Relaxing 5/6/06

I watch day in and day out
you hard at work
somber, aching muscles
grim brow
and strained voice
working, providing
dredging up a living
because you love us
too much to enjoy us

This holiday I watched you
all the long, muggy days
hard at play
exhausting strong muscles
careless grin
and hearty laugh
hiking, playing
teaching about living
because you love us
allow yourself to enjoy us.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Quiet 5/5/06

No breeze
sleeping trees
whisper of bugs
chirping frogs and birds
are heard in a separate dimension
their background noise only serves
to enhance the pervasive quiet here.

Over still
serene water
sunshine melts like
butter sliding down the hillsides
and forgotten roads wind soundlessly
past glancing deer and into the hushed distance.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Oak Grove 5/4/06

The fingered leaves are
cheering on a twittering parade.
Covered in thick, crackled skin,
they stand clumped together;
As if each acorn fell from
the same Grandfather Oak,
may he rest in peace.
Straight, black lines -
a platoon of footmen
saluting the sky,
with skinny roots scratching at the hillside.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

I Arise Early 5/3/06

Light emerges on Stoneman Lake.
I sit in quiet,
Waiting for life to occur.
Here comes Raven,
something large grasped in his beak,
Flying low - old show off.
The hummingbirds are
green and purple darts;
sugar-seeking missiles
launching an attack.
A long-legged heron,
siren draped in sleek blue velvet,
woos the water.
Nowhere are seen the lurking
animals whose tracks are sprinkled
on the muddy bank.
Hidden elk and deer
hunt me from tree shadows.
Raccoons fold their tiny hands
under pine needle pillows
and settle down to rest.
I hear a squirrel
laugh at my clumsy peeping -
unskilled, too noisy,
I don’t even know where to look.
But I am here,
on the morning lake -
awake and trying.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

The Crazy Girl

She was a young somber thing
She pressed her ear to the clockworks
Stared at her mother, the goat-girl
She cherished the holiness of marbles
The sad sanctity of a broken crayon
She rolled the street, bottom-down
On a skateboard, slowly
Her hair tickled her chin and her eyes
She trusted mice about everything
Her feet were once mistaken for oysters
In their half-shelled elegance
Delicate curvature and pearled toes
Her heart was devoted to a story
Where a princess fell from a tower
Turned to a white dove and flew
Cooing off to the horizon
She told it, she sang it, she cried
Her mother bleated and shrugged
And pedestrians all looked away
Goodbye, crazy girl, you are young
You are older than me, goodbye.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

A Lament for Anne

I am thirty-two
and still wanting to be you.
You aren’t the same you
I desired at twenty
or twelve,
but you. The point is,
not me; not she.
To thine own idols be true.
I crawl to the comfort
of your stylish shoe
and savor its leathery
essence of you.
I run to the mirror
that depicts us as blue
and I never see you.
Give me a hand
from your far-off ferry
that faithfully carried
you there. I swear.
We talked in the pub
and I out-joked your smile,
but you were still you
by a mile.
And what’s a woman to do?

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Stranger's Letters

Never through these uniform, white leaves
Can I be known.
Met, perhaps -
A poignant moment shared,
Traumatic bonding of acquaintances -
But there is more than these choice metaphors.
Words spoken, unrecorded;
Smiles and glimpses unnoticed by anyone
But God in His Heaven.
There are things unknown even to me
That would require a grander,
More perfect language to be told.
Aramaic, angelic tongue. God speak
That babies suck their knuckles to
In the wet womb.
And the dying list to hear
On the air, like a Magnificat
In ten kinds of ultra Latin.
Not this babbling Babel’s thesaurus
Of cliché and conundrum.
Not this amateur cryptograph,
Guttural and belching
Childish limericks in Aborigine’s brogue,
Exaggerated angst and dissipating whispers.
Such chronic shifts of telling,
What can they tell?
Tell me,
Do you think you really see?

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Blood Sisters

We are four ripe cherries
Tart and sweet, dangled
From one tree branch
Full of liquory pus
And pie dreams
Extensions of each other
Mixed and influenced
Like chutney
Like poultice
Wearing and emanating
Our reflections, our selves
We are toothy, freckled,
Stringy DNA traits
Tutored, conditioned,
Nurtured personalities
Complimenting and alluding
To one or an other
Molding incident
Shared memory
We are joined at the intuition
Like Siamese hearts
Sugar-dusted toward familiars
We muddle through
We cling artlessly
To plump life
We are a cycle of learning
We are grown
We are growing
And ready to grow.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Night of Renewal

Your safe shoulders return.
What a miracle.
The year’s black spell
Cast off by light.
I fear. I startle,
Ready to back-track,
Wary of morning.
Tonight shines bright
But morning…
Morning could obfuscate joy;
Laugh at my nonage;
Chase off the dream.
No, though, not so.
You are a jaunty jack tar
Capricious and strong.
Nipped, nubile hero,
You take me on.
A turn and a turn
And another, down
The winding path of night.
You lead like a captain.
Yes, yes.
Lead on.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Girlfriends

I.
My first was a foolish darling.
Her clumsy laughter
Bellowed in my soul.
She was uncomfortably fat
And never serious.
The sadness fascinated me,
Though I never brought it up.
I was devoted as a dog
To our private jokes,
Our obsessive loves.

II.
One is firm and aloof
To attach to her I must
Become luggage,
I must somehow submit.
There is preciousness
In her broad mouth
And stern eyes that
I love and fear.
She wants to mother me,
But I rebel repeatedly.

III.
One is friendly as a sister
But not too meddling.
She won’t judge me for
My always changing story.
She has narrow finger-tips
And wise eyes like the cat.
Her voice is genuine,
With love or complaining,
But still I hesitate
To always run to her.

IV.
One is true and caring,
Sweet as taffy but sad.
Our tears mingle on some
Star-crossed schedule.
Her small shoulders are mine
And I can give back to her.
I see us as old ladies
Still suckling babies
And praying together
For hopeless causes.

V.
One is a dear, brash hen.
Her voice and her laugh echo
In my heart, in my stomach.
I can’t tell who the child is,
She or I, but I trust
Her simple manner,
Unapologetic and above all
Genuine. Barefoot and strong,
Carving her niche
And showing me how.

VI.
One is fickle and queer,
Fragile as a sea-urchin,
Eerily insightful and nice.
She tells me what I want
But I shy from it.
Too true. Close to the bone.
She is awkwardly beautiful,
A soft-ripe melon.
Her pain and regret permeate
Every flinching word.

VII.
Most recently is one
Whose constant smile disarms.
I expect so little from her
But am surprised by abundance.
I am invited back for more
In spite of myself.
She is thin and pure,
Radiant with God-love.
I fear my own selfishness
Could abuse such clean giving.

VIII.
I cringe to consider
Myself in the light of friendship;
How they see me,
What they must know of me,
The ugly and beautiful,
Raw persona exposed
Like a peeled grape.
I listen, but never call.
I love, but rarely act.
I hope they see the sincere part too.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Then and Now

Back when we fogged
Truck windows
And embraced on
Evening sidewalks
Before the cellulite
And the seven year itch
You made a list
Twenty reasons to wed
Proof of at least
Twenty things to love
About me
Proof you admired me
As I adored you
Meant for each other
Destined by God
Set apart for greatness
Together.

