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 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

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 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.

me and horsey

to be played with reserved furor

horses,talking to the animals

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. 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

" 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 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;

''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 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

by hart,piano improvisation

piano

Hart Piano composition

"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 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

Amharic,hartistry

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 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.