Tuesday, August 22, 2017

Cat (Day 216)


Takes his rightful place.
Ringed tail tip, slowly: right, left.
Imprints lap with fur.



(c) by Hannah Six
Image: Charley, H. Six

Monday, August 21, 2017

After I Left (Day 215)

One week after 
I left, I lay down
on the floor 
on a borrowed futon cushion 
in my new apartment 
in a building that used 
   to be a paper factory 

there were no sheets on my bed
there were no dishes in the kitchen 
there were no curtains on the windows
there were no books on the shelves 
there were no shelves 
there were no lamps

what was there 
was a blue candle 
   with three wicks
   in a wide-mouthed jar 
and a goldfish named Cal, 
   because I loved Cal Ripken,
   baseball hero with eyes like ice
   and a whole lotta heart  

that night, 
after work
after running up 
   the building’s stairs
after blowing out 
   each wick, I lay 
on the floor 
in the dark

and when the demons arrived, 
as expected, right on time,
I closed my eyes 
and listened 
to Cal, sorting through 
the gravel in his bowl, 
sucking up each pebble 
and spitting it out

plink…plink…plink 

and was glad for the company



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Bowl of Goldfish, by Childe Hassam, 1912

Sunday, August 20, 2017

Our Heroes (Day 214)

Are you, our heroes,
tumbling into dull despair?
Forgetting how 
the ripest fruits are worth 
the highest price?
Don’t fear the flashing 
lights that wake your 
bedroom walls at night.
Don’t gauge the value 
of the prize 
on the violence of the fight.
Do you recall how 
those you followed, 
merrily, shook with mirth—
imagining, with lust, 
the day the meek receive 
the Earth?
Allow the sky its blue, and 
clouds their varied shades,
your voice to shout 
your truth, authentic 
love to win the day.



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Parade for returning Apollo 11 astronauts, NASA


Saturday, August 19, 2017

Are You the Same (Day 213)

are you 
the same one
or did i succumb  
to thin gray sleep 
at dawn  and dream
your name 

look back 
at the day  drawn 
bright  askew
how  in the damp 
blue evening 
we can be 
the light


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Antietam Battlefield, Robshenk

Friday, August 18, 2017

Remembering (Day 212)


Sing the robins  silver clouds 
dancing on the ceiling  there 
glancing through my window shrouds 
fairies spin in gentle prayer 

above the moaning  laughing throng
you arrive  fragile and sweet
played dolce  piercing a forte song
a clarinet weeps on a city street

memories dulled with exacting care
dreams worn soft as fine old lace
emboldened  wings beat at the air
sip teardrops  daintily  from my face

outside  a crowd  a protest  singing
inside  one soul  remembering



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: B W Townsend

Thursday, August 17, 2017

Now (Day 211)



Now 
is the winter
of the Summer
of Love

and the summer
of the winter
of our discontent



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: zalazaksunca

With gratitude to Mr Hemingway and Mr Shalespeare for this poem's inspiration

Wednesday, August 16, 2017

Terrible Beautiful World (Day 210)



Terrible terrible 
beautiful world 
destitute of pity
futile to engage
the shallow 
end of humanity
unfathomably 
entrenched hearts 
embarrassingly brave
like thunderstorms
and lightning bugs
our disdain makes us 
luminous
but raging fighting
flash-bang spent
we may not last
the night



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Loavesofbread