Songs for hard times /songs of sorrow
This town’s all right blooming trees and garbage all around someone stole the bank machine someone stole my friends van someone stole everything
schools like battle zones. We don’t send our children to war we just send them to kindergarten to die the rain falling snow
everything that was supposed to come to pass did
not in a good way,
I listen to Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge On Seattle and cry
on the day kurt decided to die. I’m still here.
I’m still here I bleach my hair play my guitar to nobody
all I’ve got is everything love, my family, my dog,
listening to people on the corner who live in a tent yelling because they’re cold .
Like he said, there’s a comfort in being sad,
I wanna be happy too
Thu, Apr 6, 9:19 AM 2023
Global warming on a personal scale
Awakening to cotton candy skies
love was not learned
but came out of the storm
firebolt
that almost burned me down
but for the drenching rain
refusal is
not an option
permanently marked
charred beautiful scar
won’t let me forget
mother dropped us into this world from somewhere better
can’t help but feel the loss
from time to time
uncertain in this alien landscape
reaching out for another who can translate the language
We must veer off-script
simply because
there is no other way
to reach an outcome we can live with
no choice but to acknowledge
this glowing molten core
permeating the outer crust,
global warming on a personal scale
august 29, 2019 6:19 pm
earthquake happens inside
I don’t need you to leave
Anything
in order to be here now
Keep your control measures in place
Keep what you have intact
I require no grand fault line
to open and swallow life as you know it
the earthquake happens inside
may 16, 2019 4:59 pm
I don’t need you to leave
Anything
in order to be here now
Keep your control measures in place
Keep what you have intact
I require no grand fault line
to open and swallow life as you know it
the earthquake happens inside
may 16, 2019 4:59 pm
Ampullae of Lorenzini
a shark can detect
electric fields
from your beating heart at 200 yards
They can detect a drop of your blood from 3 miles away
Yet we continue to swim out towards the open sea
romancing some kind of freedom
hoping the odds are with us
survival really a matter of luck
a little bit of destruction is hard to resist
breakneck memories gilded scenes
replaying endless nameless
bars of gold
not really wanting to escape ecstatic captivity
blaze of glory drawing us near
wings will singe rendering flight difficult ever after
unfazed by reality
we are always advancing towards the flame
to save myself
I sit on my hands
auto-dictating self addressed letters
trying to generate as much love for myself as I have for you
middle ground will never be enough
the lowest high better than
The dead quiet
of life without electricity
July 4, 2019 9:20 am
a shark can detect
electric fields
from your beating heart at 200 yards
They can detect a drop of your blood from 3 miles away
Yet we continue to swim out towards the open sea
romancing some kind of freedom
hoping the odds are with us
survival really a matter of luck
a little bit of destruction is hard to resist
breakneck memories gilded scenes
replaying endless nameless
bars of gold
not really wanting to escape ecstatic captivity
blaze of glory drawing us near
wings will singe rendering flight difficult ever after
unfazed by reality
we are always advancing towards the flame
to save myself
I sit on my hands
auto-dictating self addressed letters
trying to generate as much love for myself as I have for you
middle ground will never be enough
the lowest high better than
The dead quiet
of life without electricity
July 4, 2019 9:20 am
Planned obsolescence
It’s such a strange thing to be alive
in this heart breaking world
we always have been always will be
on a collision course to our destruction
burning ground, air, the seas and rivers
rendering ourselves obsolete
without place to sleep, breathe
to take a drink, to keep
without doubt
The end.
Somehow still we are programmed
to create something precious and undeniable along the way
to reproduce to build
to sing
despite the dawning awareness that breaks every morn
more blindingly obvious
more true
that we are no more than stardust sparking in the atmosphere
as we burn to ash
vaporized by the very sun that keeps us alive
and no less either.