Back when there were
No secrets
And boundless grace
We kissed all night
Without a slice
Of perplexity in your eye
Only trust
Like a ticklish foot
Sole exposed
Laid bare and pink
At your fingertips

On the long road
To New Mexico
We stayed entertained
Snickered at dirty jokes
Smoked ceaselessly
I was a skinny girl
With makeup and fingernails
Who cared only for
Turning your perfect head
And under a moon-lit pier
Your fiancé touch
Tried on husband's shoes
And I, clinging,
More than trusted –
Depended on your love
Love unashamed
To need me
To demur life without me

Somehow, a mystery,
Life together
Robbed that love
Side by side
Sharing every burden
Became a nuisance
The birth of three
Yawning heirlooms
Was disillusioning
Matronly breasts and belly
Betrayed trust
Faulty prayers and
Reeking hormones
Aging destroyed
The idea of matrimony
Nullified your love list
Deserted me on this island.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Coming Down With Something

The world is staggering
Slowly plodding over grimy concrete
One heavy foot in front of the other
Head down between slouching shoulders
Lazy mouth half open
Eyes stare straight ahead
Lost in thoughtlessness
Like bewildered cows
Decrepitly making a way
Through the parked cars
Balding and weighty
With syncopated pace
Moving forward aimlessly
On cringing hinges
Steps falling heavy in shoes
Ambling zombies in aching bones
Pushing forward with leaden movement
To find the comfort of pillows.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Allow Misery

Let me die
Have mercy
Relieve my poor, worried guts
My aching entrails
That don’t understand
Set free this blood
Pounding on the walls of its cell
My veins are a dreadful prison
Unlock them
And throw away the key.
Until now I thought all my
Captivity was imagined
I found solace in
The idea of insanity
A melodrama I created within
But the lights are on
The ghouls are real
My hell is grown too big
Let me go
Let me die
Have mercy.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

The Converse of Love

It vaunted itself,
An elegant balloon on the wind.
Sought after
Loftier properties. Unseemly.
It is not love.
It is advertising.
Marketing us
Through regrettable avenues,
Marching along
The narrow channel.
It occurs to me
How unkind such contrariness
Must appear.
Sans faith. Sans trust.
A debacle of purity.
Eager to a fault. An
Unforgiving impeachment.
Chiming its emptiness
In still, motionless air.
A jealous cat,
Hissing and fitful.
I confess. I confess.
I am nothing.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Un Communication 3/14/06

Un Communication 3/14/06

Contradiction, contradicting
My standard, your standard
My hypocrisy, your hypocrisy
Injustice – unfairly meted out
Silent argument
Hear what you want and I’ll
Guess what you’re saying
Unbalanced arbitrary
Reject, refuse, resist
Looking past…looking through
Half-hearing half considering
Talk until eyes swell
Silent until brain screams
So long…centuries silent
Like Egyptian mummies in our
Tombs of rage and pride
Wishing for cancer or
Terrorist attack or
something to finish this.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

To You I Am 4/18/06

Is it the swallowing abyss
of uncaring in your eyes
Which sucks me down and under?
Is it the futility and
uselessness of my existence
Causing me to suffocate in a muddy slough –
Sinking, slowly sinking
Through layers and strata
Of barely accomplishing life.
I can see now that
you never truly cared –
Or even paid attention
to who I was.
For you I was a crusade –
A conquest for your king –
And a victor’s spoils.
And now I am uninteresting
Insufficient is my effort
Inadequate my zeal
for your significance.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Whose thoughts 4/6/06

Whose thoughts 4/6/06

You never even know
Anything is wrong.

Maybe the kids got on her nerves today,
You think, unconcerned.

I don’t want you to ask.
I’ve lost the desire to tell you.

I want you to read me.
You never will.

You’re not psychic are you?
No. Or even observant

Or interested for that matter.
Why don’t I just get over it?

Shall I climb it with a ladder?
Or use a grappling hook?

This mountain of madness
With snow covered peaks.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Revelation

I knew it. I knew
that the stale smell of your touch
was rooted in baseness
My writing reveals
what my head would not admit.
Your groping and chiding
testy game.
Swaddling me in satin
flogging me with bitterness
I knew.

Then was it vengeance
that took me to the edge?
I spat out my vitamins
and took the drug
I passed the time in naughty blindness
and withheld the truest words
that paper ever thanked me for
It was too true,
I knew.

In my fixation I sanctified your profile
you were high priest to my sinning
but what strange fire
went up in place of my prayers.
I want to strike you with lightning
I want to suffer for your transgressions
How can we pardon
what we always knew?

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Tormented 10/5/06

Tormented 10/5/06

Come coarsely, my lover,
Tell me your need.
I’m a giver. I favor
your musk.
Take refuge in anger.
Fall sacredly in.
Come challenge my heart
yet again.
What perfume is it
that drips from your hands?
Don’t worry, I never will tell.
I’m a deaf-mute doe,
wide-eyed and leaping,
one gunshot away from
the end.
Come sit with me, lie with me.
Give me your word.
I sold all my quibbles
for love.
I wonder when you have gone
back to your self,
will I then be able
to live?

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Culture, shock

Culture, shock

Spilling out of the tender trough
that anxiety feeds from,
your fleshed-out fantasy
perforated lives.
A craving was hidden,
mushroomed under musty cover -
the dirty underbelly
of yesterday's smiles,
all that gave hope
to keep up the farce,
to never ask who -
who were you really?
The truth will not do.
An enigma, a lie,
spoon-fed like porridge
to the so-called True
Until leanness of soul
could stomach no more.
Then out of the topsoil,
ducking the cross-fire,
squinting like mice,
they rise, two by three;
by thousands; in droves;
A legion cast out, made free.
Is there bread enough for me?
Preyed on by confusion,
trounced by bitterness -
relief held at bay.
Liberated, but malnourished,
alive and not kicking.
Sowing their tears
until harvest's moon.
Then sheaves will be reaped
and old wounds healed.
Yes, your fate is sealed.
Ugly and lecherous
you will be revealed.
Upbraided for falseness,
an ironic justice,
for twisting those words.
But joy will come
life will come
all will be whole
and nothing you do from your hole
will ever ensnare us again.
Our dying has come to an end.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

My Fortress

My Fortress
for Ardara

In my sadness
your song is
a lullaby of love
never sung before
heard only by me
just for this instance
trilling and lilting
like celestial melodies,
an ethereal sonance.

I am pained
and your fingers are
delicate wands,
softing away my heartaches,
smoothing me
with reassuring care,
combing my hair
and tickling my arms
with five years' favor.

Your tenderness relieves me.
Your sweet words console me.
The smell of your hair
and your perfect young skin
renew me like morning mallow.

I prayed to be
compassed about by angels
and you arrived,
flawless as a new peach,
mild and winsome,
pearl of my being,
bearing azure windows to heaven
and silken filament of softest gold.
Your precious coming
answered my supplication.
I am graced anew with every gentle breath
exhaled through your tiny teeth
as you bestow a new smile,
a laugh or a kiss
to your likeness in me.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

First Light

First Light

Shucking off darkness, Dawn arose.
Molten and oozing, she spread
and spurred to life
whatever her light encompassed.
In glorious morning
her bronze sculpted form
led triumphant birds and breezes
flooding with the river
past oaky markers
and granite milestones,
through crevice and canyon.
Onward like armies
driven by passions they charged
toward a gulf of orange-lit sea.
Daybreak,
victorious decanter
of Heaven's splendor.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Spying Together

Spying Together

I felt ashamed
looking through that portal
caring for what I saw,
though uncommitted as yet.
We were silent
like sarcophagi,
making an inner vow
to leave this untouched,
never to enjoin ourselves
to this shadow game.
You stood breathless
and defied motion.
Your eyes belied
the movement of
your pulsed wrists
which pounded
against your sides,
an indictment
neither of us could deny.
Not another step.
We turned away,
never to forget.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Winter Comes Cruelly

Winter Comes Cruelly

What manner of love is this -
That sneaks in loneliness
to be fulfilled alone;
That nods and smiles
hardly hearing;
That lines the ground in
poisoned eggshells all around,
a crunchy mine field
of subtle deadliness.

What manner of love, indeed -
That inspires tug-of-war
manipulations;
That sets me, a ringed board,
in the arrow field;
That hordes its measly cup
of nectar joy
where, smelling, I recall
but never taste.

