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.

just a few to pass the time

pantry list

i gave him a
sort of
gift registry, a
grocery list
for my heart's
pantry. he
came home
arms full of bags,
piles of what
he thought
i needed.
it's not that
i don't like
what he brought,
for me,
special,
it's that i'm
low on staples.
that's why
the list.
ingrate, grey-
brown, a
haze on the
glow, it's
that one
christmas,
the reproach
of expectation.
he brought,
special, all
this, for me,
and
how dare i
sy none
of this
was on
the list.



buried treasure

take that pearl
and lock it up
and if we can
pretend for awhile
it'll be like
it was never
there at all.
denial can
work wonders
wrought of air
and forgetfulness.



mapmakers

oh to be some ancient
Queen, and send my
men to map the world
for me. here there be
monsters, sure, and over
there we could fall off the
edge of the world.
we could spend days in
the library or parlor
pouring over papers,
plotting possible routes
and tracing imaginary
rivers we would never
have to travel.



rat king

i tell myself not to look
not to think too far
but it turns and niggles,
tears and nibbles, two or
three white rats.
the nest was built
before i noticed, and
now occupied be the
space between the walls.
fumigation proves ineffective.
i got some help and tore
off some drywall
yet the infestation continues.



thornberries

somehow it always
leaves me less coherant
than usual. again i
go to the bramble
thinking succulent
berries. every grab
finds a thorn
to pierce my thumb.
i come away battered,
bloodyhanded, empty
basket. i've words,
piles of 'em, but
the words for him
seem to hide in
thickets, behind
nettles,
ever out of reach.



unmasked

i think the mask
slipped for a second
there in the middle
of the tide.
a sliver of truth
perhaps unnoticed,
hopefully forgotten
in the press and
shuffle of the course
of the games.
i saw a glance
pass my way
i don't know if
they saw clearly
i don't know
if they've found
me out.

springtime and issues.

the issue i have here is, i have no idea how to do a tab-like space in html. i've been playing around with spacing and linebreaks and i feel these ones lose something without the spacing. i'm gonna post 'em anyway, but if anyone knows html well enough to explain to me what i can't understand when i google . . . it'd be awesome. anyway, here we go.



april 1

the glory-of-the-snow
popped up in drifts
this year. i dug a
few of the bulbs to
move - brown teardrops
close to dirty onions
except the blue stars
blooming on their stems.
the warmth calls my
fingers to earth.



riversister

oh river, i am today
your sister, in joy
for the first time.
this is my sign of
healing, this is how
i measured time. at
the full of the moon
we know each other
river-sisters, crones
and maidens, red and
black and silver,
compleat in understanding.



blank

taste of burnt garlic,
an earthy, nutty carbon
borne up on a wind
from the lower chakras
entire languages slip by
with equal comprehension
(or lack thereof)
no cold handhold, no
gloves, no smooth toe hold,
and no boots - knee-jerk
rages and flash floods.



necessity of abyss

ghosts of old dreams
recognizing the necessity
of abyss-gazing, we
train the eyes to unfocus, we
learn to loosen the mind, we
begin to see the eyes, we
understand sometimes
the exception and the rule,
the tired worn linens
are the fabric of truth.



curtained

don't look at me
unformed.
hang a curtain to
hide me
as i build arms, left, right,
and hands
to mold the rest of what
i've got.



simple

don't matter it it's born
or brainwashed - i like to
see my man eat -
proud that what i worked
has worked for him
glad my mouth tastes
what his mouth likes
pleased to see it's pleased
him as well. if only my
other actions provided
such simple satisfactions.



spacing

never minded time alone
silence and freedom
from endless required
small talk and chatter.
when seedlings are set
into the soil we allow
wide spaces for the roots
branches and leaves to
spread. not set apart
for speciality, not to
raise it beyond its place,
but each removed from each
to give space to grow to
fullness and health, space
to hear the whisper
of the soul.



break time

now the babe sleeps
and i set things to
burn, inhale deeply
of it. the mantra:
this is enough.
i try to learn to
lower my expectations
-- being accustomed does
not mean it's needed
and nevermind what
i think i deserve.



