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"The Blue Sun Light" by David Hart A blue sun gyrates in a chrystalline green sky. Flowers made of diamonds float In purple sun light chanting to giddy birds swimming smoothly and certainly in an orange and gold sea.
24 Jan 2008
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"Now" by David Hart Let us embark now, you and I, As evening splays out to The blue-black sky. Let us proceed through Particular smooth stoned Streets, To incoherent rowdy Retreats, To white table-clothed Restaurants, To four Star hotels with mints on the pillows, With cherished friends And expound of noble great deeds, And then, To dancing streets that Entice our feet. And indeed this is now This gallant moment in Time. Gales of laughter now Skyrocket through the roof twirling in the warm dark sky, then bounce now down to tickle the tops of our heads. The time is now And always will be. No time for the past. No time for the future. They don't really exist. Now exists. Now will be the moment. Now will always be the moment. Forever, now.
21 Aug 2009
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poeme de l'amour par David Hart, Artiste Americain
30 Jan 2008
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T.S. Eliot poem read by Illinois Artist David John Hart I The winter evening settles down With smell of steaks in passageways. Six o'clock. The burnt-out ends of smoky days. And now a gusty shower wraps The grimy scraps Of withered leaves about your feet And newspapers from vacant lots; The showers beat On broken blinds and chimneypots, And at the corner of the street A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps. And then the lighting of the lamps. II The morning comes to consciousness Of faint stale smells of beer From the sawdust-trampled street With all its muddy feet that press To early coffee-stands. With the other masquerades That times resumes, One thinks of all the hands That are raising dingy shades In a thousand furnished rooms. III You tossed a blanket from the bed You lay upon your back, and waited; You dozed, and watched the night revealing The thousand sordid images Of which your soul was constituted; They flickered against the ceiling. And when all the world came back And the light crept up between the shutters And you heard the sparrows in the gutters, You had such a vision of the street As the street hardly understands; Sitting along the bed's edge, where You curled the papers from your hair, Or clasped the yellow soles of feet In the palms of both soiled hands. IV His soul stretched tight across the skies That fade behind a city block, Or trampled by insistent feet At four and five and six o'clock; And short square fingers stuffing pipes, And evening newspapers, and eyes Assured of certain certainties, The conscience of a blackened street Impatient to assume the world. I am moved by fancies that are curled Around these images, and cling: The notion of some infinitely gentle Infinitely suffering thing. Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh; The worlds revolve like ancient women Gathering fuel in vacant lots.
30 Jan 2008
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"Ode to a Sandpiper" by Dave Hart Cognoscente of ocean sand and waves Peck-nibbling your days away Spindly legs ever in prestissimo gait Strafe the sand in staccacto flecks quaff an undulating tide -- a delectable salt water tope. ©David Hart 2006 Oda para Ave Zancuda Semejante a la agachadiza ---Amado pequeño ave Chico pico como pequeño espada Pequeño pata sin miedo raspadura la plaza Darse prisa Darse prisa Yanquilargo chico ave Darse un banquete del ondulante ola Amado pequeño ave Amado pequeño ave
30 Jan 2008
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''This My Dear Earth'' by Dave Hart - This My Dear Earth- by Dave Hart Now, the majestic rivers swell Rise - flood - and absorb all coasts of land This earth long violated spews up stentorian cries Tears of bright dewy lava now jettison up One hundred thousand miles in a dark blue sky A myriad of tiny cheerful stars Hasten to prickle Earths long ravaged crown.