What manner of love is ours -
if love it may be called
after such a long silence;
for love was meant to nourish,
not deplete, a heart's soil.
It is fermented now,
not juice or wine, but vinegar
and a chilly allusion to a kiss
that you hardly remember.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

The Crafting of a Star

The Crafting of a Star

Now it's time
for your work to begin.
How you know…
only something tells you
that right now,
three o'clock on Thursday,
it is time to start.
What tools you gather
for the work at hand
are few, simple.
You are an artisan,
trusted by strangers;
the fabled smith
who relies on instinct
as much as skill,
producing a brilliant
as seen only in
unearthly realms.
In night-light it glimmers,
luminary and warm -
a vernacular tribute
to timeless Neverland.
It is an undertaking of hope,
an impossible design,
miracle in demiurgic dazzle.
And now underway, I see it.
I know why this time,
beyond punctuality, called
to your pursuit;
lured you to launch
this crafting of gossamer yarn
for subjects of heavenly meadows
and yearning dimensions
to fondle, untinctured
in wakeless ambling.
Why this moment,
chosen of itself,
is the only possible marker
among elusive continuance
for an illusioned diamond to be cut;
for an intangible gleam to be forged;
for fantastic flax to spin
from the bobbin of the instant.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

apology

apology

Your "I'm sorry" thuds
with dead weight
to the floor -
Words used so many times
without thought
their meaning has been lost,
similar to
my "I forgive you".

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Let's

Let's

The feeling crossed my heart,
As thoughts cross minds,
That while there is time -
However short it may be -
We should make room for each other,
Unlock ourselves
And be brazenly honest,
Indulging every drop of love
We have been filled with
Because there have been
Too many "too lates"
And not enough "just in times"
And what else is there?

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Tess' sonnet

Tess' sonnet

What profit is there in remembering you
When I pay dearly for each flashing thought?
At such a price my visions must be few
Or build a deficit much overwrought.
The price tag that accompanies reverie
Demands far more than currency or gold,
I pay with pain of heart to think of thee,
Pawning my joy for what I cannot hold.
The tapestry of richly woven dreams
Offers no warmth to my frost-bitten flesh
My bosom's purse is bursting at the seams
Till mooning leaves my soul broken afresh.
Still, gladly to the poorhouse I would flee
If my reflection stirred your mind to me.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Crossroads

Crossroads

The land, swathed in green,
stands ready for us,
as we kick up clouds of earth,
our van stumbling through the wash
that hints at a future bridge.
Little fingers of prairie grass
wave at the passing trains.
Pottery pieces rise to the surface
leaping out of their dust beds
to be found and fumbled with.
The storm clouds are constantly
billowing like country skirts
colliding and inflating and
playing tag with the huge,
ruddy farmer's face of the sun.
From under this juniper I see
our stretch of rails -
our side of the mountain -
our neighbor's hill -
our cattle pond -
I am turning and turning around
to see what is ours.
Cheery surveyors' flags
whip pinkly in the wind.
Every foot of space is contentedly
inhabited by velvet-sided cows,
foraging grasshoppers,
the stink bugs, the blister beetles,
the jack rabbits and toads.
All the same natives who buzzed
and cowered here so many years.
Back when pot makers and
arrowed bow-men sent columns of smoke
up, up from this hill.
A hill now characterized by cattle scent,
sparkling with quartz and iron dust.
In quiet early mornings I imagine
it is grazed by mule deer and pronghorn
and patrolled overhead by crow and buzzard,
ready to pick clean the landscape
after coyote and cougar have dined.
We will fit here, we will live here
because man longs for a place
to make his own, and woman longs
to be settled in her Home.
And the land is ready for us.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Tools

Tools

Put disdain on a shelf
Low and within reach
Where we won't forget
Its threat, its imminence.

Hang up scolding on its hook
Where at the ready
We must ever maneuver past
Trying not to disturb it.

And in this box go
Blame and burden
Clearly labeled for easy access
They are handy to have near.

For now is peace time, so
Everyone smile nice and bright
Or I will have to retrieve
All the utilities I keep
To teach you to revere me.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Contrast

Contrast

A spent butterfly
rested a moment on my knee,
thinking me safe.
Why think that?
Why see yourself smarter
or faster, you waif?
What inadequacy lurks
in my feeble stature
to earn me tiny wings of powder
taunting my tough heart?
I am moved to coveting
conscious yearning for sundry force.
Take this flagrant storm
of quick-witted show.
A micro-burst that flaunts
its power and resplendence.
Terrifying, electric mistress
I'm jealous of your clouds,
your lightning bolt confidence.
I want to be the hurricane
that blows you away
into oblivion, brewing luscious
menace for a weak world.
Not this stooping, hapless pedestal
for banal beauty.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Pseudo-Transcendence

Pseudo-Transcendence

When I step into the too hot shower
and feel the steaming water thunder
over my shoulders, flattening
my hair in warm streams,
I wish this was my whole life.
The shining aluminum tile
and holy white curtain
would make up my landscape,
shielding me from the stress and fear
and worried responsibility
that lies outside.
I want the patter pounding on my skull
to drown out family noises
leaving only the sensory rush
of stimulated skin under heated falls.
Let that be everything, all there is.
No Psycho paranoia
or auto-erotic fantasy,
Not even Farrell's contemplation,
that some may attach to this sanctuary.
Just me, cleansed by the torrid sprinkle,
and the puerile scent of soap
eternally melting under the kind deluge.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

This Carousel

This Carousel

Long ago with a furtive grin
someone set the world to spin
and ever after we must all
hold on tightly lest we fall
a merry-go-round of wind and wave
that starts with a cry and ends in a grave
some must suffer and all must die
and each of us asks the proverbial why
are we merely playthings puppets of whim
did we do something to anger him
and when we find answers we hold them up high
trying to ease humanitys sigh
to show them the hand not covered in skin
of a thoughtful creator with a friendly grin.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

walking away

walking away

You come to me,
pain in your hand,
see if I
can understand.
I want you to
see me like that -
a body in clothes,
mysterious chat.

Where can this affair go?
In the end, who knows?
Will it be love
or the death of my soul?

You followed me
home from the show,
you waited there
outside the store.
You called me with
nervous amours
and everyone
wondered what for?

Why did you do this?
Why put me through this
sunny illusion,
mirrors and smoke?

Then go ahead,
tell me its done.
I never was
the real one,
Go forward now
following hope
and dont look back
over your shoulder.

Ive made a full circle
since walking away now.
I wound up behind you,
watching you shine.

I dont have to be here
besmeared by your future.
Ive got my own
I could turn to, I know.

Just look back once -
show me you know
how hard it was
letting you go.
Dont say a word -
Ive got your pain
right here now
and it stays.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

halfway

halfway

Tremble
Take apart this puzzle
shuffle and start

Torpid
mixing soft and hard
helpless card

Faded
fantasy of stirred senses
feverish dream

Hover
folded under petals
clinging breeze

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

opposites attract

opposites attract

His intrepid flopsy
beguiled her grace
were he sheepish
snob might snub
but each clomping
crude step fell
with such bravado
apathetic to her
gaze and strong
with clumsy chap
her lust oozed
for sloppy gait
that called her
poise too prissy
her soft features
too proper fixed
so it was
disgust drew both
like wanton flies
toward dirty delight

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Treachery

Treachery

Posy
wrapped in ropes of
tare tendril
delicate plant
a week untended
overtaken
by choking roots
overshadowed
by blanketing leaves
you can't recognize
this, your enemy
evil in its sprawl
stronger for its fight
the unloved weed
upholds you
your unloyal handmaiden
strong but malicious
killing you slowly
as you sweetly embrace
each creeping branch
the spikey pungent stem
and snarling toes
replete with bugs
your secret foe
disguised as you
doppelganger plant
posing as a posy
your friend
your nemesis
left alone will drain you
taken away will collapse you
stand alone
in floral beauty
take solar strength
and flourish.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

5 of Cups

5 of Cups

Again I am chomping on metal
my vise-jaw clamping it
while you do heartless surgery on my ego.