January 31 2019
It’s such a strange thing to be alive
in this heart breaking world
we always have been always will be
on a collision course to our destruction
burning ground, air, the seas and rivers
rendering ourselves obsolete
without place to sleep, breathe
to take a drink, to keep
without doubt
The end.
Somehow still we are programmed
to create something precious and undeniable along the way
to reproduce to build
to sing
despite the dawning awareness that breaks every morn
more blindingly obvious
more true
that we are no more than stardust sparking in the atmosphere
as we burn to ash
vaporized by the very sun that keeps us alive
and no less either.
January 31 2019
Willamette Falls
beautiful and fetid
sacred fishing grounds
hydroelectric plant, paper mill, defunct
the water line is low
stagnant pools,
hunkered slimy and green at the edges of the misting waterfalls
no place for salmon or lamprey
history quiet this evening
Watching the sun fall from the sky
allows the moon
to take its shine into night,
Passing car noise almost obliterates my quiet guitar and
my cough makes it difficult to sing
of the glories of possibility
our past making an imprint on my vision, burnt
shadows like sunspots
there even with open eyes
I cannot stop now
listen over the rushing water, rushing
traffic
past the industrial landscape
to the treeframes and fading sky
where night can glow as day
I am still here
stepping over the line to see
where I stand with you
We were given bodies as extensions
of some greater existence to feel
everything fleeting
in the physical realm
don’t let’s waste it
there will be beauty for a moment
I want to see it
Humanity is a spark off the pyre
quickly burning out
in a twist
of smoke above the fire
Our songs barely heard even as we
are singing them
water dwindling at the end of summer
dry leaves gathering to conspire
before the wind sends us scattershot
to settle into the mulch of another scene.
September 7, 2019 9:07 am
beautiful and fetid
sacred fishing grounds
hydroelectric plant, paper mill, defunct
the water line is low
stagnant pools,
hunkered slimy and green at the edges of the misting waterfalls
no place for salmon or lamprey
history quiet this evening
Watching the sun fall from the sky
allows the moon
to take its shine into night,
Passing car noise almost obliterates my quiet guitar and
my cough makes it difficult to sing
of the glories of possibility
our past making an imprint on my vision, burnt
shadows like sunspots
there even with open eyes
I cannot stop now
listen over the rushing water, rushing
traffic
past the industrial landscape
to the treeframes and fading sky
where night can glow as day
I am still here
stepping over the line to see
where I stand with you
We were given bodies as extensions
of some greater existence to feel
everything fleeting
in the physical realm
don’t let’s waste it
there will be beauty for a moment
I want to see it
Humanity is a spark off the pyre
quickly burning out
in a twist
of smoke above the fire
Our songs barely heard even as we
are singing them
water dwindling at the end of summer
dry leaves gathering to conspire
before the wind sends us scattershot
to settle into the mulch of another scene.
September 7, 2019 9:07 am
Peripheral Poverty/another existential crisis.
The music playing
over the sound system in the Goodwill
depresses me somehow
making me embarrassed to be shopping there,
ashamed to claim I am a musician
my teenager says it reminds you how poor you are
the worst possible songs played back to back nonstop
until you cover your ears,
run to the register, screaming silently
with your second-hand crap,
in a rush to escape
another existential crisis
I bet that you have never been inside
a Dollar Tree,
as I peruse the aisles,
one-dollar broom, one-dollar dustpan, one-dollar mop
and some plastic gum ball machine from China
my daughter begged me for in my basket
The air smells bad tonight
like someone overcooked Brussels sprouts downstairs
dirty cloud cover hanging low like cigarette smoke in a bar
and capitalism depresses me on a good day.
This peripheral poverty is privilege
in too many places to count
I try not to feel that I am either inferior or superior by comparison
meditation of the lower middle class in a country of excess
(Close your eyes, just breathe and observe without judgment)
Choose to participate or not,
here we are
Slouching towards the checkout line
clutching a panoply of things we think we need
waiting to pay
for stuff we don’t want
because we hope it will make us feel better.
