Author: Steven Harz
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The poetry of Steven Harz / “Falling” Today my promise to you is to overcome my fear of heights tomorrow so that I can begin to climb and float and soar eyes open and looking down so that I can practice repeatedly falling off of rooftops falling out of trees and falling from balloons until…
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Gas station road map Your history had been written in pencil on bathroom walls by inaccurate historians bent on cruel conquest rather than mutual capture. And while we had been told history is written by the victor, I do not subscribe to that theory because, in actuality, history is written by those who survive…
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Anno Domini (A.D.) In the beginning I was a void but now you have become the light allowing me to find my missing parts (and car keys) now I want so badly to recite to you our future from memory and I know that if I lean into you, and try very hard and…
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Stitched-together heart You have blown your fuse and are becoming almost impossible to see day or night Your light used to shine with such force that when you arose each morning you cast my shadow against the sun Now when I pull the string that made your bare bulb shine it instead…
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Falling Today my promise to you is to overcome my fear of heights tomorrow so that I can begin to climb and float and soar eyes open and looking down so that I can practice repeatedly falling off of rooftops falling out of trees and falling from balloons until I have earned and learned…
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Scorched earth love You preferred to make love slowly, as if you were afraid that any increased speed would cause friction that would spark the oxygen we hadn’t yet used, sending up the room around us. I preferred the speed of passion and impurity, because with my dying-from-the-inside-out, scorched earth approach to love,…
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My poem, “Cradle of the Earth,” was recently featured at The Voices Project – more about this initiative below. Please read the piece here! The Voices Project is a non-judgmental venue for women, and also men, to express their personal stories and observations through poetry to promote social change. We publish the work of women and…
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The sacrament of sorrow After the box opened, allowing us to walk again among the most of the living and some of the dead, we lifted each other up so often and so high that he were forced to begin practicing to fall. But while we were at such great heights, and searching…
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Deep in a well called yesterday your love letters to me water damaged and smelling like the year before last are attached with twigs to the mossy stone wall attempting to dry while the fairy tale’s damp blue ink separates on the pages surrounding me with a tie-dyed tomorrow absent of us for now,…
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End table eternal smile photograph I used a glove box Bic pen to draw a decades-old treasure map on the back of one of your turn-of-the-century love notes Under an edge-of-town half-moon sky a chain link fence circles the footprint of a couples skate roller rink under what is now an empty construction…
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Favorites If I were a town square public library I would make you the final page of my favorite book that I don’t want to read because I never want the story to end. If I were a 20th century record store I would make you the grooves in the vinyl of my…
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Holy water shot glass Intoxicating and excruciating, a baggy Bob Marley T-shirt hanging off your shoulder when we first met I felt, drunk on you, I should be forced to walk a sidewalk straight line and touch an extended finger to my nose. On weekend barstools we alternated playing the game and arguing…
Steven Harz / Americana Soul 