How disappointing it is for you
to be human
surrounded by humans -
not God, or King, or Robot
infallible and in control -
but human as Adam, as your father,
as me.

How joyless for you
this selective blindness
that narrows your sight to
the empty cup.

How disappointing it is for me
to be woman
vulnerable to man -
not strong, independent or callous
satisfying myself -
but weak as Eve, as Ophelia,
as me.

How wretched I am,
wrestling - bored and bitter,
Grasping at an elusive star
taunted by romance.

Again I bear down,
taste the steel,
devotedly taking each incision.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

sonnet

You shaved your beard and part of me awoke
A part that pined over you at the start,
which had been hibernating in my heart,
was now un-caved and lively with one look.
For, though your beard and moustache were well-groomed,
and though you boast the features of a king,
I would not trade your jaw for anything
or shroud your mouth in that dark, hairy room.
I've loved you in your hair mask all these years
and told you how minute the matter seemed
(but ever were you smooth-cheeked when I dreamed).
You roused me when you lifted silver shears,
restoring with the lather and the clips
the vivid touch of your unhindered lips.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Night Picnic

Night Picnic

I laid out a soft blanket
Over blue-green grass, freshly mowed,
Spreading before us a feast fit for folk
In dim evening's half-light.
Our hushed neighborhood
Listened to squeal upon titter,
The growing triumph of our night picnic.
There went a bat! Through the velvet blue air
Swoop-flapping with rubbery puppet wings.
It's not a bat, it's a birdie,
Chirped a skeptic observer
While the resident linguist screeched
And squeaked a welcome and
We all waited expectantly for the
Return of that near-mythic aviator,
Until the conversation turned to
Fireflies. They don't live here,
so far west. But I saw them in
dreams last night. As a child
we caught them of a Missouri evening,
barefoot and chiming excitedly, just like this.
How well I remember. Will they?
I squelch the impulse to hush,
To settle, thinking how few the moments
And passing like breeze.
And so proceeds a frenzied chase
Dog, tot, princess and grizzly bear,
Until stars evoke quiet
And we are all still together
Then I don my mortarboard and robe,
Point to the sky and reveal
The wonder of constellation.
These same stars, as long as we live
Is all the sky will hold. Charted, mapped
And designated by older wizards and magi.
They will outlive us. You will show
Your own entourage one day.
It is warm in this instant of meshing.
I want to lengthen it, but it's time is
as predetermined as those stars
and now is ended. Fold up the blanket
and tuck into bed my own twinkling gems.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Mother Mimi 3/8/06

Mother Mimi 3/8/06

Mother Mimi
Can you hear
Baby's screaming
In your ear?
All the children
Run amok
And on your teats
The wee ones suck.

Mother Mimi,
Fetch the switch.
You've become
A raging bitch
All the children
Cower now
Can't compete
With such a row.

Mother Mimi
Hides alone
Someone's knocking
We're not home.
Finally she
Prays for grace.
Peace returns
To frantic face.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Musing 5/12/05

Musing 5/12/05

There is no philosophy
Afforded mothers.
Responsibility requires
Practicality, not pondering.
Days of fascinated learning,
Eloquent expression, and
Mature conversation
Float in peripheral memories
Farther away.
When was the last moment of
Placid
Pensive
Poetic?
Precious character of personal ideas
Slipped softly through busy fingers.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Window Cleaner

Window Cleaner

A man like you
Has reasons for your ways.
Your vacant presence
Is reaped through daily buffeting.
You stand tall
Performing your careful craft -
Perfect strokes,
Water paints glass,
Each pane another masterpiece
With seldom an audience
But plenty of critics.
To them you are
Blue collar, dusty shoes
Unschooled and not worth your wages.
Once in a while, on a good day,
You bother to strike a conversation,
Startle their pug ears
With gentle intelligence.
Their interest roused,
They watch you
Systematic, meticulous
Opening a vortex of light
To their cleverly disguised filth.
Not a wrecking ball, tearing open
The side of their cave
But an archaeologist,
Scrupulously removing obstructions.
Yes, you are better than them.
When we met,
Your life was a simple integer.
One narrow shelf held your
Mementos, arranged just so.
The next shelf held your entire wardrobe
Folded with exactness.
Your fading, favorite polo shirts
And clean white tees.
White sheets smoothly fitted
To a single bed sat
Directly under straight linen curtains.
Your tidy desk drawer held
A file folder of five monthly invoices
- Your sole trappings -
Paid in cash on their due date.
You changed the oil of your spotless blue truck
Before every road trip.
You trimmed your nails
And soaped your ears daily
And shaved with ritual piety.
Clean, exactist.
You were the foreman over slobs
Who resented you
For your neat precision,
Jeered your ethic,
And envied your steadily rising earnings.
But you went home satisfied,
Appreciated by your employer.
Now you enter the house
Tired and distracted.
Eyes take in nothing,
Blank like old light bulbs.
Not grumpy, but absent.
You simply forget to stop sulking.
It doesn't occur to you
There are details to notice,
The small mercies of home.
The noise bothers you.
You are irritated by aberrations.
Your daughter may invoke momentary delight
But is quickly brushed aside.
This is no longer your domain.
You never find it just as you left it.
Although you opened your arms
To each beloved intruder,
Now you are lost, disoriented
By asymmetry and irregularities.
The artist's vision
In your belly keeps you
Plugging away on what I
Only count incidental,
Wasted calendar pages.
I see you missing, overlooking
So much fleeting fortune.
A nest egg of moments,
Falling out of pockets with holes.
I want to slap you out of
Hysterical somnambulism.
I want to plead,
We are not as perfect as you,
But we are your perfect fit
We are the ones who recognize your genius,
Who applaud your cunning,
Who cherish your determined deftness.
Share it with us, forgive us our trespasses.
Father us in the same adroit pride
With which you have always lived.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

curriculum

curriculum

I can only teach you what I know
Things never listed
But collected unwittingly over a lifetime

The basics of survival

The joys of creation, music, imagination
Words and images and their power

The dangers to avoid
This hurts, that scares

The reward of doing something unenjoyable
What you must do
We call it work, because it isn't fun
But there is the reward
Gratification
Life
Sustenance
Sometimes treasure

The why and how of some of it
- Some of it I just don't know
Maybe how to find the answers

To love
To receive love
But not protect your heart
I can't tell you where or when
Your first heartache lurks
But I will hold you while you cry
Tell you "I know, I know
It hurts like death"
Then make sure you go back and love again
Because the hurting only makes the bliss of love
Stronger, more beautiful.

Introduce you to people
Hope you show yourself friendly
But never push you to begrudged graciousness.

Take you before God
Pray you put your hand in His
But not for me.
No third party has any place there.

