Tuesday, December 31, 2013

New year (Poem 273)

We drew full close then,
When, pulsing, breathing, Venus 
Kneeled and kissed the dawn.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Venus reflected in the Pacific Ocean (Photo: Brocken Inaglory)

Monday, December 30, 2013

Story (Poem 272)

question story   spinning strands dream 
filaments   smooth ropes of imaginings 
swagging thickly over left arm sweating 
in water-air and dribbling into depths only 
glowing looks back like catfish after dark   
seaweed slippery through fingers curling 
clasping knots refuse unravelling   circling 
under melody smokes upward circling 
scaling love peaking slow at bottom shadow 
slides crevasse to trickle-whispers velvet 
sweet voice that full drips luscious hearts

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Sunday, December 29, 2013

Sizzle (Poem 271)

Sizzle on the hot black 
browning   soft and orange 
firm bed of bright and giving 
warm and crisp   drizzled tangy 
sour tart   skin sliced swiftly
thin refreshing contrast 
cool upon the steam   moon 
so juicy blood thin trickle 
twinge of guilt and then 
is none

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Saturday, December 28, 2013

Exercise in Pertinence (Poem 270)

Vikings rule 1.3 million

Newtown file yields big moments

Rapper activists lose union faith calendar

Department of More to credit hackers
     with health care law 

Bollywood actor bridging worlds, trekking 
     to own problems

Prep boys' jobless benefits unsure 

'Unseemly' grave marker downgrades
     Obamacare

Vandals give rapper activists a chance 

Syrian airstrike defined for families by
     U.S. boy 

Front-porch judge OKs avalanches at
     Kennedy Center

High-stakes tightrope walker activates
     'vote no' rally

Firms see crack packers ministering to
     Target 


(c) 2013, by Hannah Six



What is this? Well, simply put, it's word play! I excerpted the first two words from each of today's headlines*, and edited the results a tiny bit. This type of exercise often yields interesting results...




*found here: http://www.heraldnet.com/section/headlines

Friday, December 27, 2013

Untitled Haiku (Poem 269)

Lingering stardust
Light glows under a closed door
Never without love

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Thursday, December 26, 2013

Ginkgo (Poem 268)

Silky ginkgo leaf curtain rustles 
depth and steam, not quite
gleaming, under teddy bear cocoa
and snow-globe crocuses. Surrounded
in, over, around the bristles of 
dromedary bliss, kiss the odd,
laughing fountain with yesterday's dew.
Alarming, but truly, there is very little
else to do. Far away the taffy machine's 
arms roll and rotate, a childish dance
geared toward hedghogs and 
buttered toast, almost, not quite all 
the way to Valentine's Day. Follow, 
and joy quickly blooms like concord 
grape jelly in your mouth.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six



Photo: James Field

Wednesday, December 25, 2013

Christmas Day (Poem 267)

Above, the blue spectacular, 
swimming across the nightscape 
of our dreams, the tentacles 
of beauty drawing us ever inward, 
birdsong strung like glittering garland 
on a brightly lit Christmas tree, 
showering down upon us where 
we lay, entwined, on the forest floor's 
satin cushions, waiting for dawn's 
scarlet carpet to unfurl at our feet 
and trail like ribbons in the sky 
behind us while we make our way--
lazy and soft--toward home.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

More Beautiful to Roam (Poem 266)

When you arrive and 
no one sees you, 
let the ebb tide lead. 
Nothing you need is 
missing--close your 
umbrella and look up, 
count the salty stars. 
The ringing in your ears 
may be singing or 
the pear-shaped tones 
of distant bells. Only 
shifting night will tell 
your secrets, let them
trickle  and puddle 
at your feet, ripples 
kissing your ankles.
Draw the thread of
dreams, embroider
every lonesome night,
and in time arrive
where someone waits 
to see you home. 
So easy, that, and yet 
more beautiful to roam.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Monday, December 23, 2013

Beach (Poem 265)

so 1970-something    go to 
beach    big dark blue waves    
can swim here    ask woman   
she tells look up    wave 
towering over    she says hold 
on to me    wave comes in   
we are under water   hold on
to tree she shouts don't 
get sucked back out
necklace t-shirt shells
they sell them along 
this boardwalk    but 
no tree    no lady     just hands.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Sunday, December 22, 2013

All Else (Poem 264)

Under the covers
Book in hand, kitty on feet
All else fades away

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Saturday, December 21, 2013

When the Lions Came (Poem 263)

When the lions came, she was sitting 
at her desk, writing a letter, mundane, 

tiring. She placed her pen in its holder and yawned, squeezing 
her eyes shut in the process, then opening them very wide. And there they were: 

two females, prowling beyond the smokehouse, 
near the woodpile. Golden, raw, slightly tatty, 
imperious... Placing each paw 

with apparent indifference; their tails--thick 
as her arm--switched irritably at those ubiquitous, 
flies, glossy and vicious; their eyes, ancient, and

utterly devoid of mercy. She jumped at 
the sharp knock on her door, repressed 
annoyance when the handle rattled.  

