had to journey out there myself
Not by the railroad
But by rented automobile
Because I wasn’t sure exactly where I was supposed to go
I found myself driving well past Huntington
In search of something ordinary yet so extraordinary
I heard rumors about this
And I’ve read articles about this
I’ve seen it in print
I’ve seen it online
I’ve even seen it on television
I drove around
I knocked on doors
I spoke to locals
I spoke to out-of-towner folks
I spoke to the baker
I spoke to the sheriff
I spoke to the barber
And I spoke to the pharmacist
It took me all day
But finally, as the sun was declining to stay in the sky
I pulled up to this diner
Where I knew for sure
I was about to have Lucille’s delicious egg salad sandwich
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.07.07.21.30.18@130BklynNYC
Tongue
Careful
With that tongue of yours
Your fleshy wet muscle in your mouth
Helping you –
Taste
Lick
Chew
Swallow
And
Speak
Tongue
-
Caught
Tongue
caught between a cat’s paws
caught between unleaded and diesel
Tongue
caught between arrivals and departures
caught between connecting flights
Tongue
caught between workshop vice
caught between springs of a clamp
Tongue
caught between railroad spikes
caught between a scorpion’s pincers
Tongue
caught between a black widow’s web and a lion’s den
caught between the frozen and thawed
Tongue
caught between spread thighs
caught between a zipper’s teeth
Tongue
caught between the seat cushions
caught between cunnilingus and fellatio
Tongue
caught between shibari and nuru
caught between dirty underwear and clean sheets
Tongue
caught between anonymity and identity
caught between given names and adopted names
Tongue
caught between the front seat and back seat
caught between casting couch obscenity
Tongue
caught between monogamy and polygamy
caught between a downpour crossing the street
Tongue
caught between elevator doors
caught between a lover’s quarrel
Tongue
caught between the Rolling Stones and the Beatles
caught between Ab-Ex and Pop
Tongue
caught between house grooves and 60s folk
caught between stocks and bonds
Tongue
caught between the Hudson River and East River
caught between North Dakota and South Dakota
Tongue
caught between transphobia and homophobia
caught between racism and sexism
Tongue
caught between Republicans and Democrats
caught between Fascists and Socialists
Tongue
caught between an arrow and tȟatȟáŋka
caught between a stinging bee and it’s hive
Tongue
caught between enemy flanks
caught between exosphere and thermosphere
Tongue
caught between innocence and sinfulness
caught between atrium and ventricle
Tongue
caught between Gaza and Palestine
caught between Jerusalem and Bethlehem
Tongue
caught between David and Goliath
caught between Adam and Eve
Tongue
caught between Mesozoic and Cenozoic
caught between Anno Domini and Christ
Tongue
caught between euthanasia and DOA
caught between life’s mystery and seppuku
Tongue
-
Caught
Crushed
Compressed
Squeezed
Squashed
Tongue
Destroyed
Demolished
Disintegrated
Tongue
-
Caught
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.06.26.17.47.20@130BklynNYC