Author: Steven Harz
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To much of the world hallowed ground is a grotto under a church in oh little town. To others it’s a sacred monolith in Mecca or along the banks of the river Ganges. Some feel it’s the killing fields of Gettysburg or where their hearts are buried South Dakota. And others find hallowed two holes…
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Every fall rain or shine – shine is better – the trek to a town 30 minutes to the south (is anything in Connecticut really south?) is made by he and his boys and this one-day round trip has been made ten years running and now seems like a reflex rather than a plan. For…
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The red brick walls and pea green trim look tired and the rust on the window frames is visible from any distance. This decay is amplified by the beautiful sepia brick replacement being built to its right. As much as you want (need) the building to be there forever, and wonder from your home three…
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Title piece from my book of poetry and short fiction – available on Amazon and B&N by searching ‘steven harz’ — The cloud that covers me when I trace the curve of your back The blindness that overcomes me when I see the back of your knee The hangover I fight through on the morning after we…
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Anything that I’ve done in the past six months has been done perfunctorily for I am never free of the thought of the phone call or the conversation that informs me that ‘you’ will not be continuing your role in ‘us’ We are both in demand and where I ignore my inbox and select not…
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The monochromatic grey of sky, water, and rocky landscape lays before us (and beyond) in strict opposition to the vibrant aurora that surrounds you and us hand in hand as we walk north (and away from home) between worn stones and broken shells on the beaches of coastal Maine well before spring and just after…
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I can never seem to get close enough to you. Whether me inside of you or you surrounding me the pull is too great and I cannot seem to be fulfilled even though there is nothing between us but time. There is far too much of you for me to discover in the short span…
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When I look at the two of you it is apparent (at least to me) that one of you is looking forward and one is looking back. The one that is outgoing and gregarious looks hopefully to the uncertainty of the future and the one that is introverted and retrospective looks longingly for the…
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When he was younger he would have focused on the beers and the cleavage but now as they sat on the cool april pool deck overlooking the narragansett bay and took in the pink and yellow and orange haze of the sun vanishing behind masts and sails and wisps he focused instead on the woman…
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Because on Saturday night I am in bed and fall asleep alone Because on Sunday morning I sit in a pew and wait for help forsaken Because on Monday I sit at my desk and try to work isolated Because each day I formulate love letters to you on pretty paper undelivered…
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From my book of poetry and short fiction titled “Song’s you can’t dance to” – now available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. — While you were here (and were mine) my mind was deaf and blind (or numb) and everything you said and did was silent and invisible But now that you are gone…
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My suicide was reported with no reason but you know the truth
Steven Harz / Americana Soul 