September 7, 2019 9:41 am
The music playing
over the sound system in the Goodwill
depresses me somehow
making me embarrassed to be shopping there,
ashamed to claim I am a musician
my teenager says it reminds you how poor you are
the worst possible songs played back to back nonstop
until you cover your ears,
run to the register, screaming silently
with your second-hand crap,
in a rush to escape
another existential crisis
I bet that you have never been inside
a Dollar Tree,
as I peruse the aisles,
one-dollar broom, one-dollar dustpan, one-dollar mop
and some plastic gum ball machine from China
my daughter begged me for in my basket
The air smells bad tonight
like someone overcooked Brussels sprouts downstairs
dirty cloud cover hanging low like cigarette smoke in a bar
and capitalism depresses me on a good day.
This peripheral poverty is privilege
in too many places to count
I try not to feel that I am either inferior or superior by comparison
meditation of the lower middle class in a country of excess
(Close your eyes, just breathe and observe without judgment)
Choose to participate or not,
here we are
Slouching towards the checkout line
clutching a panoply of things we think we need
waiting to pay
for stuff we don’t want
because we hope it will make us feel better.
September 7, 2019 9:41 am
Love you still.
Following the bends of the river
through the old snow in the white birch woods
dirty white against dirty white
Dying oaks bundled
against the cold in moss sweaters
arms reaching as far up as the sky can see
Cutting a tattooed silhouette
Roots reaching down
down through the loam
to the sanded riverbed
Tell me tell me what your language is
your silence means everything to me
there was a time before
when I could relax into myself without so much care
wearing ugly clothes and shaving down my hair
when I believed I was loved for who I am
and it was enough
not fixed on chance or change but
rooted in the solid red earth
Now I find water washing away the soil
to undress me at the mere mention of spring
But winter is not quite over
even though
the light is less stark
as we come down the east side of the coast range
out of the snowpack into warmer terrain
There in the trees hibernate
memories where leaves used to be
a golden thought
on each branch
A host of lovers
caught by bare February winds
Whispering
all those warm arms
Soft lips
curving hillside hips
mouths full of stars
above rough chins
salt lick cheeks
eye pools to swim in
Moonshine tongues
drunk
Driving home
slanting sun falling behind
reminding me
I love you still.
February 19 2019 1:26 am
Lacrimal lakes
Flat lining mind
After erratic overconfidence
winter sun bitter wind biting at cheeks
drawing water from eyes
lacrimal lakes
turning over so much stagnation plowing under
the dead
fecund in the barest hinting of winter’s end
dead center wolf moon
so close to open eyes daytime sky
science fiction illustrated
blooded eclipse
we venture to the top of the hill
rounding the butte at nightfall with the wind
to see the stars come into view
to see the stars in your eyes reflect every movement
on replay
autonomic activation
buzzing from fingertip to ganglia
synaptic solar system
every atom ringing
true
ringing like moonlight on the mirrors
on the water filled with silver light
somehow gently penetrating the shadow
sweetly lighting the way from the inside
January 14, 2019
Flat lining mind
After erratic overconfidence
winter sun bitter wind biting at cheeks
drawing water from eyes
lacrimal lakes
turning over so much stagnation plowing under
the dead
fecund in the barest hinting of winter’s end
dead center wolf moon
so close to open eyes daytime sky
science fiction illustrated
blooded eclipse
we venture to the top of the hill
rounding the butte at nightfall with the wind
to see the stars come into view
to see the stars in your eyes reflect every movement
on replay
autonomic activation
buzzing from fingertip to ganglia
synaptic solar system
every atom ringing
true
ringing like moonlight on the mirrors
on the water filled with silver light
somehow gently penetrating the shadow
sweetly lighting the way from the inside
January 14, 2019
12:13
Look out on a frozen forest harboring
