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3AM – Poems and Stories From the Other Mind


Charles Harvey


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Wes Writers and Publishers on Smashwords

3AM – Poems and Stories From the Other Mind

Copyright © 2017 by Charles Harvey

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This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organizations, or locales is entirely coincidental.

A poem comes innocently into the world.

Table of Contents


IT’s 3AM


The Man in The Moon 1

The Man in the Moon 2

Night Clothes

A Good Dog

Poem on A Horse


Club Boyland

Mattress on a Street Corner

Nightmare Dreams

3AM Dilemma

A Dog and a Nightmare

Duckbill Platypus 3AM

Uber Women

Mystery 3AM



Love Doctor

I Know Why the Caged Bird Went Crazy

Living Through Your Hair

The Seven Spells


Tell Me A Bedtime Story


Writing Poems


The Preacher and Some Bucks

Banana Pudding

My Private Toilet

The Editr


The Beast He doesn’t Tell his Friends About



Unscented Soap

The Library After Midnight

Write a Poem While I Fuck You

To Dream the Impossible Dream

The Cookie Monster


Window Shopping

The Boy Watchers

Summer Day

The Resilient Nigga

Smoke, Mirrors, and Niggas


Boy in Silver One Summer Day

Wonder Boy



Lady Vanity

The Chocolate Eater


The DL



The Mustang

From A 3rd Floor Window

Dude in a Red Car



Antique Roadshow

History 2257

The Revolution


The Ghetto is the World

Dealey Plaza 2015


Go Bang! Bang!


The Rebellion

To Know Not One


Farting at Funerals and In The Museum of Lies


A Blank Canvas


The Artist


Little Sister

How To Tell Who the Old Men Are

That Boy

Two More Seconds of Joy

The Lamp #2


He Has the Most

Purple Secrets

The Girl in the Salmon Blouse

New York THOTs

My Jonah

The Black Sea


The Edge of Madness

Six Cents

Gatesville Texas

The Mirror

Sister Brown Had the Last Word


About The Author


How did it get so late so soon?

Dr. Seuss



Walking through the house naked at 3 a.m.

The air is your garment

Used Trojans cushion your feet.

You hear your roommate making love

With the one, you called Dr. Spock ears.

Your breath and dick brush the door

As you stand at the threshold and wonder,

If you should knock and ask to borrow

A cup of raw sugar? You don’t need much,

Just a cup to dip your fingers in sweet stickiness,

Just enough to still your parched trembling lips.

The Man in the Moon 1

Who's up at 2 am?
The midnight oil has long burned out.
Sleep and sex roll restless
On worn mattresses.
Dreams escape open eyes
Shadows rattle the door
Three o'clock is the witching hour
Red ashes float from patios
Eyes across the courtyard catch you breathing.
You look away only to look again.
You know your lonely mattress would enjoy the company
And your lilac-scented air could use some funk.
But the night won't last a lifetime, so
You slip back into your room and wonder,
What if there is a man in the moon?

The Man in the Moon 2

Through the open window, the Crown Plaza beckons

In red neon stars just beyond rooftops and

Night colored trees.

My room is dark, but my window yawns

Letting in silver moonlight.

Masculine voices rise from the balcony below.

The conversation is peppered with

Black bitches and white “hoes.”

Smoke drifts in through the open window.

I have been hypnotized all night

By visions of prancing horses.

My only relief is self-sacrifice.

I drop my pants and aim at the man in the moon.

Those horses rear up on hind legs,

Their tails swat lilies and flies

Their cocks drown the grass.

In a moment, I call his name--

The one in the moon,

Smiles and swallows every drop.

Night Clothes

The best time to be naked is 3:00 am

Black velvet skin is the proper attire

As you stand on your balcony

Stroking the night

A little drink, a little smoke, a little lonely.

There ought to be other men

Standing on their porches too

Aiming the red tips of their cigarettes

At you.

A Good Dog

The neighbor beats his dog at 3AM
and he don't stop
I hear her tail beating the wall
and he don't stop
She gnaws on his bone
and he don't stop
All night long she whines
and he don't stop
Her collar and chain drags the floor
and he don't stop
She begs at the table
and he don't stop
She rolls over and plays dead
and he don't stop
She fetches his slippers
and he don't stop
She trees his birds
and he don't stop
She has his puppies
and he don't stop
All I hear in the wee hours is
Bitch, bitch, bitch!
And he don't stop.

Poem On A Horse

At 3 AM I wrote a poem on a horse.

He told me to.

He said, I want my ass to be artfully used.

What they write on tombstones is bullshit

But what you write on the left flank

I’ll let Jesus read.

So I wrote:

Brown hills grow berries ripening

In summer sun. The sweet juice runs down my chin

Turns to wine, sweeter than anything

That started with water.

“The Lord will be offended,”

The horse neighed.

“Who said he would read this poem?”

I asked.


corn on the cob at 3 AM
that witching bitching hour
when everything conceived is immaculate
until the shit hits the fan
nine months later.
"Oh no baby you can't go back.
I've let you live
My coat hanger, unbent,
is wrapped in fox
in the closet."

So here you are five decades later
teeth gnawing on a corn on the cob
You'd rather it had been
that tall thing whose hips wrote poems.
But hey these days eating is about surviving
loving ain't about Jack'd
Oh no not that
I mean loving ain't ... isn't ... is
slipping between your fingers.
And now you're finished with the corn
but the cob ... is it a possibility?

