ah s'pose

I suppose I should explain a little something here. I've been writing some of these poems phonetically, as if they were spoken by a person with a southern accent. My family was from West Virgina, and I grew up listening to that accent. I love the lilting rhythm of it. Somehow, it didn't occur to me that these poems were completely incomprehensible. So if you see some crazy non-words that make no sense, read it phonetically. It'll help.

Ah prow-miss.

inconsistant

consider all of these untitled.



silence of stones,
of tombs, of
sanctuary. i
draw pictures and
write screenplays
for no one to see.
if i don't speak
are the tones true?

my ears buzz with your
rainforest of lows
and none of it was
in the brochure.

--


lor' ha'mercy boy,
whut in thuh hail
am ah s'po's tuh dew?
ah knohw yer iyun uh
biyt uhf uh taht spowt
buht jus' how'n thuh
hail iyus ug ghurll lahk
myee a'gunnuh hailp?

--



try to maintain
restraint, i know
where i am, i
should know where
i stand

the doors i want
open are not

this is often
the case.

--


the soul cringes
this reincarnation
indeterminate
still rolling wheels
pulling chains
but somewhere
shines a jewel.

--

warehouse and factory
the ducts and lines
traced out in dusty
schematics,
fingers tracing, eyes
scanning, no truth
written in these lines
and angles. no truth
in the pipes. if i'm
to believe what i see
that wasn't a boiler
we set afire.

--

the voice said
"you're awake now"
and i was stunned
by the implication.

--

who is it froze
that second
a glass negative
stored in the newest
junk drawer so
it catches my eye
serendipitous often
as my hand
wanders past.

--

by the fence
by the lamppost
wrapped around the
bases of telephone
poles, the dust of
broken glass, cigarette
butts, paper cups,
the secretions of cities.
was it a wind
or a weather system
moving in, was it
the phase of the moon,
was it the light
and shadow again?

--

appendages all atangle
sounds shred the dream
but the feelings linger

hollow cave winds
seasalt
cool ivory in warm hands

was there a fire?
a taste of beer?

--

orange halogen glare
on low cloud ceilings,
silhouettes of branches,
hung skeletons of all
our arguments,
wind chimes in the
storm, hollow clonks
and rattles, the grass
has mostly yellowed,
the landscape a study
in contrasting intensity,
the heat of the greens
and the cold of the brown.

--

river rocks holding
embryonic golems,
whose cairn is this?
druidic runes spell
names lost to history

shall we move loam
find a tibia or femur
extract the DNA?
study the sequence,
isolate the chromosomes.

--

i looked through the
windows to see the
past distorted through
centuries-old panes of
wavy glass
just as clear and viscous
as my heart.

--

dreams of solitary
evenings, comfortably
spun, responsible for
nothing and beholden to
no one.

it's curiosity, nothing
more, a compulsion to
know, want to open
the door.

--

the painting was large,
visionary cacophony,
a riot of eyes and mouths.

he stands with nose
nearly touching the
whorls of oil and brushstrokes

saying he can't see the
faces, just lumps and blobs
of paint.

--

i don't know if i will ever regularly update this thing. i don't seem to produce poetry that is not shit with any real consistency.

two months worth, damn.

been a couple of months. got quite a few new poems. um, yay? i guess?


speak freely

for a second
the gloves are off, the
muzzle removed
and i say if i
knew then, i would
change it all,
yet being here
i wouldn't leave
if i could.



yew may-ed yer bayed

ah say-ed tew hurr,
ah say-ed "chile,
yew may-ed this-yere
bayed an' yer uhgunna
hay-uv tuh lay
ohn dahwn." yew no
mah mawmuh alwuyz
saihd 'yew plays yew
pays' an' ah'm gessin'
thithur gurrul is
lernin' it thu harrd
whey, yess boah,
she shurr-is.



climbing the walls

bored enough to
climb the walls,
gone without my
usual sedation,
something in the air.
odd curiosities,
skewed perception
or glimpses of honesty.
perhaps this says
i am no shadow,
maybe now i'll
have a voice.



games?

the animal isn't in
dreams, no curiosity,
just the knowledge
that it is known
is enough to make
things strange. my
behavior is noted
and there is an urge
to play the game
just to laugh as
it starts to manifest
because i percieve some
of the web that
hangs us all.



bombs are dangerous

toss that one in
the lockbox, the
things that are
too dangerous
to play with. a
joke to shake
the foundations
of my home isn't
worth risking the
sill. sure i could
give in to the impulse,
i could warn those
who cohabit, i
could lay the fuse
and light it, but
aware as i am of
structural issues,
i don't know how
well the neighbors
would like it.