never asked

ever so willing to do
the blocking for my daily
act, did you even
read the script? my
character would not do that,
and yet you say upper
stage left, you say
deliver these lines like
this, not that, you say
what exactly i should
do-
love, this is my show,
and i never asked you
to direct.



here's the ghost

here's the ghost:
if a hint of displeasure
burnt garlic
castor oil
is detected
i don't move.
i lived a thousand years
in terror
and it's second nature
first nurture
to freeze
my time in egypt only made it worse.
some days i walk right through
or i am weak
as i admitted
yesterday.

end 'o march

while in egypt

a thousand years ago i
told you all my purpose
here - before i'd done
more than dream of you,
before i sensed anything
but the possibility for connection and that
strange new flutter in
my nether regions - i was
not yet come out of Egypt and
i told you and now . . .



bug

it's a rough kind of bug
that's for sure, sending
me dizzy to the couch
nausea remedies work at least
but the dizziness doesn't abate.
time goes strange, it could be
a fever but i grab a rung and
drag myself on up the ladder
thinking slowed to a crawl
no hope of rest tomorrow
i take it tonight aiming to
be at the very least coherent.



tie a net

i don't know that either
really understands the other -
mouths moving, faces intent,
walked away with no sense of
gestalt

none of it hung together.
the net hung, draped,
spread, and his partner
pointed out holes
faster than he tied them
shut.



still over yonder

i took the cup 'cuz
they said it were the Cure
and i drunk down
ever' drop.
Lord ha'mercy how
it did burn!
then the Doc and them,
they all went on out
to the woods, out
to the still
over yonder



moonclock

seeing and knowing the cycle
doesn't stop the filter falling
i find myself brittle and bitter
nearly draconian in thinking
and unable to back down off it.
the automatic response is ungenerous
no benefit of a doubt
my internal moonclock turns
the world to glass at the full
and language is only of red
and breakage and empty.



wade

it's nothing, just limbo, and
you've waited it out before
- waded out before, through
piles of bones, past
the slag heap and pits.
all is grayblack coaldust
though i'd never call myself
a miner, my mouth stuffed
with the silken dust of
ancient matter, muffled
in the fine powderblack
rain, nighttime talc to
soothe my rolling boiled
mind.



he got his stripes.

this week saw him
receive new scars
in our name.
better late, then,
i suppose. one
death was not
prevented but this
might protect from
repetition. and so
i am servile, smiling,
banishing comparison,
keeping the bitter
mostly out of mind
and unvoiced, to
display gratitude that
words cannot.



early spring

winter finally ending,
the melts expose
what we've lost.
time takes a heavier
toll than i imagined.
so what is now gone?
i've lost my blindness,
the selective vision that
kept the sticks and leaves
floating in the current
rather than bind them
selves, the de-tangling
conditioner, the
belief in the sanctity
of creation.



wake me up

down in the lower levels
of the dream and i
hear the ringtone i
assigned to you. it
is a great noisy wind
to blow away the tatters.
i get to it in time,
somehow, and find my
mouth believes we're
still asleep. you speak
as if i was still drinking
coffee, you are offended
that consciousness fills my
hourglass so slowly.
offense turns to anger when
i point out the flaws in
your line of reasoning.
later, i call you, and
hear again your expectation
and you're making yourself
a mental martyr.



flip the switch

all of a sudden it
switches to ON and
i remember what
it is that brought
me here, so far
beyond where we
thought to go. it's
the way our energies
rub when our bodies
aren't, it's the quick
dangerous light of a
grin, it's because
you get the joke of it
like nobody else can
and you speak it
when i can't.



bloody nose

my fingers found the
end of a nose in a cave,
and wiping it, came
away bloody. not
the fresh bright new
but the brown
and sluggish old half
clotted mess that says
at least something
is functioning the way
it should.



apology

i know there's wide
gaps in my knowledge
and i trace the edges
but can't fill it in.

i know there's a place
for every item we own
and i move in the general direction
but miss by a mile.

i know he needs to hear
the words i need to speak
and i gather lovewords
but can't string them.



wizard of os

near os ther is
a dripping ruby city.
nearly six weeks past
there was a massacre
and i was forcibly exiled.
yesterday the sun cast
redbrown reflections
winking up out of the valley.
today i crested the hill
to see it glittering wetly
below me.