Go before you
Build bridges for you to cross
Un-peril the chasms
That's what I'm entrusted with
But I have so much to learn, and
I can only teach you what I know.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Baby's Kiss

Baby's Kiss

You put everything into it.
Steadily leaning in, slightly
Stretching, with short arms
Wound snugly around my trunk of neck.
Your eyes are open, watchful.
Your earnest mimicry
Surpasses any monkey.
Perfect pink pucker
Soft and tiny, but
Firm as an early raspberry.
Your lips bunched up
Purposefully, carefully
Placed directly over mother's mush.
The tiny pip of your purse
Pronouncing the proper 'p'
Like a punctuated hug.
Ah! It clutches the crux of me
And holds it for a second
With all the infinite love of God
Before toddling away, leaving me
Astounded by sublimity.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

the spinster's romance

the spinster's romance

I spend uncharted moments
Contemplating intangible you
Divining where you are
Right this second
Wondering if you are talking
Or eating
Or sighing
I imagine you are thinking of me
Perhaps even with longing
I have determined
In consultation with myself
That you must - by mere compulsion -
Enshrine me in your heart
Among your other idols and icons
Chosen so carefully
And never ever dispossessed

I have practiced telepathy
- Breathe in power
Breathe out a message to you -
I used to be quite talented
Ripples of thought departed me
And every time you would call
But now I am an unsure pigeon
No evidence of your amours
No return on my invested seconds

In my musing
I see you generations younger
Mischievous and lithe
Adonis of my fledgling swoon
I see myself silly as a junebug
Laughing and charming
Vowing to continue vernal for you

But what wrinkles and fades to gray
Does not touch the pure, green
Fidelity of my patient expectation.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

In Our 11th Month

In Our 11th Month

It had been a surreal year.
We were these innocuous invaders
Refusing to be tourists,
We made the Israeli streets our own.
In the past months
We had watched, stricken with grief and heartache,
Every news report divulging details
Of suicide bombs,
Wilderness ambushes
Exploding malls and cafes.
We watched religious workers
Sift through wreckage to find
Bits of bone and flesh to bury
On white-stoned hillsides.
We watched babushkas huddle together sobbing,
And despairing shopkeepers bow, bewildered.
We peered through barred windows
At suspicious luggage in the streets.
We boarded busses,
Brushing past teenaged protectors
With adult Kalashnikovs.
We obeyed them like school children -
When they told us to disembark
We hurried away, allowing them to face the danger,
Those unafraid sons and daughters of Zion.
We wrote home weekly
Of near misses, of wounded acquaintances.
The terror was commonplace there,
Like traffic or weather.
The horror gradually subsided
Only to return with the next gruesome report
Children Bludgeoned to Death In Ravine;
Family Held Hostage In Their Home, Then Slaughtered;
A madman on a street corner, gunning down
Jews and Arabs and tourists alike
Until taken out by a soldier -
An eighteen year old boy -
Made out a hero, but
What choice did he have?
And the next day
You wake up and go back to work.
You get on another bus identical to the one
That is now cinders and bloodstains.
You just keep going.
So it was in that
Mindset of helpless invincibility
That we had our first child.
Your mother came to visit.
We played tour guides through all the old countryside.
After months of frustration and fear,
And holding our breath,
We put on big smiles and it all
Became new again.
A new little creature to care for
And your dear mother to share it all with,
Packing it into weeks instead of months.
At three days our baby was strolling marketplaces,
Visiting the Galilee,
Praying at Yad Vashem.
We were fearless of Arab taxi drivers.
We laughed and joked through the dirty shuq.
We forgot precautionary wisdom.
Traveling an outer highway
After dark, we saw a roadside attraction.
Wilderness Tabernacle Replica,
A must see for your mother.
We knew it was closed,
Just wanted to stop and read the sign.
We wound out the little dirt road,
Pulled around the car park slowly
To shine the headlights directly on the sign.
All of us peered together
Till one of us, was it your mother?
Dropped our glance a few feet down.
Startled eyeballs glowed from the dust.
A confused moment we pondered
What this meant.
The face
Stared up at us, dirty, scared.
Why is anyone lying on the ground
Outside the city, on the edge of the desert
At night?
Then he stood, advanced.
We saw bulging, zippered jacket,
Dark skin and hair,
Nervous, purposeful gait.
Dread seized our ribcages
No time to put into words what we knew.
Just GO! Just drive! Turn around and flee!
And we threw gravel up the little road to the highway.
Stopped at a gas station, conjecturing
Where he must have crossed the border
And where he must be headed. That dark menace
in the secluded night.
A crowd of soldiers
Stood there smoking and talking.
Alerted, they headed off together with
The strength of their rifles, their
Youth, their duty to protect their
Tiny homeland from villains,
Desperately slithering through
miles of dirt to destroy them.
And we took our baby
Back to our flat,
Reminded again
That hatred has still not been annihilated.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

In Dreams I Can

In Dreams I Can

I passed an entire night
Scratching
Scratching it out
A hen in the yard
I scratched, I scribbled
On floating books
Wall-sized canvases
Blank white expanses
Filled with my sagacious scrawl
My Pollack poem
This will explain everything, I said
The supreme expression of
Passion and fervor
Black and white gouges
Of despondence, of elation
All of it.
Perfect random chaos
To finally expose the soul

An entire night
My dream-self worked
A thrall of conception
Till morning roused me
I had to work fast
With every imagined scribble
Fresh in my head
Frantic with inspiration
I lifted my pen
But the light of day
Revealed nothing more than
A tangled web of lines
Knots of ink
Insanity's Garden of Verses
Damaging my page.

(c) Tasha Chinnock

10 Minutes of Coping

10 Minutes of Coping

She couldn't make
The leap
It just wasn't in her.
And pulsing pain
Is more than she could bear.
Naughty rendezvous
Would make her stomach turn.
She's dreamt of bolting
- a scared deer
but duty captivates her
- those tell-tale headlights.

So she is escaping
(withdrawing within)
Living out a jaunt
Sophisticated, casual
In her chaise lounge.

A visitor of the South Seas
She bustles through bitter cold New York
Fondly remembers her dear Italian countryside
And an empty runway in Africa.

If I was the other me
What would I say?
What cig would I drag?
What color hair would I toss
From my shoulder?

Ten minutes of coping.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

History

History

A black and white photo
Taken decades before I was born
Your face trying to smile
That is me
That is my thrashing
Uncertain look on our face
Thoughts lost on phantom wishes
Who saw your feckless id?
Who knew how you skirmished?
You were painted in nimbus
By so many demotic poltroons
No one measured your ulage
And God, that baleful despot,
Gave you no clemency
But allowed you to rout entropy
Soused with vapor
And disappear out of three lives
And enter into thousands.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Kind Diane

Kind Diane

Your call was a glint
My paradigm shift
And then red poppies
Sprouting up
And a hug
Of tenderness that meant
Something
It started with your call
And ended with a smile.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

handsome illusion

handsome illusion

I loved your face
It was all smiles
Your straight nose
Straight as a bone
Perfect centerpiece
For laughing eyes
Full of wisdom and life
Your teeth were uneven
But brilliant
And always there
My old enameled friends
Dressed in juicy, plump fruit
Plums that spoke and laughed
Segments of blood orange
That kissed and whistled
Riding on an oval chin
Which never quivered
Seldom frowned
Your heart was in your face
So accessible I thought it was mine.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Unwanted Visitor

Unwanted Visitor

I peeked in
Under a thick brown rock
Selected arbitrarily in the garden

One hurried millipede blinked
I was unexpected
Legs busied themselves to and fro

No need to straighten up
Are you putting the kettle on?

I have intruded on him

I hate to impose sir
Really you look fine

Shiny and segmented
A perfect coil of limbs

Don't bother yourself
I'm going now

If only my own rock was so easily replaced.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

foot in mouth

foot in mouth

Jake rushed in swinging
Ready for a fight
And though Jake was smaller
Jerome was surprised

He had little chance
To brace for the blows
Jaw knuckled up
Responses were slow

A look of dumb defense
Arrived in his eye
Jake fisted like hail
Bestowed his rage high

His arms stretched up heavenward
Longer than fear
Jerome lashed out blind
A strike caught an ear

He toppled like blocks
But Jake wasn't done yet
Declined the spare moment
Would not catch his breath

But, as the bloke fell
He lunged to the street
And tackled those ribs
He could not retreat

Till pride's debt was paid
No word of reproach
Was offered from we
Who hovered in close

When Jake did slow down
And sauntered away
Jerome's shame of face
Kept him where he lay

But when the crowd scattered
And returned to their ale
He wandered off humbled
The end of the tale.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Intrusion

Intrusion

God! It's like winter!
This chill, this unraveling
I recoil, ashamed as a sowbug
From all the questioning faces
How did you get in my little book?