trip to the zoo

he turns that song
on and i start chewing
the insides of my
cheeks again, no
hand on my knee
(which was really
all i needed) and
i got nothin to say.
we arrive and it's all
crowds, more happy
faces than maybe
our whole town or
so it seems to one
socially anxious as
me, smoking in
designated areas only
of course, and the
boy is rebellious, wants
more metaphoric leash,
lacks the experience,
and so i'm nervous.
there was sun, at least,
and honeysuckle, and
a giraffe who stood
and bowed, shook his
head and held us
in his regard as if
he remembered still
the savannah.



big picture

what is there now
that rings true
all speech is hollow
when i've no faith
in perception -
misinterpretations
and misrepresentations,
i try to look at
the Biggest Picture,
i step back and
got nowhere to put
my feets.



fill-oss-oh-fee

nawh ah'm nawt
whun uh thum
ed-jew-kated tahps,
ah ain't gawt no
pees-uh paypurr
taillin me ah'm
dumm enuff tuh
pay uh bunch-uh
aigg-heads furr
nuhthin, buht ah
dew no thyiss:
thurr ain't nuthin
true, 'ceptin folks
thinkin makes it
so.



the story behind

forced to admit it,
i guess i can own
it, it's etched in my
skin for fuck's sake.
i think there's not
one of them who doesn't
know that blue-white
scream of hell, the
time when there is
nothing to hold us down
except the will and
the wonder, and so
i will say this: i
knew what was
happening, and
i chose to wait it out.
i knew it would swell
and then ebb, i
knew it would twist me
close to breaking.
knowing the path i
chose didn't make it
easier, but it might
be what got me through.



story part 2

oh to chart the
timeline, oh to
tell the tale. how
i was a fledgeling,
how i tried to fly
but fell instead,
how i went without
a map in the general
direction of madness,
setting out in the
names of Love and
Art. i lost both
early on, but still
wandered, too proud
to turn back and
admit my arrogance.
but i go to set it
all out, first this,
then this, and there
is no flow, no good
chronology, just some
disconnected images
and a taste of desperation.



the choices

we knew from the start
the choices: the Great
Adventure by the Seat of
our Pants, or a
Quiet Life with all the
Creature Comforts. the
Man of my Dreams don't
need to know money if he fucks
like a god, if we can cobble
something together, so
long as it works i don't
care if it's pretty. my idea
of relaxation is a joint
and videogames after
dinner, a glass of wine
and some smooth jazz
just ain't my thing,
and i always knew
Warhol's Frankenstein
was right -- to know life,
you must fuck it
in the liver.



straw-bherris n creem

wellnow th' garrd'n's
wehll iyn an' ah gowt me
uh few uh thaim
zoo-kee-nee flairs
awl arnj n reechin'
an' lor' ha' mercy
thaim termaters arr
juhst uh clime-in up
th' cayjis an' ah
pyik'd uh bunchuh
straw-berris forrus
walla-go, ah thyink
thill bee nahs wyith
suhm myilk an' shu-gurr.



panic
first blind white panic
then still sightless but RED
somehow made it home
somehow the kids are ok
now flat, dull steel
gray, slate, shale,
some sort of fractious
friable rock, now
my feet ain't so sure
now there's arrhythmia,
now another difference,
i bring it on my knees
hands out palms up
sober but sweatin like i'm
dopesick and i say
please and how many
times, how many times
did i know it was heavy,
how many times . . .



simple truth

ah ain't mayud ah'm
jest uh lil'bit
diss-uh-poynt-ted
cuzzuh haow yew
wurr sayin' 'atchud
bee thurr furr meh
an' ah thow-yut thyat
mint wun thying an'
wull, ah gess furr yew't
mint sumthin yelse
all tugethurr,
an ah dohn' myeen tuh
soun' awl uhn-grate-full
cuzzuh haow ah no haow
harrd yuh bin
werkin fer sowh lohng
but lor' no's ah trah
tuh show yuh haow
muhch ah 'pree-shee-ate yuh,
ah'm jest a lil say-ud.



it's not for lack of faith

i always know
what my options are
and am not limited
by difficulty.
a lifetime of insecurity,
of never knowing
what would happen next,
leaves me constantly
vaguely prepared for
the end of the world.
i don't step in without
looking for exits,
just in case of
fights or fire,
just in case the
foundation crumbles,
just in case
you step out for smokes
and decide
not to come home.
it's not that i
don't have faith,
it's knowing that
almost anything can happen
almost any time.



no class

go ahead and
laugh, i know
i've got no class
and i might just
be exactly what
you think.
i know however
the difference
between choosing
to be what i am,
and living in
ignorance of choice.
i know what i am
and i own every
decision that brought me
here, my means and my
terms are not exceeded,
and there is
more to me than
your contempt can dream.
sure,
i chose the dark
i chose the silence
and all that came
with it. now i've
come out again
into some sort of
light, and if it isn't
quite what i'd thought,
i know it's only me
to blame. i do what
i can and hope, and
if my honesty and
my stained clothes
and my tax bracket
and lack of education
are gonna fit me into
some neat little box
in your mind you
go right ahead and
call me white trash.