dozens of subterranean dens
filled with hibernatory animals
while I am awake too late
reading books of poetry
Sleeping fitfully/waking every couple of hours
Nocturnal creature on watch
looking for signs, messages
looking over its shoulder
out into a wilderness of possibility
it is hard to stay asleep at night/awake in the day
uncertainty sweeping across sleeping forms regularly
a spotlight beacon
When the alarm sounds
eyes newly, finally sealed shut at dawn
must open mouth must speak to my daughter
ready her for school hands must prepare food
button blouses tie shoes begin again
Burn a candle and turn the radio to Sibelius
Warm the kettle zip the coat kiss cheeks
the day graciously
relentlessly starts again
december 13, 2018
Look out on a frozen forest harboring
dozens of subterranean dens
filled with hibernatory animals
while I am awake too late
reading books of poetry
Sleeping fitfully/waking every couple of hours
Nocturnal creature on watch
looking for signs, messages
looking over its shoulder
out into a wilderness of possibility
it is hard to stay asleep at night/awake in the day
uncertainty sweeping across sleeping forms regularly
a spotlight beacon
When the alarm sounds
eyes newly, finally sealed shut at dawn
must open mouth must speak to my daughter
ready her for school hands must prepare food
button blouses tie shoes begin again
Burn a candle and turn the radio to Sibelius
Warm the kettle zip the coat kiss cheeks
the day graciously
relentlessly starts again
december 13, 2018
Dawn in December
wake to see
sun almost risen
pink glow
fading to stark cold
paper white sky slid behind tangles of dark branches swimming in the wind
crows and gulls float back and forth
cutouts on a storyboard
Scraps of cloud waiting quiet at the edges of my window
snow in their hearts
december 7, 2018
wake to see
sun almost risen
pink glow
fading to stark cold
paper white sky slid behind tangles of dark branches swimming in the wind
crows and gulls float back and forth
cutouts on a storyboard
Scraps of cloud waiting quiet at the edges of my window
snow in their hearts
december 7, 2018
You’re not there
ghost
of someone I once knew
a dream that I keep having
where I almost remember how to fly
when I jump into the air
I notice my wings have disappeared
the wax that held us together
Melted in the heat
feathers sticking uselessly to my back
there is a vacuous moment of realization
Right before
the fall
you cannot catch me because
you don’t know how
July 18, 2018
Radical Acceptance
Broken fingers caught in the car door
Nosebleed full moon devastation
beloved dog passed suddenly
salt-lick cheeks punching bag eyeholes
denying with every muscle that truth
Radical acceptance is not happening today.
July 8, 2018
Triangulation
Finding my position
By plotting the angles from you to me to her
Calling out in the dark
A way of echolocation
The sound bouncing off the empty space between us
and stopping
when encountering
Bodies
Solidity
the remembrance of our skin
enough to place me somewhere I want to be
May 21, 2018
All you beautiful girls
All you beautiful girls
Lyrically young
Long hair shining in the wind
Short shorts baring those
Thighs
blowing minds
in the lateday sun
Helping the children wash the sand from their hands and feet
I have never been you
Blinded by the setting sun
Hair cut boyishly short
and thighs sheathed unassailable
in jeans
But I can admire you
along with the rest of the world
As I wash my daughter’s feet from the very same fountain
July 18, 2018
the waiting
When she doesn't have a place
to live her inner life
she will carve a cave in her body
to live it in
and
chew off a limb
to escape the trap of the quotidian
the mundane
She absolutely exists
inside her own head
And on a page
Onstage
Sweating inside her skin to speak the truth she creates
So that someone will hear
a murmur
A lover talking in their sleep telling you what you
really wanna hear all night
And forgetting as soon as they wake
And the waiting the waiting
Always enduring the lines, the minutes, the days
the longer it takes
desperate details to impart
The importance of embellishments
memories of the night
blurred into brilliance
burn so bright
May 30, 2018
©gilly ann hanner 2018/2019/2020