A wind blew so deafening it shook my roots
Reverberated in my guts
What a swollen bladder of ego
To exhume my heart
To disturb the mortal ruins of my happiness

Rows of unglib mouths
Dressed in sour waistcoats
Prohibit me, I am constipated here
And I never did violence
I only chased the eels into shadows

Yesterday I could name it
I could say it right out loud
I haven't forgotten
My tongue is frozen
And wouldn't you like to know.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Developed

Developed

Here's the set of twenty four
Memories neatly packaged
Here is what we take away
The part we'll always cherish
We can tell the kids this tale
We can show them evidence
They will have glossy legends
Of the time they don't recall
That full-color paradise
Scenicly captured table
Wonderful silent frolicks
Here is the proof of our smiles
Truth is here, documented
And you were there, yes you were
Was I there too, I'm not sure
There is no photo of me.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Isaiah 42:3 [ACROSTIC Part 1]

Read Part 2
"A bruised reed he will not break and a dimly burning wick he will not quench"
Isaiah 42:3

Assuredly

Beloved one,
Reed
Unguarded,
I shall ever
Save thee from
Evil that seeks thy
Destruction;

Redeem thee,
Even though
Enmity runs
Deep;

History hath shown
Even my enemies

Worn and ashamed
I have upheld,
Loved,
Liberated.

Never failing
Only healing
Till bruises fade.

Battered and worn;
Ready to perish;
Eating the bread of
Affliction;
Kneeling;

Again I say
Never shalt thou
Doubt.

Anointed,

Depend on me
I will be
More than bright
Light of day
Your flame

Behemoth
Under the sea
Recoils from me
Not even that beast
Is able to quench
Nor stifle the torch
Glowing in Me.

Wind and waves
In all their power
Can not defy their
King.

Heaven and
Earth are mine.
Wonderous things
I will show thee
Life abundant
Love and joy.

Not to thine
Own heart lean,
Trust in Me.

Quiet and still
Under my wing
Even the darkest
Night
Can never touch you
Here.

Small comfort

Small comfort
Our vaudevillian yaws
Breaking up parity
Dragging the reaches
Like a barge of blithesome jawing
It may only be
That I pretend it is joint
That you are closer than carpet
Bright and clean
We volley superlatives
Rummaging for each others teeth
Beneath it I clutch like wonder
I think you might smash me
Enclose my feathers
In swarthy doses
Of virgin solace
All in such a high cupboard
Reachless and unlit
Inventoried by a mizer
With tenacious eyes.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Mum

Mum

I am a secret
Hiding like a crawdad
I can only be whispered
Or gestured, implied
Chameleon colors
More like armor than camouflage
I have a spy glass
That looks far and deep
Through the little peep hole on the door
A hermit, a shrew
Secluded newt
Albino under a rock
Buried in sand like a toad
Watching eyes like the unseen alligator
Quiet as a wart
Covered in cotton
I walk, unheard, like a brave
To the cracked closet door
I am a shadow
Not worth noticing
Unrecalled, subconscious
But to those aware I am
Locked away ignominious
Dangerously veracious
An asp in fragile digs.

(c) Tasha Chinnock

Selfless Service

Selfless Service

Her eyes unfriended his form
Ridged and meaty as a walnut
This was her ramble
He could envelop all of it

He unwound her shroud
Grey as stone
His knuckles of muscle murmured
She heard every syllable

The whisper of her pink lids
Made milky his eyes
He held his tongue
Rippled the delicate moss

She was exacting, a bird
His heart had more room for her
But she glutted on novel
She flooded him in a needy movement

Not seeing, still she knew
She abandoned the lot
In a tub of moments
Oh so perfect, tinged with purple

He folded, sealed the letter
Sad like a pawpaw
Watched her retreating hair
She knew, he understood.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Four Years After Israel

Four Years After Israel

There is no forgetting that hill
Those endless stairs
Like a torture device
We climbed and climbed
With young, undaunted feet

There is no forgetting the voices
Shrugging throats
Eyes defensively sizing
Our intentions, our naiveté
The motive behind our presence

There is no forgetting ancient stones
Cut to fit
Clutching the cries
Of a tremulous nation
A people pleading with a retaining wall
For peace...for a miracle

There is no forgetting the sky
Clear as pools by day
Evening flaming over the balcony
With dusky intensity
But in the night
Chopped like liver
By the ginsu of helicopters
The rattle of gunfire
The terror of murder

Forgetting is too easy
I refuse to forget you
My distant love
Source of my joy
Womb of God
Tomb of death
Light of the nations
City of Gold.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

"What Are You Looking At?"

"What Are You Looking At?"

Blue, watery eyes
Big and round as eggs
Ruffled with black lace
Shiny with tears
Wrought with confusion
Sustained a first playground wound
A scathing snip
From a twerp three times your age
With half your merit
Forked tongue knocked off
A chunk of your innocence
Left you exposed
To the mean elements of inhumanity
Your purity faltered
Just a few moments
As you ran to me and hid your face
From human nature
I bandaged it with cooing
But it is bald and open now
Altered eternally
One day those words will
Rip through your lips
Passing on the astonished sting
Like a plague of unfeeling
To a pair of chaste, hateless eyes
And some mother will loathe you, too.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Weak Manifesto

Weak Manifesto

I can no longer listen to
You shout my name
Your screaming rage
Your endless needs
I can not bear one more
Demand that assures criticism
Request that refuses no
I am crushed under the weight
Of expectations
From you, you, you, you.
What happened to the part of you
That rejoiced in me?

Today you hugged me
I couldnt let go
I tried relaxing into your strong arms
But they didnt feel strong or sincere
Selfish embrace
That wanted more of my soul
To stuff in its pipe and smoke
Until Im ashes

Ive been so depressed
I murmured
Me too.
And now its up to me again.
Not allowed to need.
I must be the fixer
I am the duct tape
What will happen when I
Cant hold it all together?
It will still be all my fault.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Chamber

Chamber

Cautious yet yearning
I offer up
This rusty canister
It is thinly encrusted in
A shell of neglect.
When you shake it
Crumbs of feeling
Clatter about its tinny
Chamber. Airless and
Starved, in this forgotten
Cave, like bear skeletons
Left hibernating too long.
You could blow off
The dust and polish it.
Dump out those remnants
And fill it anew
With all the fresh,
Living and real, so real
The joys and sorrows
Of a living, beating
Blood-gushing heart.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Bahlegahn

Bahlegahn
Hebrew for
"all mixed up"
These answers aren't good enough.

Why settle for miserable?
Refusing to acknowledge
Constantly scrutinizing
Oh, my blood boils!

Is this refining me?
dangling my feet over the edge
speaking all my days to blank stares
Who are not me!

Why talk?
My thoughts are foreign
my feelings invalid
I've said too much!

Your answers are for someone else.
They confuse
leave me askew
Bahlegahn

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

A Tumor

A Tumor

Frailty is raping us, robbing us
Punishing us with cruel blows
Brittle bones
And mushy tissues
Our blood spills too easily
Our skin breaks like fruit
All that invades us
Finds little resistance
Such passive organs
Under attack and yielding
We sit like fragile ducks
Hunted by unpronounceable
Enemies, hunters, gangsters
An unseen captor
Tortures us with bruises
Burns us and breaks us
Throws us up against walls
But that is not all
It invades from the inside
Infiltrates every secret recess
Disintigrating our constitutions
And rubbing our faces in weakness
We are pale white like ashes
A sallow, clammy mound of undoing
From birth we have been dying
From chubby infancy
We have groaned and struggled
Thinking we may conquer
Make it subside
But we all succumb
And are left a rotting ruin.