Club Boyland

So much lonesomeness after the club

Shuts off the jazzing lights--
makes one wonder if there was a point to all
the flash and glitter and the new shoes
giving your feet the blues.
After the hug dap hug dap hug dap
And the bourbon has diluted the blood,
Three AM is the lonely hour
except for crickets and the cars
whizzing down the freeway
and your heart beating solo under the sheets.
You tell your hand to be still,
the night's seen enough futility
Perhaps tomorrow. Perhaps tomorrow.

Mattress on a Street Corner

It’s 3 AM

For those who can't make it
From the bar
To the car,
There's love to be made 
Under the lamplight 
Under the moon’s sight.
Stars witness, and twinkle
Their blue bright approval. 
Don't worry about the stop sign.
Red is the color of love

As you get down on this bed

Of satin and rusty springs.

Nightmare Dreams

At 3 AM I hide poems under the mattress from him--
The monster who shakes my shoulders and 
Fucks me in the ass.

“3am is a bad hour for love,” I say.

The monster doesn't agree.
The door clicks. “Show me a poem,” he says.

“The lord is my shepherd,

I shall not want,” I chant
He backs off.

“Tomorrow is another night,” he says

Before the door rattles in his wind.

3AM Dilemma

Did he say take three pills or thirty?
“There's a lifetime of difference,” a voice says. 
“Doctors don't know everything,”

I say back.

A Dog and a Nightmare

Who is this that comes in the dark,

Who presses against the small of my back,

And shoulders? I want to kiss him,

But instead I curse and shout the twenty-third psalm,

“The Lord is my shepherd,

I shall not want!”

Sometimes he leaves right away

And sometimes he lingers longer

Turned on by my struggle.

He digs his fingers into my ass.

I look forward to his coming

Not the Lord’s but this thing

I look forward to him mashing me into the mattress.

When he’s had enough,

I hear bedroom door go thump

And my ass twitches a little.

“A man is a dog and a nightmare,” my mother said once.

I agree, “a dog and a nightmare.”

Duckbill Platypus 3 AM

And I’m lying awake thinking about the duckbill platypus

Is it a duck or beaver? Is it a quack?

Does he love his parents June Cleaver and Donald Duck?

You know she thought about scrambling his ass in a teaspoon

Of hot sauce to hide her infidelity. But the Duck said let it be let it be

How does he eat? Who does he eat?

What’s his politics? Does he talk out of both sides of his mouth?

If it were a man what sport would he play?

I see a career in swimming or Frisbee. What’s his kink in bed?

Hmmm with a mouth like that I bet he’s into spanking.

It’s 3 AM. Why is my dick all up in the duckbill platypus’ head instead of yours?

Why baby? Why?

Uber Women

I drive around at night,

Pick up lonely women,

Take them home, and

Watch them open their doors.

I stand at their windows,

As they throw bras and panties

At my black moon face.

Some tuck in and cuddle bears

Others leap into the quilts and weep.

One does herself better than a man

Could ever do

With no regrets and morning breath residue.

These are the women I drive all night long.

Mystery 3AM

I wonder where I am?


It's way past 3 AM
and I would not should not could not
do what I ought not. So I did not
Then, I thought, do it anyway.
So I can, shall, and will
walk unlike an Egyptian
and get my lazy hee haw
a glass of water.

(note to self: Stop writing)



That Doctor ain’t got no license

He practice love on the bootleg side

Aint got no license

Steals hearts just to get to the ass

When he done got through

You say, Lord my name Skinny Roo

Love you so hard you change your name

You can’t sit down for days

You dance all around the moon

Singing Al Green tunes

Love and happiness

Three days later you touch your cold phone

Look up in the mirror and your heart be gone

You call them digits that doctor wrote down

Ain’t no such number in town.

That doctor aint got no license

Lord that doctor aint got license

There you go trippin out to the graveyard

Looking for some kind of heart to fill up

The hole in your breast

Lord, Lord. That doctor aint had no license at all

You got your 45 just in case

You run into that no license son of a bitch

Love and happiness make you do wrong

All night long.

I Know Why The Caged Bird Went Crazy

The thing you love is a prison,

Hands hold you like iron bars.

You bathe under watchful pastel blue eyes

But hate those eyes and

Want freedom over yonder.

You love to love, because

You fear freedom.

You hate the freedom you love,

Because you know

Wings can fail under the sun’s gaze.

We want to be in one another’s dungeons

Yet are grateful when we’re not.

We curse the night and shadows

Dancing outside our open windows

As we lockdown our hearts.

Living Through Your Hair

I want to live vicariously

Through your locs

Want to feel, see, touch, smell, and taste

All that you do in bed, on a beach,

in the alley, in dark anonymous rooms.

I will be there when your eyes first meet his

When he’s late for that first date

And your flowers go flaccid in the vase.

I will run through your rooms

When he chases you naked.

I will watch him cook your breakfast

Wearing nothing but an apron.

I will scream when he grabs a fist full of me

As he plunges deep inside you.

I’ll sneak out on the balcony with you

To smoke and fuck at 3 a.m.

I’ll let him comfort you when life

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