Brunette

Gothic eyes full of unbearable black.

She hums La fille aux cheveux de lin,

collects bones and heather. 

Wellingtons on river moss.

You hear her with the larks.

Lips pursed, as if to kiss.

Heaven and hell are in her arms.

She shows up late, ever so slightly.

You half-remember her,

rack your brain from where.

Drunk on toast and marmalade; 

she takes coffee without a mask,  

unbuttoned.  Part raven. 

Part swan.  Nearly a wife.

Flaxen hair with a ridge of dark.

tk/September 2014 

Lovely interpretation by R.A.D. Stainforth... 

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Feather

I watch the sky,

listen for you in the wind,

shake out my hair, open my shirt,

let rain have its way.

Shy clouds cover their eyes.

I pick up a pleasurable stone,

one you might choose to skip;

suck April from it,

taste distant fault lines,

hold it in the roof of my mouth.

I find a lone feather,

think how it floated down,

like a sleek ghost

from something wild, airborne.

Looks right in my hair.

I wait for light to change,

this stubborn season to end,

for a massive earthquake

to come to my assistance.

tk/April 2014 

Delicious read by R.A.D. Stainforth... 

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Remember this book?

Last week, I happened to remember a book from my childhood, given to me by my great-grandfather who was as crazy about rocks as I am. His father, Palestine Hanna, was a great collector of stones, bones, and Native American artifacts. People would bring him bones and various relics from all over rural Indiana.

It was easy to find a picture online, because I remembered it it having a black cover. I posted it to my Facebook timeline, and was surprised how many had this exact little book.

I still save rocks. Not for color and shape, like I did when I was a girl, but for their geographical origins, places that hold special meanings. Today, my nondescript collection looks like a few plain stones ... completely meaningless to anyone else.

Stonehenge

Poet's Sleep, 1989, Chang Houg Ahn 

The taste is new;

a mellow concoction

of innocence and corruption,

without a sell-by date.

I keep coming back,

like the tongue finds a change

in the mouth; a chipped tooth,

compelling imperfection.

I contradict myself;

conjure burnt offerings

to distract from the foreign,

strum a long melody on a bone comb.

It is still there.

Stubborn and marvelous, circular;

reminding me, like drunken chessmen,

to remain true to my lips.



tk/February 2014

R.A.D. Stainforth back this week in his black and white world...a scrumptious read...

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trapped in amber

Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment.  
There is no why. 

―Kurt Vonnegut

I have a thing for stones and bones, and I like to think it might be from my Native American DNA. One of my favorites is amber, petrified tree resin, prized for its natural beauty since Neolithic times.  Amber has been around forever as jewelry, but did you know since it is a resin, it can be melted down and is used as an ingredient in perfumes, and a healing agent in folk medicine?

One aspect I like most about amber, is since it started out as tree resin, many pieces have a bit of fossilized flora or fauna embedded inside.  Little lacy seed pods are encased in my amber earring, just like a time capsule, millions of years old.

About 90 percent of the world's extractable amber is found in Kaliningrad Oblast of Russia on the Baltic Sea.  Pieces are amber are torn from the seafloor, washed ashore by waves, collected by hand, dredging or diving.  Shades of amber range from almost clear to nearly black, the transparent pieces being the most prized.

click to embiggen

you can only hold a smile for so long

At first glance, this seems to be a skull with two terrifying rows of teeth.  Actually, it's a child's skull with the adult teeth, ready to move down. Talk about a face-full of teeth! I find it fascinating, since I'm all about stones and bones. My daughter had an adult tooth that did not move down to force out the childhood tooth.  Surgery, odd rubber bands, and braces pulled it from deep in her face down into the appropriate spot.  It's amazing what modern orthodontics can do.

Image by Stefan Schäfer, taken at the Hunterian Museum in London.

You can only hold a smile for so long, 

after that it's just teeth.

Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters

Speaking of holding a smile for so long, did you know the reason people are not smiling in vintage photographs is because the shutter speed was much slower then?  It was easier to hold a non-smiling face completely still.

my great-great-great-grandfather
Joseph Lorenzo Dow Hanna
self-portrait, tintype, circa 1860s

sexy

As my regular readers already know, I have a particular fondness for stones and bones, which I attribute to the DNA inherited from my great-great grandfather, Palestine Hanna (1856-1938). Hoosier farm folk would bring him bones, and various Native American relics from miles around the tiny village of Burlington, Indiana, for his extensive collection, which he kept in a large handmade walnut cabinet.


It's our tradition to spend the Saturday after Thanksgiving at the opening of the Scott Antique Market at the Franklin County Fair grounds. This year, I was thrilled to find two racks of unmounted buck antlers, Ohio deer tags still intact. The seller was in a dickering mood, which adds to the thrill of the hunt.  I adore their incredibly sensual natural beauty.

my fondness for stones and bones

I attribute my love of archeology, of relics and bones, to the DNA inherited from my great-great grandfather, Palestine Hanna (1856-1938). Farm folk would bring him bones, and various Native American relics from miles around the tiny village of Burlington, Indiana, for his extensive collection, which he kept in a large,
handmade walnut cabinet.

As a girl, I spent many a blissful afternoon, hands cupped around my eyes, and nose pressed against the glass of that dark, magical cabinet. Literally, hundreds of arrowheads and various relics were part of his vast collection. Sadly, my grandfather sold the entire lot of relics back in the 1960s. A tragic mistake I wish I had been old enough to prevent.

There is, however, one piece from Palestine's cabinet that managed to be saved from the sale. I am fortunate enough to have it hanging in the dining room at the manor. It's a giant 38 inch sawfish blade.I have no idea how or where Grandpa Pal acquired this fascinating item, but I have fond memories of it nestled in the back of his cabinet, keeping watch over arrowheads and spear tips.




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