Saturday, January 19, 2019

The Same Pure Sound (Day 731)

Hesitant morning 

leaned and stretched 

into the shape of an afternoon 

the color of unwashed glass, 

and found me, dreaming, 

pen in hand.

Two bright birdcalls 

   streamed from the woods 

beyond a rumpled counterpane 

   of grass and snow spread out 

below the window 

where I lingered.

As bircalls will, 

they drew a glance, 

green-eyed, from the sill, 

where the ginger cat 

had arranged himself 

like an eclair 

on a bistro plate

We both glanced toward 

   the denuded trees, reacting 

to the same pure sound—

To me, spring whispered: 

   Just a while.

The cat licked his chops, 

   and appeared to smile.

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Friday, January 18, 2019

Now That You’re Gone (Day 730)

Poetry isn't a profession, it's a way of life...

an empty basket; you put your life into it 

and make something out of that. 

— Mary Oliver (1935 – 2019)

I don’t know what to say to you 

now that you’re gone. 

Never did I assume we’d meet, yet 

your presence was a warm blanket 

on a cold night, your voice a chorus 

of bells dancing lightly across 

a snowy morning. When I forgot 

the perfection of the everyday, 

I turned to you. Your words 

offered the warmth of a familiar 

embrace, the companionship of 

a wise friend. You were inscrutable. 

Inimitable. Cheerfully, delightfully 

unattainable. Out of sight, 

you were often out of mind. 

And then, like spring’s first crocus, 

there you’d be, delighting me 

all over again, reminding me of all 

the reasons why this world is 

worth the pain, worth living in, 

worth dying for. And so, you did. 

And, now that you are gone, 

I don’t know what to say anymore.

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Claude Monet, The Magpie

via Wikimedia Commons

Thursday, January 17, 2019

Try to imagine (Day 729)

Try to imagine 
   how it felt at the time  
quiet  complicated afternoons 
   sidling up to the jukebox 
playing Journey and painting 
panoramic pictures of the bay   
nibbling on Twix  curiosity 
   and imagination   carefree  
empty hands slippery with clay  
relationships rigid with freedom
instinctive  obssessive  wild 
like a hundred little campfires 
   on broad damp beaches

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: Wikimedia Commons

Wednesday, January 16, 2019

How it all became clear (Day 728)

How your day was 
crystalline  gulping
great mouthfuls of cold
along the way 
to your end   
of a snow-muted rainbow

How it all became
clear   wind-scoured
clouds lightened
violet mountains resting 
on layers of bare trees

How  like a Japanese quilt   
it was   tinted every delicate 
shade of taupe   edged 
with mauve
in the melancholy 
manner of winter 

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: Pixabay

Tuesday, January 15, 2019

A brief observation (Day 727)

Patriarchy’s downfall, 

it seems, is giving birth 

to the violence that seeps 

in around the edges 

of men’s fear and anger. 

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Sarah Stiercb/Wikimedia Commons

Monday, January 14, 2019

Don’t shine your golden light on my rained-out parade (Day 726)

Please don’t shine your golden light 
on my rained-out parade. Your sunshine 
is my shade. Rather than brightening my day,
that glare in my eyes highlights the darkness 
around me—darkness you cannot see—and 
throws my world’s defects into sharper contrast. 
When the peaks of my spirit are enshrouded
by heavy gray clouds, please don’t tell me 
you see only a glimmering rosy mist. 
I promise you: I can tell the difference.
Instead, whether I am mired in the mud of 
an internal swamp or splashing momentarily 
through a puddle of dog piss, 
trust me enough to be honest with me. 
Agree with me that life can be unfair. 
Send me some love (or some chocolate). 
Take me somewhere outside these four walls, 
and let me walk for a while in a world 
not of my own devising, where we can talk 
about window displays, children’s toys, 
or nothing at all. Because sometimes 
saying nothing is the best gift there is.
(And, truly, wouldn’t that be easer for you, too?)
Yes. Next time my parade is rained out, because 
this is real life and there will likely be a next time, 
please: Buy a ticket and join me, or sit that one out. 
Because there isn’t room in the exquisitely verdant, 
complexly-shaded forest of my current life 
for the papier maché trees of too-easy answers. 

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Set design by Alexandre Benois (1870-1960) for Pavillon d'Armide, 
Harvard Theatre Collection, Houghton Library, Harvard University 
via Wikimedia Commons

Sunday, January 13, 2019

Loosely Twined (Day 725)

loosely twined   pearls  

around fingers   cat 

around ankles   crossed and uncrossed   

silk shadow creases 

in corners and edges 

of light   pools spreading   splashing 

against walls unpainted   red by now  

where figures pose unposed   

gathered symbiotically   

without thought to the whims 

of creation  or creators 

whose needs were irrelevent anyhow

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Delphin Enjolras, Evening Party

Via Wikimedia Commons