Tara E. Van Geons

All Poetry and Writing by Tara E. Van Geons

Church

Ivy

stories high rivaling Babel’s Tower

Creek

barren of all but Rosetta stones and secrets

White Birch

fading, wilting, waiting, silently boring into crevices of shadows and

Spider webs- the opaque silks of the Emperors

A lone tree carcass

            uprooted, voiceless, dismembered, damned

Coral spiders

            blooming among emerald thatch in exalted warrior

Sunflowers

            prostrating to their maker while

Bleached white pebbles

            line the wood nymph altar of the Gaelic Goddess

 

Life Lessons Acquired from the Random Art of Eavesdropping in

ENGL 6062

You want one of my pills?  It ain’t Queen Elizabeth’s garden and I wasn’t late. The road was full. I won’t be rollin’ solo with him anymore. That’s why you always carry cab fare. At least I have that hundred in my bra.  As you journey through the other side of the threshold, you are becoming a different person. I mean, if Oprah can run a marathon…Time will pass, will you? MURDER AT THE LANDFILL!  Just like when the drug dogs come, you ask to go to your car. I attend the Church of Barnes and Noble, but at least my pencil is at peace with its chi. We all knew each other before we were the people we now pretend to be. Let’s use the Quaker method. When the spirit moves you…Stop Reading Here

PROCESSIONS OF LITTLE KNOWN FACTS

Processions of little known facts
from the information superhighway
obstructs my view of the horizon
Seven hundred channels and it is true
...nothing is on



SUNDAY NIGHT SUSHI

fire cracker, tekka maki, rasberry flavored saki-our sunday night ritual

our place of worship, the ichiban

pull the bell, ring it three times, 

upon the shinto shrine,

the altar of

desire, ginger and wasabi –

i sit



COMMODITY FETISHISM

commodity fetishism
now occupies the place of spirituality
while we manufacture love
at the walmart temple
worshipping at the golden arches
want more
need more
got to have more
not tomorrow
but instant gratification
magic word, not "please"
but "now"
danger befalls us
while mass pop envelopes
then swallows
the status quo
infecting
dis-easing
our essence



ART

She spoke syllables I did not

recognize

Fluttering her eyes

            for some semblance of understanding

Her lips stained with unsullied blood

Sliced by her own hand became an amalgam of

            Monet and Van Gogh

from her

wrist to her elbow.

BUT YOU CAN’T

haphazard arbitrary contact

as your finger lightly brushes the tip of my nose, the corner of my lips,

unconscientiously flippantly disregarding my gaze

glance anywhere but my observe

overlook the rivulet of tears

neglect the bated breathe with which my fragmented self

clutches to hope

grasps for adoration

the expectation that you could save me

but you can’t

i can barely save myself

DISARRAY

I ponder. I wait. I wander. Wondering where the answers lay. Are there solutions to my quandary? Shall I stay, with bated breath, worrying?

TRUTHS

Soon they will discover the truth about me

Discover the nature of my ways

An imposter, an adolescent

Trapped in the body of a thirty four year old woman

They will soon know the truth

With their technological, embryonic, magnetic, hi-fi, eight track equipment

That bugs my care stereo and in all probability my oral b vibrating tooth defiler

And PETA will discover that even to my best efforts, my Wal-Mart sandals may or may

not be leather

The stretch marks are real but the cause may or may not be valid with silicone laced bean bags and botchulism running through my veins I only kissed her once but of course the interpretation will be construed that surely I am a homosexual bi-curious lesbian gay straight metro transsexual hetero with a particular fetish for the feline persuasion

They will know and they will tattle tail the emblems of ivory towers I hold to such

esteem

Pebbles in my pocket will weigh a body down

 but my truths will settle like algae scum

proximity

primal screams of release reverberate in the spaces between the silence of you and me-our hopes and dreams dissolving our sidewalk chalk agenda with the misinterpretation of tears and vociferous wails of our uncommunicative stances with arms folding doors slamming a blurring of self doubt fear incongruence dichotomizing the you from me and the us from them victimizing passersby on with blithe anecdotes of men steadying themselves on powder puff tricycle presumptions regarding baby doll marionettes licking vanilla from the asphalt of mortality we in our daisy dukes making love or rather fornicating in the corridor of the omnipotent’s  flophouse dancing on the defiled mattress of insanity -nymphets in coitus when you and i were one before the guttural dismemberment of our sanctity  before your extra curricular activity the shell i was before you and the carcass which remains still longs for your proximity



FOR A FORTNIGHT

I.

burgeoning emerald and crimson

intertwined tapestry

lay transversely

flowing auburn ringlets drape the satin pillow

the daybreak trickles through the latticed shutters

dancing with prisms of repose and tranquility

fragrant carafes, mosaic decanters,

veined sienna travel trunks, cedar hope chest

vehemently harnessing unrequited hopes and dreams

Puccini laments from the phonograph

blooming buds of fuchsia, coral and saffron

succumb softly in the corner

II.

the sunset bowed to the sunrise

for a fortnight

before she was discovered

they knew not her name

where she was from

or to what kin she belonged

there was no note, as usual in cases as these

only putrid peonies defunct in stagnant liquid

and an arduous skipping on the record player

unrecognizable, they said, ‘cept for the red hair

III.

It is not that I was in anyway physically or emotionally tormented.

Just unsatisfied.

Why must it be anymore than that?

I pin curled my locks.

Wore my most cherished evening gown.

And listened to Cio-Cio San’s operatic weep.

In that moment,

It did not hurt.

It was a consolation.