infection

it ain't finished and
i won't be able to sit
easy 'til it is. some splinter
so small it'd be easy to
forget, except it will
fester, it will grow
infected, becoming a
pus-filled boil, swelling
to cover every inch of skin
red and crusted yellow, if
we can't find it and pull it
and clean the puncture.



flashbacks

the alarm, again
with the snooze
at 4:30 a.m., even
though i'm already
late, and then the
dreams turn sour
and i'm back on
dawn court, it's
2001 and i'm
trapped, too scared
of possible attack,
too powerless, and the
4:39 re-alarm
is blessed and joyful,
the stumble into
clothes and car is
bliss, because i
escaped, and not
one thing remains
to haunt my heart.



i know better

i believe my bed
has parkinson's
disease - last night
as my husband and
i lay down to
sleep, the early
july heatwave
sticking us to our
twenty pounds of
cotton sheets, the
mattress seemed
to start these
tiny tremors that
then varied but
only seemed to stop
when i rolled over
or the kids awoke
and all my dreams
were unstable again.

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!

Oh how Charming

Nobody ever talks about Prince and Princess Charming ten years down the line. Both of 'em put on 20 lbs, he starts neglecting the manscaping and has long since tired of the "Damsel in Distress" bit. She's starting to sag in all the wrong places, still dresses like she's imprisoned by a fire-breathing dragon. Maybe they've even got a couple of mini-regents runnin' around the palace, who knows? No more of those hyped-up fairy godmother enhanced midnight balls. Nope, that's all in the past.

Nobody ever seems to ask the Royal Couple -- so, how's that "happily ever after" stuff workin' out for ya?

I'm sure it's still mostly happily ever after. I'm also willing to bet money there's foibles and fights. I'm thinking our Charming royals spend days screaming at each other in the conservatory or the library or across the fucking moat, for NO GODDAMN REASON. Other than the fact that living with another person is really, really, fucking frustrating sometimes.

Maybe the Princess has some really gross habit. Maybe she likes to sit on the chaise lounge in the music room and chew on her toenails. It's pretty likely Mr. Charming has some annoying idiosyncrasy as well. Hmmm . . . let's say every morning he turns into a frog (he got cursed by some old witch they forgot to invite to the wedding, what the hell.) So every morning the Mrs. gets to wake up to a small, occasionally damp amphibian, which she then must kiss, everyfuckingmorning, to turn back into a prince. Meanwhile, all he can think about is her yanking her toenails off with her teeth.

Most of the time I'm sure they get by with no problem. All the time her thinking "gawd, why won't he just go talk to that witch and get the curse lifted already?!" and him thinking "that is just the most disgusting thing I have ever seen, I swear if she does it again I'm gonna . . ."

Then, kapow, the moon is right or the stars align or one of them sleeps badly and it's On, Motherfucker. He says something, she misunderstands and snarks a bit, and holy shit, it's the end of the world. A Charming Apocalypse. He's red in the face and yelling, she's crying and bitching him out all at once. Of course neither of their arguments will actually make sense, and they will have predictable Stages of Fight, and it will accomplish absolutely nothing. Except they both let off some steam and can now get back to the business of loving each other and trying to ignore those little foibles. Until next time, anyway.

What I'm saying is this. I think. Long term love ain't moonlight and roses. Living with another person, no matter how much you love them, is going to make you fucking batshit crazy sometimes. So many people seem to think that it's always going to be all moonlight and roses. Unfortunately that happens less and less as time goes on. However, the depth and breadth of appreciation grows immeasurably. Being with someone, ever after, means accepting that they will not and can not make you happy all the time. In fact, it's unrealistic and unfair to expect them to. Love doesn't magically take us above those little unlikeable quirks. We're still people, we're still weird and annoying. And it's better that way.

mercury retrograde and other reasons

i'm just not feeling the poetry these days. i have been writing, but it's feeling pretty forced. also i have been unable to figure out how to move the text around to my satisfaction. so there's that.

or maybe it's just springtime gettin' into me. i spent some time today outside with the kids, diggin plants and movin' 'em around. quite nice. there ain't no good words for the poe-try in that, vern.

so i've been thinking about including more prose here also. with any luck i will be able to spare us all the boring details of my life. avoiding overshare is always good (but somehow always difficult for me.) and it's possible i'll be revealed as a shallow, mostly thoughtless person. i wouldn't be surprised. i have a few things in mind to blather and babble about. i plan to keep things more ideas-based if that means anything . . . and i'm always aware that there is a great deal i don't know. and if i's be stupid, i don't mind a little schoolin'.

um . . . please note nearly all spelling and grammar errors are intentional unless otherwise noted? i swear, i do it for a reason. it's my style, yo.