why not?

here's a bunch of poems. can't see any reason not to post 'em. that's what this stupid blog is for.

waxing and waning

i bloat with the moon.
it hangs its cursed face
and i speak balefully
of the things that made
the pits, crags, and craters.

if we're mostly water, we
all are the tides, and when
my waves come in they devour
the shore. i am left bare
granite bones at the waning.



joy of discovery

barefoot, pruners in hand,
i stand back and
review. one radically
reduced azalea, one
rather large pile of
brush, spent blooms
and all. old trunks
had nearly knotted
their gnarled bodies,
spiders spun on spare
twigs, and underneath
it all, i found clambering up
the lattice of branches,
one wild climbing rose.



dug taters

yew no ah dug them
taters in yest'day and
ah plum fergoht bowt
'dem sacks uh manurr.

ah no'd yew stuck 'em
b'hind the shed over yonder
but them babies were a'wallerin on me
and a hollerin fer sum

gravy n'biskits and'
then 'twas tahm ta
feed thuh chickens'n

then 'twas tahm ta
hang the warsh an'
then, well, lor' ha' mercy

tahm jist ran 'way frum
me, an' 'fore ah new it
'twas dinner tahm an'
ah new if'n ah dint

jist gohon ow-dere'n
get dem sumbitches
down inna dirt, why
ah'd be a'waitin' 'til

clear intuh next week
cuz yew no it's gone
rain, mah hips say
it's gone storm

lahk thuh rath-uh
gawd, an' ah aint
diggin taters in thuh
mud.



what i said

fuse lit, i mark time
til the full moon
explosion, the world
is made of glass
and clumsy fingers
uncurled and swinging
to break.

i am exhausted and
exasperated, the
tide breaks my stride
and i no longer
hear what i'm speaking

all lost in rising red
and bass hums
i know i don't want
to know what i said.



lockjaw

crawl, sweetness,
crawl on your belly
over those coals,
that collection of
shards and gravel
and rusty nails,
how long since
your last tetanus booster?
wellnow, lockjaw may
be better, why don't we
just wire your jaw shut
right now?



to hide

need somewhere to hide
a little while, balled down
into some furry creature
in the glare of the predator.
things are failing and falling,
the shadow of an owl under
the full of the moon,
and i need silence and solitude.
when i was young and green
our neighbors were the dead
and i found the space
to think, placing thoughts
between old headstones and
pacing to get the sense of
them. if there was none i
could leave them as flowers,
faded petals to decorate polished
granite or eroded marble.
now i have no line to walk
so i wander aimlessly from
thought to thought, and
am never sure of sense.



surgery

just a deep breath and release
it's gonna take time
for the wounds of that
last battle to heal, so
we'll have to move slowly.
i was disembowled, you
know, your bayonet swept
low and fast and then
my entrails gleamed in my
hands, gory and clamorous,
i ran for the door but didn't
exit, the blood on my fingers
kept the doorknob slippery.
afterwards you silently sewed
me up, and i returned the favor,
without anesthesia, perhaps more
pain to savor, now seven days
or more have passed and i find
myself thinking 'why can we not
run' and the pink glaze of the new
scar stretches and
i remember to breathe and release.



drunk

drunk
and i didn't figure
but your hands are
shaping the world
and in the tremors
i am caught in purple
silk, tossed up and
blown through the gates
of paradise
and still your hands
shape higher realms
and i am borne
by your calloused fingers
to airless spaces
miles high, and then
plunging i burn with
the speed of your
re-entry.
these royal worm bands
disclose the button that
men have debated for decades
but we know where and
when and how to
press and when we do
it's only bliss.



post shower

freshly scalded, scrubbed,
distanced by plaster
and lathe i deem too thin,
at least the lights are
low, at least the soap
that didn't rinse muffles
the worst of the noise,
at least the kids didn't
nap at grandmas, the
hope is bitter with my
heartburn, the cigarette,
the baby's cries.



some new chapter

in the old days we
had to turn over
the tape or even the
record and so we
came to expect the
pause before the change,
learned to breathe
in the silence of
empty spaces.
now we are streaming,
real-time, full time,
constant, gluttonous,
streams of
moremoremore
information and
suffocating with the
weight of it.



mother's day

the sky shows up
a shadow box
i have a friendly clock
for once
limitless ceilings
a smile of truth.
paper, colored hearts,
photos, the endless
joke, the ghosts
present and correct.
give them crystals
or tattoos. we give
plants instead,
growing things to
laugh at death,
plants to pretend at
immortality.
it's breakfast and
love, i can and
do weep at the
sight of the
big picture and the
whole of my joy.

i need your help!

i'm thinking of tackling a subject that might just be too big for me. i've been staring at a rough outline for a couple of weeks. but the words only start coming together when i am not able to get to a notebook, when i'm not able to escape the distractions.

so.

here's what i'm looking for. i want your thoughts. talk to me about rock n roll. when is it best, where is it best, where do you feel it, how do you feel about it? (while i probably could try to expand my topic to music in general, i know quite well i don't possess the skill to take a discussion on music, in general, to the place i want to go with rock, in particular.) those who are in bands or have been, how does it feel to rock in public? to bring the rock, so to speak? what makes good rock?

leave a comment, send me an email (tashaharney@yahoo.com) or otherwise communicate -- balloons? heliograph? smoke signals? morse code? talk to me!