"haas" poems
My hart klop groen vir groei
en ander goed
en pomp van hormone
en suurtof ryke bloed
dit was liefde
met eerste oog opslag
dis net jammer my oe staar blind
teen die mes in jou hand
wat op my kaal rug wag.
Dis 'n gan an soort klop
die go-ahead van my kop
die alles sal reg wees
in jou glimlag
jou oe die mandaat
van 'n regte terg gees.
en ek gaan vir die groen
en silwer en goud,
vir al die goeie goed
vir die land sonder fout.
Maar my hart is die
Andries Hendrik Potgieter
van my boere bloed
wat waarsku teen jou
met alle moed.
My heldersiende hartklop
wat my weg probeer lei
van nog 'n ou grappie
en nog 'n bietjie seerkry.
Nou klop hy rooi
hy klop bloed
hy klop stop.
Maar soos 'n GP kar
vermy ek die tekens
in my haas vir jou mond.
Voel die lem deur my ribbes gly
dood, nog voor die grond.
en my hart, wil lag,
maar skree verwoed.
Nou kook die boerebloed!
Jou simpel, jou wetter
jou bogsnuiter kind!
Snou my hart my toe,
nou is hy stil en
gee my die silent treatment.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
kaash ki yeh itna aasan hota
ki tumse baat krne se pehle
itna sochna na hota
thoda puch lete hum tumhre baare mai
thoda bata bhi dete hum aapne dil ke halaat
thoda haas lete tumhre sath mai
thoda roo bhi lete tumhri yaad mai
bata dete tumhe wo sarri baaten
dikha dete tumhe wo sare alfaaz
suna dete tumhe dharkane aapni
sunn bhi lete tumhri madhor awaz
thodi der k liye hi tumme wapas kho jate
es aandheri duniya se kahi dur chle jate
tumhre sath kuch aur pal bhi bita lete
khud toh thoda sa pyaar bhi kr lete
Par kaash ki yeh itna aasan hota
tumse baat krne se pehle
itna sochna na hota.
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 5:43 AM UTC
her age not so much mattering she talked on the twins she was about to have. I held the hands of my mothers and each fronted their stomachs with full baskets. my own stomach was in its prime and not yet the space beneath my breasts. I wondered at that point had I heard, ever, a man speak. a song came to me but it was tucked as in a church. my mothers on either side of me were not meant for this genre of grocery. the low singing, the bulk rice. we would the three of us go home that night to our videocassette of Witness. it falls today under thriller and or drama but we knew it as horror. mr. ford bends the boy’s finger in the police station but not backward, instead forward, instead very maternal.
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 11:13 AM UTC
the roaring wind whistles a polar me,
opposing freely,
a hushful respite,
inside today,
silent me.
sitting in dreams,
stuck in sleeping bags,
the night before,
before the morning snagged,
my lucid want,
my lucid haunt.
outside, the wind and sun,
blow fiercely through,
the dead dried leaves,
the dusty dung,
brown, unsung,
chaos flying,
above the roof,
around the fence,
at pasture’s hooves,
one last breath spent.
again here lie,
the dreams that drift,
the dreams that die,
sounding out February's cry,
singing her last goodbye.
while the trance settles,
and untangles,
and I, sitting quiet,
witnessing the bendy brambles.
~Lana Maree Haas
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 9:13 PM UTC
lotus rising in my hands,
heat that heals the broken man.
clocks with crooked arms that span,
lands that hold the emerald pain.
inside her ribcage,
beneath her hide,
snow melts,
rivers grow,
rushing and raging,
into everything we know.
washing a furrowed countenance,
into crumbled crystal and sea glass sand,
where castles rise and fall,
waxing and waning,
endless dying,
endless rebirth,
rising and falling,
again and again.
~Lana Maree Haas
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 12:52 AM UTC
Just like some spell
You spell the word l-o-v-e
You spell the word m-e
You spell them out
Right on my ears
You spell your feelings out
Slightly hidden through these years
My hands softly slide down on your cheeks
Under a spell
A l-o-v-e m-e spell
I Inflate my lungs
And blow
And breath
And tell
Tell you
My spell
I spell y-o-u
A l-o-v-e m-e spell
The same way
You did it to me
by Antonia van Haas
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 2:11 PM UTC
I’ve been naive,
I’ve let you pretend to leave.
your footprints on my back,
your hands around my neck.
insidious, nagging, affection-less,
touch-craving little me.
