Bark Too: Dogs Bark, #3

By Charles Harvey

In "Bark Too" the poet delves deep into the essence of humanity, laying bare the raw and unvarnished truths of life. These verses are not just poems; they are the barks, growls, whines, and snuggles of the human experience. Just as a dog barks to capture your attention and growls in the face of danger, these poems demand your attention, whether they make you pause and reflect or rush to your fridge for a cucumber (we leave that up to your imagination).

 

This collection is a visceral exploration of our shared human experiences and emotions. It's about the laughter and the tears, the joys and the sorrows, and the complex tapestry of our lives. "Bark Too" is a poetic journey that invites you to embrace the truth, unfiltered and unapologetic. So, take a chance, breeze through the samples, and immerse yourself in the symphony of words that make up our humanity. Woof!

 

Excerpts:

 

After the Club

Empty-handed, empty-hearted, empty pocketed you go home

Where is the love Where is the love your heart sings a sad sad song

You drank and acted a fool, laughed when you wanted to cry

Kept up appearances in the Ed Hardy rags you procured from Costco

You flashed change, chain and eyes. One paid attention then

Discounted your pennies and cheap gold-filled dreams

You didn't matter naked or clothed in his eyes

Your change and chains ain't enough

To warm your bed.

 

Young Bones

 

maybe it's because you

haven't traveled the path littered

with broken glass and stepped over

carcasses of despair, maybe it's because your eyes shine bright with moon dreams

and maybe it's the silly things

like running naked through parks and mooning

old farmers riding ancient mechanical mules,

dancing until your skin turns liquid, or doing that "flip" thing with your hair curled like fingers...

I don't know...

maybe it's just you calling me "poppi" that makes me

love you, young bones.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wes Writers and Publishers
• Release date: Sep 2, 2013
• ISBN: 9781878774071

Charles Harvey

Charles Harvey taught and practised astrology for over 30 years. His books include ‘Working with Astrology’, ‘Mundane Astrology’ and ‘Sun Sign, Moon Sign’. He was co-ordinator with Liz Greene of The Centre of Psychological Astrology and died in 2000.

Book preview

Mother’s Advice

THE NORMAL PEOPLE

who rattle on about

sports about the weather

their kids their lovely toxic wives—

they won’t understand you

won’t understand that in your silence

you’re writing them into poems, songs,

folding them into pages 

of psalms and novels

giving their banal chatter

titles and life long after

their graves are paved over

and under Piggly Wiggly’s.

‘S UP, DAWG...MY BOI...MY NIGGA...MY DAWG...MY JIGGA...MY SHORTY

YOUNG NIGGA I

The young niggas

you know what i’m sayin’

the young niggas

slappin hands

pow pow pow

slappin hot hands

together

you know what i’m sayin

slappin hot hands

then pullin gats

and blowin holes

in each other’s manhood

you know what i’m sayin

pow pow pow

guts runneth over

south side chi—town

eastside philly

oakland, Kinsasha, Luanda

you know what i’m sayin

my ass drowns cause

niggas slap hands

then blow holes in each other’s manhood.

Maybe just maybe we oughta

greet each other by shakin dicks

you know what i’m sayin

instead of this hand slappin bullshit

it ain’t a love jones thang

you know what i’m sayin

it’s an intimacy thang

just maybe we gotta feel each other

get close to the thang that created us

to know us to survive us.

This ain’t bout no back door action

it’s about us surviving

‘til the trilenium

you don’t feel me yet

but one day you will be conscious

one day nigga, it will be our day.

Young Nigga II

Caressing me in alcoholic fog

loving me through clouds of poppers

then in your blue sky clarity

acting like i’m a storm cloud...

Nigga Nigga

I’m not your Daddy.

True I’ve seen decades

You’ve only dreamed.

I saluted with John John his

daddy’s flag draped box of bones,

danced in my Mama’s pink pillbox hats

seen Watts and Detroit

baptized by fire.

I’ve witnessed young black panthers

with mouths soft and tender like yours

spit venom at honky honky honky

then secretly go play Pin the tail on the donkey donkey

using their white girl’s ass as the ass’s ass.

I wrote a poem about that

while you were pissing in kindergarten  toilets

Nigga, did you ever read, Before the Big Chill, There was the 60’s

and i said, Made sex with plump chicken-fat colored blondes.

Have you forgotten what I was talking about?

Me, I was nourished by the blood

of King and I too have dreamed

all kinds of shit like

flying suburbs, walking on Mars,

blondes sucking my dick

and of my children your age now

not knowing what the hell I’m jaw jacking about

like you don’t.

You know Lauryn Hill

and Lauryn Hill knows her shit from the history books

so logic leads to the theory that you know history

But it’s a flawed theory because all you know is

Abercrombie and Fitch, Banana Republic

Nigga don’t even know that Banana Republic

is a slur is a slur

Hell no nigga nigga I’m not your Daddy

I’m your lover and I’m your hater

Because so much love is bottled as hate.

You know that, You know that in your heart.

That’s why you brutalize the air between us

hate love hate love it’s the same fucking thing.

I am not full of wisdom.  I eat and shit bullshit too.

Sometimes I forget Banana Republic is a slur

and despair because my toilet is not made of stained glass

I am flesh, hair, and Madison Avenue.

So accept me nigga, guilt free or die frying

in the dreams of your lies.

Young Nigga III

young nigga, you think

muscle is power and your

dick can split mountains