''Incantation to the Night'' by David Hart(Published 2006)

Puddles smile and slyly wink to the whispering slick streets.
Lo, a passerby tearfully weeps
Weeps through the panes of the dark

Raffish street   more...lights groan and cackle at moths and flys
A woman's banshee gait beckons and paws at yearning passersby
Arrant eyes now pierced by neon sirens
Igneous memories of other times--a spingier step, a lighter mind

Amidst the smells of charred meat and rotting flowers,
Cars sigh in minor chords--crooning smoky arpeggios
A darkness histoire--a Nyxian wail--an incantation to the night.

vocabulary: raffish-adj.-characterized by rowdy carefree unconventionality; banshee-Irish Folklore-a female spirit forboding the demise of a loved one; igneous-adj.-fiery; Nyx-myth-god of night
For oil paintings and more poems by David Hart go to: http://groups.msn.com/hart2/shoebox.msnw  less

"On Gelid Night" by David Hart
On gelid night, prone amidst this small sea of
faineant coverlets,
A nimeity of somnolent susurrations--
Bombinate and pierce the greyblack night.

Still, the foundling   more...lies on bilious pillow
A radiator's dolorous tintinnabulation
Harmonizes a fan's punctilious paean.

On this gelid night,
A languid pillow kisses this naive cheek.

Vocabulary
Bilious-ill-tempered; Foundling-lost child; nimiety-excess (n);
dolorous-sad; tintinnabulation-tinkling sound; susurrations(n)-whispers; faineant(adj)- idle; gelid-icy cold; bombinate-buzz or hum; punctilious-precise; paean- a song of praise

Published in "Taj Mahal Review" Agra, India  less

Piano composition by David Hart

horses,talking to the animals

POetry reading by David Hart Constantly Risking Absurdity
by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Constantly risking absurdity
and death
whenever he performs
above the heads
of his audience
the poet like an acrobat
climbs   more...on rime
to a high wire of his own making
and balancing on eyebeams
above a sea of faces
paces his way
to the other side of the day
performing entrechats
and sleight-of-foot tricks
and other high theatrics
and all without mistaking
any thing
for what it may not be
For he's the super realist
who must perforce perceive
taut truth
before the taking of each stance or step
in his supposed advance
toward that still higher perch
where Beauty stands and waits
with gravity
to start her death-defying leap
And he
a little charleychaplin man
who may or may not catch
her fair eternal form
spreadeagled in the empty air
of existence  less

pastel art by American Artist David Hart

me and horsey

"Jardim dos prazeres" por David Cervo que dá uma volta, sorrindo, sonhando com o cão e a borboleta banhada no prazer em cima da alegria clara deliciosa que cumpre em meu jardim lá   more...que vive esplêndida eu sou princesa bonita, a princesa maravilhosa chama uma fuga com prazer em meu jardim que ama louca o cão e os sentimentos da borboleta flui através de meu jardim que tece ao redor e ao redor ao explosões maravilhosas da alegria meus princesa e I em meu jardim do prazer  less

Cute squirrel on a branch.

" Night's Moments " by David Hart
As twilight surrenders to Nyx's ebony splendor,
A bewildered truck wrinkles a forlorn car's reticent fender.
Myriad sounds transude night's diaphanous black   more...veil.
The wares of the dark are hawked by its' vendors' wales.
The alchemist barman's tantalizing brew,
Enkindles nepenthe promises for the few.
Stentorian banter scurrilously permeates a smoke filled room--
Compeers coincide quietly 'til melting into blathering bafoons.

A femme fatale's beseeching glances, switch anon into erotic trances
While motorcycle's buzzgrowl like machine guns coiling
Sirens portend like mad tarantella dancers roiling

Staccato whistles and yells, scorched tires screeching
Entwine with serpentine banshee winds infamously preaching

Anon, eve's riotous crescendo of cries now subsides
Welcoming the approach of Madame Aurora's ebullient eyes.
DavidHart1993USA
roil-to vex/disturb/displease; ebullient-zestfully enthusiastic/boiling;  less

Andante,hartistry

The Seasons of Your Love by David Hart

When bright lightening
Slices throught the
Soft blue sky and
Your eyes delightfully
Dance in joy and glee,
My heart does gloriously sing.

Anon, seasons sprightly go
hither   more...and yon.

