Poems in the fridge 

I have poems in my fridge for the summer 
Icy cold crisp with bright biting wit 
bubbling nuances, steamy back lit 
citrus sharp, striking and fit 
As sweat beads down my back,
I have poems for that. 

I have poems in my freezer for the fall 
waiting for the thaw, hearty stock meaty raw 
bright pops of green,
frozen solidly on baby dreams 
As I watch the brown curls zig zag down,
I have poems for that sound 

I have poems for the winter months.
Wrapped in stained muslin, solid fat
Scented pine stanzas, red wine dances 
Slosh lush memory filled soups 
as the heater sucks dry my skin,
I have poems that deep in.

In my crisper, spring unreal green dream poems 
Rays of flight, hopes height, lighter nights 
scented warm winds, floral novelette swims 
quicker pulse forest assaults 
And the bird that once was deformed, 
sings into my cage.
I have a poem for those very days

Ilona Harker


My broken junk  

I am a sailor on your sea of hope 
In a junk full of holes 
as your surge swells around 
I stand, legs apart shouting 
"You, my friend, have been found!" 

And you cast more fury, 
And I swing more truly, 
championing natures fight 
And nothing, nothing can be more beautiful 
Except, perhaps loves first light 

You send me vicious walls of pain 
that whip like the smart of a cane 
Then send me silence, echoless and dead 
In years and years of stillness 
as that lone albatross circles overhead 

I see you in the dead sea fog 
and call out so you wont get lost. 
And you bark back 
your wild hair wild thrashing 

I laugh as you take my boat, 
my broken junk full of holes 
and set upon it. 
Throwing your rage at me 
And you scream 

And my poor little boat 
My little shoe boat 
takes all you throw 
yet keeps me safe on deck 
until I can bear it no more, 
and I, I jump over board 

And you cast more fury 
As I sink into you, 
swallowed whole, 
silent and strong 
but I drown in your fear 
and you awake with a dead enemy. 

And the sea is silent and endless 
and the sky and sea 
never fall into each other 
As I fell into you 
and that calms you 
but leaves you more alone than ever. 

-Ilona Harker 2009

Black picket fence 

Black Picket Fence

I'm building a black picket fence
Its gonna be 10 miles wide
I'm gonna build it so tall
It'll reach the heaven high

I'll attach a brief note
On the top of my long fence
To explain to the good lord above
About my sufferance

And sure I've been a sinner
But I have paid my dues
Putting up with some of those Adam's
That 'He' set on the loose

I'll expand further
upon my mighty woes
That surely the 'original sin'
Was Adam without his clothes

What irresponsible parent
would allow children thus,
to frolic naked in the bush
with snakes about the place?

To add insult to (possible work place) injury
he played mind games with his twins
Told them about the forbidden fruit
and said to eat it was a sin.

Now if I bought some Tim-tams
that I didn't bother to hide,
don't you think my kids wouldn't
go straight to the dark side?

Well honestly god,
you of the omnipotent fame
should have known better,
Now really, who's to blame

Yet, Instead of owning up
you pointed the finger instead
And blamed 'woman' for original sin
Well you know where that's led

With us women being frowned upon
for ever offering up our fruits
Your Churches, mosques and synagogues
are full of rude misogynist coots!

Well at least I was brought up with manners
And if needs be desires
offering a piece of fruit 
is surely a class of the highest

But instead I am made to feel
Like a scarlet whorish skank
If ever I offer up with joy
any more of my moreish flank

And yet you made me so damn sexy
So its not hard to see why
I'm building that black picket fence
Till it reaches the heavens high

So Thank you for your time god
Good luck with this whole mess
But you and I and women-kind know
its time for you to confess.

