Just A Taste

My beautiful beauty -
or maybe the "my"
is just wishful thinking -
thoughts of you have been
creeping around my brain,
snaking around the crevices
all day, it seems.

I want to be the sweater
you put on when you're cold,
and wrap you in my arms
and never let you go.

I want to be the coffee
that you sip with your pink lips,
feeling the warmth of love
spreading down to your toes.

I want to touch the bottle
of perfume, that swirls
around your glistening body
and leaves me so enticed.

I want to feel your pillow -
the same fluffy white marshmellow
that you rest on every night
dreaming sweet, tender dreams.

I want to taste your skin, my friend -
does it truly taste like roses?
All I want is just a taste of you -
your life, your love,
your hopes, your fears,
desires, pleasures
and beautiful body.
Please, just a taste of you -
before my time comes, and I taste
the earth.

My beautiful beauty -
or maybe the "my"
is just wishful thinking -
thoughts of you have been creeping
around my brain...


~J.V.Harker~
~Monday 13 April 2009~

Insomniac

It is two fifty-eight in the morning.
the house he is currently inhabiting
is soundless.
His bedroom fails to make
even one small noise
to remind him
of civilization.

Yet, despite his blurry vision,
he can not stop examining
the glowing red numbers
next to his bed.
They examine him back,
laughing at him, mocking him.
They call him
the Insomniac.

But in the next house on the right,
two children are sleeping
in a double-mattress.
Their eyes are closed lightly,
and, hand in hand,
they are now only active
in a world of dreams.

One block away,
an elderly woman slumbers,
sitting upright in her rocking chair.
The soothing sounds of an infomercial
keep her from waking
into her arthritic world of pain.

Somewhere across town,
A cat is napping
on the edge
of some woman's bed.

Deep in the city,
a homeless man is using
an empty pizza box
as his pillow.

Yet the Insomniac is not following
the actions of his fellow peers.
All he can do
is stare, maddeningly, at those numbers:
haunting him every night.

Until, in a fit of desperation,
he grasps the alarm clock's cord
and rips it from the wall.
The numbers slowly die away,
until all that is left
is a square, black mass
on his night table.

But still, the Insomniac
can not sleep.


~J.V.Harker~
~Saturday 11 July 2009~
~3:15 a.m.~

If You Have Never

You don't understand true happiness
If you have never felt true pain;
You can not become a therapist
If you have never gone insane.
You don't comprehend life's meaning
If you have never tried to have one;
You can't count your lucky stars
If you have never stared into the sun.
You will never really say "sorry",
If you have never felt any real regret;
You can not count on remembering life,
If you have never tried to just forget.
You can not call yourself depressed
If you have never been too sad to cry;
You will never really feel alive
If you have never had the guts to die...


~J.V.Harker~
~2005~

I Am the Seashell

Tiny, timid, I am
picked apart by vultures
for the sweet, tasty goodness
of my heart.
Giants step on me:
crushing, stomping
with their steel-toed boots.
Yet I rarely ever shatter.
With cunning, and skill
I will stand beside you:
the ocean of my desire;
the raging sea of my lust.
We never part, you and I,
And every night
that you feel alone,
crying into the darkness
you can always hear me.
Just lift me up to your ear
and hear my echo
as it travels deep into your soul.
I am the seashell.


~J.V.Harker~
~Friday 24 April 2009~

I Am the Mountain

Courageous, fierce,
fortified by time,
I stand strong
against nature's waves
of ultimate destruction.
Fires, hail, hurricanes -
the occasional heartbreak -
will never befall
my stony complexion.
With iron-like intensity
and an invulnerable heart
I will stand next to you
and shield you from
the snowstorms of life.
My eyes are like granite:
sheets of gray rock,
void of compassion
except when the light
from your deep blue eyes
shines into them.
And every night
that you feel alone,
whispering into the darkness,
you will always hear
my whispering
echoing back to you.
I am the mountain.

~J.V.Harker~
~Thursday 23 April 2009~

Hospital

The smell of mourning combs my nostrils
as I wander around the dimly-litted halls.
I can almost taste the raging dispair
and hear the heartbreak, the loss, the fading,
the dying.
Right in front of me, a stretcher awaits
to send my pour soul into Heaven or Hell,
and what surrounds me now can drive one mad:
the call of many fragile bodies
to come to a better, forgotten place.
No one here is walking out the same.
(that is, if they walk out at all)
for this place seeps into a mind,
worming its way into every creak and crevice
until it forces you to go back inside,
worse off than you were before.
I am afraid now to even cross the corner,
for fear of seeing Death, in all his glory,
reaching out with his bony arm
to suck one more soul
(is it room 1-B, 2-A, or 3-C?)
into an ever-deepening, consuming abyss.


~J.V.Harker~
~30 June 2008~

Hope - Written With S.R.C.

Hope is the beginning of each new day;
Another opportunity to make things right;
To rise up from sorrows in dramatic way;
To laugh, to love, to shine your light.

Hope is the start of a brand new journey:
First brave steps taken on a daunting quest
To achieve all that you never thought you’d be;
To laugh, to love, to live your best.

Hope is a kind word from a dear, dear friend,
A feeling that reaches your very soul.
Even the slightest smile can help you to mend,
To laugh, to love, to make you whole.

Hope is a bird who owns the bluest sky;
And, even in death, he will not depart
From wisdom gleaned freely as wings onward fly
To laughter, to love, into your heart.

Hope is a metaphor for faith not dead
When all else fails and angels fall;
It comes to save our souls instead
Of losing laughter, love, and our predestined call.

Hope is the angel ever rising in flight,
Whose constant motion leaves no chance to despair;
She comes to your darkness bringing her light
To see that laughter and love in life has always been there.


~J.V.Harker and S.R.C.
~March 2009~