(c) Tasha Chinnock

Bukowski

Bukowski

You fatuous coot -
Perverted geezer -
A series of failures
Made you famous.
You are desireable
To a set of lost children:
Whiskey slurping, unshowered
Intellectuals with more potential
than they want or admit, and
Women 40 years younger
With breasts you never could have had
When you were their peer.
To love you is insanity -
You are ugly and foul,
Your heart is dismal
And your breath is surely rotten;
But you have something
So rare, so honest, so smart
That makes us admire you,
Emulate you,
Build great monuments
And small poems
In your honor.
You have nothing to offer
But your sad originality,
And for that, we worship you.

(c) Tasha Chinnock

Cleansing

Cleansing

I curl up over the toilet bowl
Sick in my soul
Ready to vomit
Spill out all the toxic filler
Reject all that Im full of
I will cramp and wretch
For days and weeks on end
To rid myself of horrid waste
All the greasy junk food of life

Gallons and gallons of
Burger wrappers and straws
Mixed with television commercials
And ugly fashions on magazine covers
Tabloid news that no one has a right to know
There are air fresheners and
Acne cream swirling around in the bowl with
Baseball star bobble heads

My head swims with uncouth t-shirt slogans
And men in bars winkingly assuring
Its all good!

I am nauseous from ingesting
Biased news reports
And bigotry glorified
The illusion of constitutional rights

I cant stomach truck stop prostitution
Exposed (or exploited) by Oprah Winfrey
That just continues
Hairy, fat, tweaking truckers
Screwing child sex slaves
Who are chained in Platos cave
Gazing at the shadows
Cast on the wall by the fires of Hell

I strain and strain to expel
Bombings and shootings and slaughter
In Israel, Africa, Ireland, Cuba
And the United States of America

I hurl and hurl and hurl
Gasoline prices and
Car theft and kidnapping
Rape in broad daylight
And police who cant do anything
Silent eyewitnesses
And bribed juries

I gag on movies
And people learning how to act
From movies
Moving pictures...dramatized fiction

I am sick, I am sick
I dont want anymore
Of aborted children and
Antidepressants and
A multitude of counselors

Choking me with
Cloned sheep and engineered corn
And cultic lies
Deceiving masses
Rewriting history
Poisoning innocents
Vaccinating babies like sick cows

I feverishly moan and labor
To bring up the
Biohazards of my heart
Get it out! Get out of me!
Off of me! Let me be clean!

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

She is sinking, she is sinking
Someone throw the life ring there
We are watching, helpless watching
Separate and yet aware
In the oaky red she's drowning
Swallowing, breathing it like air
See her take great gulps of sorrow
Bound spectators we just stare
Undercurrent pulls her under
Fingers scratch the surface bare
Desperate cries stifled in liquid
Face obscured by swarming hair
If tomorrow she's found floating
Suffocated by her care
Pull her, lifeless, from the death trap
Let her lovers rail and swear
But we really couldn't help her
No one felt that they could dare
Brave the deeps of her young heartache
Sorrows the thing we dont share.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

haiku

One tiny cirrus
Contains in its wisps power
To obscure the sun.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

The long nights

The long nights

In the sleepless dark
My bed is a swamp of shifting piles
I wrap myself around them
Unsnug and discomforted
The back of my neck
Is hot like a dashboard
I pull at my confused hair
And turn my pillow over
Every half hour I turn it
And lie on what ought to be
The cool side
The mass of t-shirt twists me up
A breast sticking out of the left sleeve
My right arm caught in a trap
Losing feeling to poor circulation
And I am turning again
Like a sprinkler
Covering every inch
Going through each position
Searching for greener grass
Try to relax my brow
To quiet my rambling thoughts
I dont require dreams
Just sleep that feels like rest
In this restless early morning.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Serious collector

Serious collector

If you can be brazen and apathetic
To someone you cared for,
Cried for and bled for
If you can walk around every day
Without giving them a moment of your thoughts
Or feeling a twinge of emotion at their memory
Can your heart be human -
True and actual?

When you held that hand
And squeezed it with some subliminal significance
Can you forget the shape of the fingers
Or the tenderness of the caress?

Once you've listened to that voice
Tell of all the joy and pain it could cry or sing
And have laughed together and screamed at each other
And finished one another's jokes
Can you pick up the phone one day
And ask Who is this?

Can your familiar one become so strange
You almost require an introduction...
Or is there a record kept
In the secret storehouses of your heart
That knows, knows, knows
Those lips
Those eyes
Those uncovered places
That were for you
A private garden?

Does the heart remember
What the mind may forget?

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

reversal

reversal

Every illusion holds some reality
Every lie contains a bit of truth
Every false heart knows fidelity
To a person or thing who inhabits their earth

Decorative conceptions linger in shallows
Obscuring the molecule of utility
That shyly abides in stirring shadows
Within a chamber of painful inability

Occupy alone the throne of my heart
And reign there without a rival
Let me awake to what only you start
And abandon obeisance to all that is trivial

Carry me from the cavern that keeps me
Teach my hands and feet what is amiss
Guide my still limbs to dance unflinchingly
Over the marble floors and right off the precipice

You wont leave me hurting or discover me dead
I cannot forget the promise you made
It just needs to move to my heart from my head
I chose long ago to be faithful and my heart is staid.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

The Day of L______'s Memorium

The Day of L______'s Memorium

While you go look over death's
Deep face - the dearly departed
In suit and tie, and you in
Dress shirt and trousers, twice
As handsome as Friday nights -
Surrounded by aunties and
Grandmothers' gray hair
Peeking into the crystal casket
To see their future - not far off
Filled with silent memories.

While you visit generations now
Expiring, I will retract time
Becoming wobble-footed, light
Of heart, with flashing, stretching
Leaping shadow. The dog petters
And stair explorers of this world
Never think of destinations. Grave
And Heaven and Hell have no place
For tree climbers, messed of hair and
Untucked shirt, hide-and-seeking
Across Spring's green grass.

When you awake from hushed, dark
Sleep-walk, step out into blinking
Light. Join us in carefree
Sunshine of youthful life.
You have only visited the banks
Of that relentless river Mortality.
Your reality is here in the dry,
Safe hearth of Time. Remember,
But walk forward with me.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Ball Point Muse

Ball Point Muse

It stands erect, seducing my thoughts

With dark red stem to hold

The sword-sharp point revealing my soul

As blackness smoothly rolls




I taste the tinny metal under tongue

And discipline my tongue to steel my words




The blank white sheets, drinking my heart

As from my wound it flows

And my heart beat reciting each verse

It bends to listen close




And once each syllable is recorded

Its left to be deciphered by the world.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

In my green turtle treasure box
I used to keep souvenirs.
A tiny plastic frog that hops
-Favor from a birthday party;
A cigar wrapper from a cigar
I purchased and smoked myself
At a snobbish humidor in
Santa Fe New Mexico;
The wiry cap from a bottle
Of cheap champagne
Someone I once loved had
Twisted into a miniature
Chair from Thumbelina's tearoom;
One glossy apache tear-
That glassy black stone
Sold to me from the basket
Of a dark little beauty wearing
A sailor hat over black curls;
A Land-O-Lakes butter box,
Folded and cut to reveal
Squaw breasts without nipples
Hiding behind her wares. Funny
How remembering my mementos-
Those silly totems of time-
Awakens vivid connection
To a long-lost life.

And now my box sits empty
On a shelf holding up books,
Now and then refilled
With army men or pretzels.
I couldnt venture guessing
How my treasures were dispersed -
Carried off at playtime
Or dropped under furniture.
No one knew their meaning
But I, who valued them.
No heart would lay claim on
Such trivial artifacts,
Which my eyes fondled
Again and again in those days;
Memorizing what each
Represented and how
Their tiny, subtle details
Stirred my mind to dance,
Or mourn, or pledge myself.
They were only bobbles -
Mere rubbish and transient -
But such priceless refuse,
Once lost is lost.
Can't be replaced or redone,
Only remembered by a heart
Familiar with their source.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Haiku

Rambunctious children
play swordfights in the backyard
until someone cries

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Blushing

Blushing

O love, O boyish flirt!
How every word you utter
Makes me smile and hurt!