Till then I'm starting my own religion
In my lil' black gated Eden
And I'll appoint everyone god
And we'll all be even

And in this solipsist haven
I won't include shame
and we will cast out with great vengeance
all judgement, hate and blame

And if you want to visit us God
then I'll put on a cuppa tea
And wait silent, till I hear those mighty words...
Dear Eve, I'm so sorry

Ilona Harker 2010


She who is the sea 

'She who is the sea'

This little foamy bubble,
Of flotsam and jetsem
Oil slick and fetchin’
Dances the salty edgings

She licks the blessed
Sway, as she sprays
Diffused mist, like bliss
upon drunk cast aways

And the heave and hoar
Of the distant shore
Whimpers Oh Oh Oh
You must have more.

So with glinted eyes
I scan my prize
The sparkle blue horize
Harks with joy her open skies

She is who is the sea
Says it wern’t me who made me
I was born from a tear, so long ago
That even I, no longer know

She hushes the hull,
The hardened the hulk
And sighs against the
Hated sides

Yet she damns you and
your metal doors
Your darkened rooms
And dirty floors

She damns the filth
the chains and hate
The masters that
Mock their forgotten fate

She damns with rust
With storms and lulls
And fetid food,
rotted in hulls

She damns with loneliness
So noble it boasts,
till time eroded the romance
and forgot the ghosts

She hisses and roars
At the arrogant ships
That dare deface her
Most sacred lips

Yet, she blesses me
As I dance iridescent and fetchin’
In the flotsam and jetsam
Of her foamy edgings

Ilona Harker

What the winds told me before I forgot 

It starts with an ache
So small and hidden you can whisper past it.
It grows, sometimes slowly and sometimes like a wild fire
But it grows and we either drown it, attempt to strangle it, mock it, or like the first dirty though you had we hide it,
ashamed we have something as raw as this within.
However sometimes, by serendipitous hap chance or
via the simple and rare moment when all is quiet within, we hear it.
This strange and new feeling, a condensed seed of longing.
And the dark space divers, the crazy bitches and the mad dogs
stop, sit and pick that thing up and say 'Hello. I see you.'
Then comes a word. Not 'the' word, just a word.
One word, then a sentence, then a phrase, then a page and then a brook and then a river and then a deluge until this ache, this niggle, erupts fiercely from within.
The last drops dangling like the most precious nectar of love.
And we drink and cry in deluded ecstasy 'I have drunk GOD!'
as our eyes roll back into ourselves.
When all we really did was look within and shut the fuck up long enough to hear.

A poem  

Poem to a lover lost but around

I have called for you in the inch space of my heart
Allowing each echo to resonate and call endlessly back into each fold

I have called for you in the pin precise dark drifts
pushing further into and beyond all scope

I have called for you in wild surges of electric ecstatic submissions
as i inhaled the world

Your answers were shy, subtle shimmers yet I heard them
and I sighed knowing you had listened

Stuffing around  

There is much to be said about the dreamer and the doodlers of the world. Usually what is said sounds a little like this. 'Oh she has her head in the clouds' 'Can't you just try and be normal?' 'Look its all very well and good to have dreams till you realise that dreams are not real' and such like.
I am a starer into space kinda girl and I dream of the most ridiculous things just because I like messing with my own reality and imagining new and usually improbable situations.
No one yet has walked up to me in the street and said 'We have found you, Ilona you are part of a secret society known only to a select few, You have the mark of Masthuseala on your head. It is the mark of the star child. You must come with us as the dark forces of accountable and responsiblity reality are closing in and we need you and your mind to take us to the stars!'
This hasn't happened yet but you never know....
One of my favorite times to doodle and dream is when I am home and comfy with my beautiful guitar James and we just start talking.
He is older than me and as such has stories that are rich, wild and deep and I sing songs of nonsense that he endures with little complaint.
This is my dreaming. My musical ship upon the sea of stories that usually leads me to lands I have never been to, let alone imagined.
So I say to the dream weary, find a quiet spot close your eyes and say hello to your little friends that are dancing in your mind.
Frollic with them and then get up finish your tax return and have a nice glass of pinot and sing a toast to the dreamers.