Thursday, May 24, 2018

Assessing (Day 491)

Is it a flame so blue, 
you almost can’t see it?
Or a bruise you want 
to press, just to feel  
the ache? White hot 
or slow-burning gold, 
spiked or smooth? 
So many styles of rage, 
so many ways to feel 
angry—or not, as girls 
were taight. Watching  
the richtus of his mouth 
tightening around his 
ugly words, the feral 
gleam in his eyes, and 
the erratic nature of his 
gestures, while, there 
you are, on the other side 
of the glass. Assessing, 
examining him, as if he 
were a scientific specimin, 
subject of some mysterious
laboratory experiment.  
What a fine example of 
rage, you might think. 
Or perhaps: Could that be 
the rare white-rimmed lip 
compression I’ve heard of? 
I wonder... I wonder...

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Montrealais/WikimediaCommons

Wednesday, May 23, 2018

Never After Eight (Day 490)

treat men nicely
they will
be nice (to you)
be ladylike
be a good girl
never tease them
they’ll call you 
a slut/whore 
a girl with
a reputation
(yes   italicized)
or after eight
ever call them
I was taught 
I see time
wrought little 
before   and   after
those     days     these   
it amounts 
to nothing    
for zero    
add par 
dont you wonder 
why old (wo)men lie

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Tuesday, May 22, 2018

What I Am Not (Day 489)

I am not a Japanese Tea Garden.
I am a radiant beam of light.

I am not a tortilla chip.
I am a cup of coffee, black.

I am not an endless pity-party.
I am a reading light by a comfortable 
   chair on an early-winter evening.

I am not wandering down 
    the lane and far away.
I am looking at the moon. 

I am not a new pair of shoes that 
   make you run faster, jump higher.
I am a knitted sweater starting 
   to unravel under the left arm.

I am not Brussels’ Musée du cacao et 
   du chocolat.
I am an open bottle of coriander-scented 
   lotion from the Georgetown Kiehl’s.

I am not your favorite YA book ever.
I am a sleepless, sweaty August night
   without air conditioning.

I am not anyone’s president, elected 
   or otherwise.
I am someone who would have done 
   a much better job.

I am not a writer of stories and poems.
I am the language they speak.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six
Image: David Ohmer/Flickr

Stardust, lyrics: Mitchell Parish  
I’ll Be Seeing You, lyrics: Irving Kahal 

Monday, May 21, 2018

Senryu for Day 488

never suddenly 
meeting the turn in the road
never knowing how

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Turn in the Road (~1881) by Paul Cezanne,
oil on canvas, via Wikimedia Commons

Sunday, May 20, 2018

Mammoth (Day 487)

Imagined transparent 
against eons of ice  awakened 
without a by-your-leave
awakened without a choice
bold conqueror 
of the frozen old   a foreigner 
in this subtler new New World
Mammoth whispered   
a trace of sadness 
tuned his ancient voice
Sundry seasons entranced 
ere darkness rose   
Sundry sunsets danced 
across virgin skies
where only flying creatures
had yet flown
No pitiless fears will come again 
to tired spirits below  
But pitiless mornings will rise
above considering all you know
Eyes closed   he melted 
into the blue crevasse
what would come 
to pass still echoed 
on frozen air 
a trace of sadness 
tuned his ancient voice   
we have a choice   for now   
we have a choice

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Simon Migaj/Pexels

Saturday, May 19, 2018

All Transpires, Dream-like (Day 486)

All transpires   dream-like   
beneath the land   sleeping 
spirits   seeds planted 
by tired hands   or thrust 
into the dark cocooning soil 
by cold machines   and weeds   
perhaps plucked by beaks 
or bills   transported 
through tumbling clouds 
and rushing winds   dropped 
into luminous air   falling   finding 
purchase there on willing earth   
waiting   artlessly scattered 
on hand-turned beds   arranged 
in mile-long rows and warmed 
by an incubating sun   fed by rain 
and thick inspiring fog   
never knowing under what skies 
they grow or wither   but sleeping 
silently now beneath the land   
where all dream-like transpires  

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: 12019/Pixabay

Friday, May 18, 2018

Remnant (Day 485)

one silver bead
at the bottom 
of a shining sidewalk
mirror  sky-blue 
penant on buff 
concrete remnant 
of receding storms  

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: LenaLindell20/Pixabay