I cannot look at you
But every passion in me
Becomes enflamed anew.

Unpracticed as it seems
Your softly guarded speech melts
Into exquisite dreams...

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Greater Good 4/30/06

Greater Good 4/30/06

Will they look back on all their early years
And see in retrospect a soul that flailed
Or always wonder who that gremlin was
Or feel a lack of something rich and real

When they go sorting through a box of life
Poring over every page of pain
Will light emblazon all the secret writ
Revealing what could never be explained

To embryonic minds so unequipped
To know the wrack and ruin of a heart
Or see the deeper reasons in the world
The disillusioned, introspective hurts

Will they become like shallow bitter pools
That sit and stagnate in their broken dreams
Looking at love and hope as foolishness
And fail to find out what forgiveness means

Is this old stubborn narcissistic gloom
The tool designed to snuff their glowing smiles
Then it must be un-wielded and disposed
Before their priceless innocence expires.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Spring Angels 4/14/06

Spring Angels 4/14/06

It is the transverse hush
Of a cold day in spring
When the cherubs dancing
Naked dont notice their own
Shivering, wind-blown chill

Teeth knocking together they
Go about building towers
Chasing birds and butterflies
Dont mind the looming clouds
Because Its spring! Its spring!

And I stand indifferently viewing
As if apart, uninvolved
With a baggy blue sweater of
Heaviness and hopeless heartache
Thrown on haphazardly a year ago

When these giddy angels collapse
With fevers and congested lungs
I will take them in dutifully
But not compassionately. No
I cant summon such stuff

But I will play nurse maid
Bringing them soup and saltines
Urging them to have some tea
Changing soiled, vomitous sheets
With new ones, crisp and white

And when they are well
They will pay me in song
And a word for my pen
But they will not take me along
I can never be like them.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

The Inward Range 3/30/06

The Inward Range 3/30/06

I rise up early like a rancher
With chores to do, my days work
Is on the inward range.
My dream rooster cock-a-doodles
Its nonsense over and over
Until I rub my eyes and get
Up to drink a cup of joe.

Soon begins the worried lowing-
Like cattle somber and practical,
Making lamentation over
My unchecked list. Old nagging
Heifers just need to be milked.

In my worn saddle-brain Ive learned
To retrieve straying calves of whim.
They jog aimlessly to thorny wishes
And stumble over jagged reminiscence.
Its easy to get lost out there in there.
In deep canyons where only howling
Coyotes of bitter longing find you.

At last, the routine takes control
With a rhythm all its own
I relax and let my horse
My galloping, knickering subself
Work the range of monotonous duty.
It feels good to accomplish through unity
Mind and body like a horse and rider.

Sometimes it becomes a regular
Cattle-drive. Livestock teeming
Across vast prairies. Making ground.
hardly a broken gait in the
forward herding rush of thought,
Of idea and motivation and conscious
Growth. A stampede of philosophy

That doesnt rest until it reaches
The next watering hole; a tank of
Murky liquid ideas that are soon
Sucked dry, down to a muddy
Bottom, mucked with the hoof-prints
Of my thirsty great beasts of burden;
Seventy head not a one lost.

Back in the bunk-house, dirty boots
Kicked off on the floor. Exhausted
I close my eyes, rest my dogs and
Sleep deep, for tomorrow is another
Long hard day on the inward range.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Un-dog me 3/11/06

Un-dog me 3/11/06

Un-dog me. Un-child me.
Let me grow up
And be a human

Un-slave me. Un-serf me.
See me noble
And free.

Un-she me. Un-you me.
I am myself
And sweetly feminine.

Dont make me yours,
Or possess me
Or change me,
Undermining all my truth.

Un-hurt me. Un-rule me.
Love me for me
Like I love you.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

For Seamus

For Seamus

O galumphing fool! You joyful pup!
Your cocked to side ears
And click clack claws
Fill our house

Your ever sniffing nose
And beard dripping from
Your water dish
Frustrate my patience

Out, dumb mutt! You miserable mongrel!
Your big brown eyes
Stare back abashedly
Unaware of trespasses

Your regal posture
Lying there on the sofa
Smoothes my wrinkled nerves
I bestow again my good graces

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

My Own Walk

My Own Walk

I came where I did not belong
I forced my way over the line
For, who put up this keep out sign?
As if its presence makes me wrong.

Breathing, I squinched my eyes shut tight
One motion later there I stood
Where no one cared for ought or should
Or had capacity to slight

My character or taint my worth
I was not owned and none controlled
My words or thoughts, however bold.
I found there my selfish rebirth.

And now in glancing back I see
The sign is printed on both sides
The sentinel of each derides
The other as unfit for me.

So, even though the way divides
And each side boasts its sacrament
I am not forced to circumvent
Or be confined to either side.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

The Hirelings 4/3/06

The Hirelings 4/3/06

Did we once dance the ball
In tingly servitude?
Then we were royalty:
Crowns of love
Noble passions.
Chivalry became you
As you bowed,
And I curtsied.

Time made our waltz a jig.
We are common, vulgar
Slang hard peasants and proles:
Fend for ourselves
Drooping rags
Tooled hands and meager.
Hirelings, we.
Heartless hirelings.

(c) Tasha Chinnock

Monkeys

Monkeys

Not exactly in a zoo. Not tame.
But out of the wilds
In a sort of captivity

Such screaming little primates
Devoid of understanding
Swinging on synthetic vines

Or whatever is available
A ceiling fan perhaps
A window furnishing

And slinging ape shit
On walls and floors
With jungle abandon

My children are the link
That Darwin dreamed of
Wholl evolve in years not eons.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

A Finer Purpose 4/8/06

A Finer Purpose 4/8/06

Here lies my gentleman
Curled up to sleep
On mothers great lap
Where sweet dreams creep.

His hot red cheeks
In slumber blush
The fires of fantasy
Feed the flush.

Winding around
His neck so fair
Are curly tendrils
Of strawberry hair.

And this way and that
His eyelids flirt
While plump little fingers
Clasp my skirt.

O undeserved gift!
I see in that face
More dear than salvation
A new kind of grace

My heart swells and surges
How could I resent
My life given for you?
I wholly repent.

For what other purpose
Could ever compete
With tending to angels
So perfect and sweet?

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

First Impression 3/9/06

First Impression 3/9/06

What did I expect it to feel like?
Functional and strong?
I dont think I ever thought
Never tried to imagine
Never considered it at all
But then under my fingers
It was all wrong
Not alive immobile
Just strange and alien
Like the displaced arm
That falls asleep and isnt your own
So confusing
Can it really feel?
Is this a part of you?
No idea how to react, what to do
I changed my mind
I want to go home.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Our Mold

Our mold

I was poured into your mold.
I have wished he'd thrown it away
All these long days
Reasoning with pain
Crushing tenderness
Of pouring her
Into our old, crumbly mold
I would break it
I would dash it on concrete
Shatter the plaster
Crack the caste
I would save her
From needy gut-wrench
Barely clinging
Air crushed out of pancake lungs
By this merciless mold.
But I'm not Him.
He is the Pourer.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Widows 3/19/06

Widows 3/19/06

A black widow does not
Mourn her loss
She is a merry widow
Her own boss.
Perhaps if, after sex,
My mate Id kill
Lovely in black Id be
Inciting thrill.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006

Two Became One 3/18/06

Two Became One 3/18/06

I wanted to look for something
(Oh no we dont want that.)
Who is we?
(We two became one.)
Yes, we two became you
and you dont want that.
(We dont want that.)

But, where did I go?
When two became one
When you swallowed me up
Am I dead?
Am I digested?
Turned to feces?
The crap of our marriage
Is my soul.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006