30 Jan 2008
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''Verse'' by Mr. David Hart Be not harried by apostasy spates Surcease ye flux of basilic imprecations Adhibit ye ,supernal paracletes The pith of divinity An Achates, Vae victis In this temporal realm Chatoyant fanfaronade Sursurrant congeries Erelong abate Shun the gaffer's gammon Arcadian maundering Avaunt kaleidoscopic zealotry Bandy a cutlass perfervid Ex aequo et bono Beneficence's glaive bandies. Preside atheling echt In pharos of Nestor Bestow succor to the augean Boeothians! Malign them not--for now come the celestial shower To halidom, shepard, solace and anele Ye benighted churls vocabulary- spate-flood; arcadian-rural/simple; echt-adj.-genuine; Nestor-the god of wisdom; Achaetes-any faithful friend; chatoyant-possessing a changeable luster; rein-v.-to curb or restrain; amative-amatory; anele-v.- to annoint; harry-to torment by constant attack; perfervid-ardent/very fervid; ex aequo et bono-L.-according to the principle of fairness and good; bandy-to beat to and fro; vae victic-L.-woe to the vanquished; gammon-nonsense; gaffer- an old crone; flux-flow; fanfaronade--n.-bragging/ostentation/bluster; congeries-heap; susurrant-adj-whispering; basilic-lowly/base; pith-vigor/force/strength; supernal-celestial; imprecations-curses; halidom-a holy place/holiness; Pallas Athena-Gr.goddess of wisdom; quotha-arch.-indeed! Forsooth!; paracletes-someone who aids and supports; glaive-sword; pharos-lighthouse; atheling-ancient crown prince; adhibit-to let in/admit; benighted-adj-overtaken by darkness; bestead-to aid; anele-to annoint; contemn-v.-to view with contempt; solace-n. comfort in sorrow
22 Feb 2011
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"Issue No. B-1610" by David Hart Black rectangular, quasi-rectangular, plastic half darkened Now with shades of gray -- reflecting White steel stalk of tin Jutting out to a white sheet Small oval shape - one third severed sphere Affixed on the apex of a twin stalk - elliptical Silver and gray tube with a creviced Serpentine spine Sitting staring beaming unrelentlessly Interminable Soft muffled tones whirring the concordant monotone melody of D flat No remorse or afterthought just base exploitation of energy
8 Feb 2008
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"An Infant Sighs" by David Hart Upright in a crib, legs akimbo, an infant sighs. Windows in the ceiling--a sky light-- a warm radiance of blues, yellows, and scintillating hues of pales corruscating courteously down upon this wide-eyed infant. Upright and attent, legs akimbo, bathing in rapturous caresses of undulating streams of sparkling light, two tiny hands hold firm. Now with toothless miniature mouth, wee gums press upon the pleasure yielding coolness of the smooth plastic crib railing. Anon, incomprehensible voices --muffled and muddled-- ooze through thin walls to the infant's new ears. Contented within incomprehension and delighting in wonderment, an infant sighs.
18 Feb 2008
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Roxy Hart at Funny Girls Blackpool - Opening Number
25 Feb 2008
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Eros Tyrannos read by David Hart She fears him, and will always ask What fated her to choose him; She meets in his engaging mask All reason to refuse him. But what she meets and what she fears Are less than are the downward years, Drawn slowly to the foamless weirs Of age, were she to lose him. Between a blurred sagacity That once had power to sound him, And Love, that will not let him be The Judas that she found him, Her pride assuages her almost As if it were alone the cost-- He sees that he will not be lost, And waits, and looks around him. A sense of ocean and old trees Envelops and allures him; Tradition, touching all he sees, Beguiles and reassures him. And all her doubts of what he says Are dimmed by what she knows of days, Till even Prejudice delays And fades, and she secures him. The falling leaf inaugurates The reign of her confusion; The pounding wave reverberates The dirge of her illusion. And Home, where passion lived and died, Becomes a place where she can hide, While all the town and harbor side Vibrate with her seclusion. We tell you, tapping on our brows, The story as it should be, As if the story of a house Were told, or ever could be. We'll have no kindly veil between Her visions and those we have seen-- As if we guessed what hers have been, Or what they are or would be. Meanwhile we do no harm, for they That with a god have striven, Not hearing much of what we say, Take what the god has given. Though like waves breaking it may be, Or like a changed familiar tree, Or like a stairway to the sea, Where down the blind are driven. Edwin Arlington Robinson
3 Mar 2008
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Sweta helps Hart read his short poem in Nepalese
4 Mar 2008
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