I’ve been worn down,
pierced in private longings,
secret places,
there inside my deepest heart,
my deepest holding,
my most sacred cradling places.
how many times?
two times two,
time tables,
turning around back to you
will I begin to see?
will I be able
to reconcile with me?
to ward off lonely lagging leeches
like you,
like feathers drifting by
in a dusty, sticky sky.
naivety was my gravity,
not knowing,
-my sanity.
now I ask,
in full sunlight,
blue sky as my witness,
which is a graver danger?
you no longer hold
the dagger.
and still I walk trembling in my feet
one step:
steadying in defiant dignity,
two steps:
an angel’s voice to heal me.
I can hold up the glass,
see foreground,
see the past,
all’s perspective,
all is what I decide now,
what I ask,
what I intend and what I allow.
~Lana Maree Haas
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 12:51 PM UTC
it will not be grey,
this cloudy day.
on a day like today,
the slow moving rocks,
like bones,
under Mother’s soft Earth,
hold me like this,
in such a warm
and cradling way.
she shifts,
and I am not alone.
I decide it this way.
she is solid,
holding me holy,
holding me still.
while fingers give,
an uplifting sifting,
of all of the broken pieces,
all of the spent parts,
as they die descending,
drifting, flying into a long slow fall,
arms wide open,
the small dreams,
the small hoping,
drop down into Mother’s heart
-her fiery, molten,
consuming core.
here transformed,
here the old ways,
exist no more.
they will become stories
we learn to tell.
-and it will be golden,
this golden day,
I will decide it this way.
here heaven pours on us,
her illuminating stardust.
inevitably it will reach us,
in the waiting tender grass,
blowing like wind sent by Tara’s unseen breath,
softening like silk on my radiant glistening face,
while my songs and my body turn into,
a fluid beauty,
of heaven’s twirling trance.
in this place,
I can hear the song I’ve always heard.
I recognize the tune
as one I knew,
when I fell into skies,
drenched in ocean's blue,
and I came here,
to be with you,
in this glorious play,
in these unforgettable days.
I decide it this way.
you, a lion’s God,
with a fierce and grave victory,
learn on your own terms,
lean on your own dreams,
you decide it this way.
and I,
with my own heart,
holding it tight,
for the next part,
in my own play,
I am a beloved child of my Mother,
I decide it this way.
~Lana Maree Haas
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 9:43 AM UTC
red wind whips and flies,
captivates my open eyes,
soft the petals rise.
~Lana Maree Haas
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 12:50 AM UTC
the elevator rising up,
ocean waves infinitesimally high,
the bumble-y box that bounces me,
from side to side,
shaking me alive,
taking me on the long way up,
for life’s shaky ride.
up,
up,
and up,
violently side to side,
feels like certain suicide.
floors fly by,
numbers a-blur,
uncertainty, insanity,
no gravity.
atop the ship,
where luxury abides,
a sea of calm,
a vast blue sky.
Lana Maree Haas
~3/06/2016
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 11:54 PM UTC
when I am not with my soul,
I’ve lost my footing,
I don’t know where to go.
sure the foot steps,
one in front of the other,
the eyes blink in usual time,
but heart knows,
and so does mind.
when I am not with my soul,
I miss the eternal me,
-no time or space,
just the real reality.
the only thing worthy,
the only thing I want to be.
~Lana Maree Haas
© 2/26/2016
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 8:57 PM UTC
Her gentleness belies her strength,
Her smile belies her story,
Her involvement belies the loneliness,
Miseries and tragedies around,
Afflicted broken hearts,
Little did the world care
_Haas!!! "Life in a finger bowl!!!"_
Virtuous shalt swim,
Yes! Against the acclivity of the soup.
Remember _Life is a bowl bigger,
And definitely not finger bowl_
For,thy bowl was bestowed by thee.
Let world be a lie.
But You be thy own truth,
_"Be the lie that blies you"_
Thus balancing extremes,
Omnivirtuous thou would be !!!
-- Rose
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 5:27 AM UTC