Amidst the swirling orange and yellow leaves of
Autumn's caress, your pixie
Smile beams resplendent and light.

When bright jagged lightening cleaves
The pliant blue black night,
Your gentle soothing love bathes
my yearning heart this fair night.  less

Poetry reading with wild pit bull puppy

The Emperor of Ice-Cream

Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
  more...Bring flowers in last month's newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Take from the dresser of deal,
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.
Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

-- Wallace Stevens
read by David Hart  less

Sir Patrick Spens

The King sits in Dunfermline town,
Drinking the blood-red wine;
"O where shall I get a skeely skipper
To sail this ship or mine?"

Then up and spake   more...an eldern knight,
Sat at the King's right knee:
"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
That ever sailed the sea."

The King has written a broad letter,
And sealed it with his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
Was walking on the strand.

"To Noroway, to Noroway,
To Noroway o'er the foam;
The King's daughter of Noroway,
'Tis thou must fetch her home."

The first line that Sir Patrick read,
A loud laugh laughed he;
The next line that Sir Patrick read,
The tear blinded his ee.

"O who is this has done this deed,
Has told the King of me,
To send us out at this time of the year,
To sail upon the sea?

"Be it wind, be it wet, be it hail, be it sleet,
Our ship must sail the foam;
The king's daughter of Noroway,
'Tis we must fetch her home."

They hoisted their sails on Monenday morn,
With all the speed they may;
And they have landed in Noroway
Upon a Wodensday

They had not been a week, a week,
In Noroway but twae,
When that the lords of Noroway
Began aloud to say, -

"Ye Scottishmen spend all our King's gowd,
And all our Queenis fee."
"Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud!
So loud I hear ye lie.

"For I brought as much of the white monie
As gane my men and me,
And a half-fou of the good red gowd
Out o'er the sea with me.

"Make ready, make ready, my merry men all,
Our good ship sails the morn."
"Now, ever alack, my master dear
I fear a deadly storm.

"I saw the new moon late yestreen
With the old moon in her arm;
And if we go to sea, master,
I fear we'll come to harm."

They had not sailed a league, a league,
A league but barely three,
When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,
And gurly grew the sea.

The ankers brake and the top-masts lap,
It was such a deadly storm;
And the waves came o'er the broken ship
Till all her sides were torn.

"O where will I get a good sailor
Will take my helm in hand,
Till I get up to the tall top-mast
To see if I can spy land?"

"O here am I, a sailor good,
Will take the helm in hand,
Till you go up to the tall top-mast,
But I fear you'll ne'er spy land."

He had not gone a step, a step,
A step but barely ane,
When a bolt flew out of the good ship's side,
And the salt sea came in.

"Go fetch a web of the silken cloth,
Another of the twine,
And wap them into our good ship's side,
And let not the sea come in."

They fetched a web of the silken cloth,
Another of the twine,
And they wapp'd them into the good ship's side,
But still the sea came in.

O loth, both, were our good Scots lords
To wet their cork-heel'd shoon,
But long ere all the play was play'd
They wet their hats aboon.

And many was the feather-bed
That fluttered on the foam;
And many was the good lord's son
That never more came home.

The ladies wrang their fingers white,
The maidens tore their heair,
All for the sake of their true loves,
For them they'll see nae mair.

O lang, lang may the maidens sit
With their gold combs in their hair,
All waiting for their own dear loves,
For them they'll see nae mair.

O forty miles of Aberdeen,
'Tis fifty fathoms deep;
And there lies good Sir Patrick Spens,
With the Scots lords at his feet.  less

to be played with reserved furor

I spend time with a squirrel up close & personal

I talk to the Albino Ferret with Red Eyes

rapid slide show of my art of people and animals I have seen

I look at little stuffed animals at a store

"The Gates of Istar" by David Hart
The Gates of Istar
Now do the mountains wiggle
and giddily squirm

while solemnly sauntering
towards
A great fuming
cantankerous ocean

Sunrise... the Gate of Istar.
  more...
A blissful moon and
jolly bouncing stars

tango tersely

under
a scintillating
prickly shower of

chartreuse

Sun beams
Peace
and fervent love
blithely abound.

Now,
at the noble Gate of Ishtar.

(This poem was originally written in Aramaic in 1998 by Dave Hart) Poems in Foreign Languages by David Hart at http://www.poetrypoem.com/hart1  less

by hart,piano improvisation

Amharic,hartistry