When she returned to the window, they had gone, 
leaving her abashed, sensing that she had been 
observed, found lacking, and carelessly dismissed.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six



Friday, December 20, 2013

The Last Cup (Poem 262)

You take this ordinary 
suffering for quite a long time:
to avoid helping yourself
to the last cup 
of smoky coffee, to not 
consider the slosh of it into 
your smudged, brown mug--
the one with indentations where 
the artist's fingers found purchase--
creating a steam-pressed footprint
on the crackled letter 
(signature required) from your lawyer. 
Beyond this
window is a moonscape, astonishing
and devoid of rocks, trees, lizards, 
drawing your few visitors toward 
the glass--cold air helplessly tugged 
into the thin atmosphere 
of an overheated room.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six



(Photo: Joselyn Anfossi Mardones)

Thursday, December 19, 2013

Curtain (Poem 261)

A rosy mist lifts
Shimmer of sun stirs the air
Parts sorrow's curtain

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Tea, in Georgetown, 2006 (Poem 260)

It was perfect, sitting across from 
her, hazel eyes bright, focused
on a tiny cup of Devonshire 
cream    tea in an eggshell-fragile 
room, silver fluttering like birdsong
against porcelain, fairy vases 
of violets smiling back at us from 
their Baby's Breath bowers   her deft 
fingers, used to small work, barely 
able to grasp tea cup handles small 
as mouse ears    we laughed 
self consciously, aware of 
our self-aware self-awareness, 
and complicit in our crimes against 
the more civilized aspects of society

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six



Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Only Enough (Poem 259)

It's cold outside, but I 
am warm.   Safely tucked 
beneath blankets, watching 
the storm heave its gray 
sighs amongst the cedars. 
My cats, becurled in their favorite 
chairs, enhance the cozy 
sense of enchanted remove.  
The world cannot touch us  
here.  There is only peace,
there is only contentment,
there is, in this moment, as always, 
only enough.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Monday, December 16, 2013

Froglets (Poem 258)

The day is young 
and sweet, the song 
as yet unsung
gather all your truths
and dreams you've spread 
out in the sun 

Lie on the cooling grass 
and name the blue above   
Allow the fresh-born froglets 
to tell you mysteries 
of love    pure as a silver bell 
their chorus 
swells in every key 

Remember each 
bright secret and    please
write them down 
for me.

 (c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Sunday, December 15, 2013

On Waking (Poem 257)

There, just beyond the shadows' 
edge, fleeting silver 
and gold, skimming like sand 
through my fingers    trying 
will get me nowhere

It's the  not  trying, the skipping
stones, sliding through sideways
that nets the fish, cold 
and iridescent and rolling in 
the shallow water 

until, with a sigh, 
I release it    onto the page 
or back into the indigo depths 
from which it came, tail shimmering
until it vanishes from sight

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Saturday, December 14, 2013

A Good Zombie (Poem 256)

being silenced is funny 
that way    in the way hippies used 
to say it was important to express your 
feelings     
when they really meant:
be a good zombie, and follow 
the program: stagger, shed a chunk 
of flesh, eat brains, and do not think 
for yourself     or have any untoward 
feelings 

so, when 
the apocalypse comes and we 
all buy balloons and cotton candy 
and politely welcome 
the oncoming giant meteor 
or, perhaps, 
take smirking selfies with a cloudburst 
of nuclear missiles raining down from 
the blue, blue sky 
over our right shoulders 
no one should be 
surprised     

in the same way that 
no one should shout 
he  is  so  angry 
when 
he is so angry    for fear of frightening 
the very people who urged him to 
express his 
feelings 
because to be angry is 
to have an anger problem
to be very sad is
to be clinically depressed
to prefer tea to wine is
to be uninvited    because 

obviously that person
does not know how to enjoy himself
and makes the drunks 
uncomfortable    it's funny 

how that works     
isn't it

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Zombies as portrayed in George Romero's movie Night of the Living Dead 

Friday, December 13, 2013

The Picture* (Poem 255)

the easel 
full of extraordinary 
     personal distance should create 
a sense of abstract beauty    some 
will reason but never see 
     the painter 

pleasure seemed to linger in 
     his fingers    sought to imprison 
        a curious dream 
work best done languidly

large and vulgar many
     only see the dreadful 
pictures    people don't 
     think anywhere

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six




(*edited erasure poem created using a few paragraphs from Chapter 1 of "The Picture of Dorian Gray," by Oscar Wilde)

Thursday, December 12, 2013

Red (poem 254)

Red, the color of mistakes
And cowboy boots
And velvet cakes

Of hand-drawn hearts and valentines
And King Snake stripes
And most stop signs

Red, the hue of true love's rose,
And Dorothy's shoes
And lava flows

The painted lips of movie stars
And salmon roe
And F1 cars

The curtains on an old-time stage
And baboon butts
And primal rage

Red, the color of mistakes
And poppy flowers
And velvet cakes



(c) 2013, by Hannah Six



Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Gray (Poem 253)

with birds scuttling like mice
in the mounds of graying leaves
packed under the bushes
and sleek clouds slurping 
every last drop of sunshine from 
the day    great hunched shoulders
of a rough-hewn mountain range
braced against the wind like people tumbling down Market Street 
at the far end of a Tuesday in March 
their black umbrellas bleached by
the rain and fighting their handlers
with stark ferocity    and the shawl 
of shimmering yet lethal stones set 
in concrete around the swimming pool
as if chosen with a particularly
horrid child in mind 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Dismissed (Poem 252)

She said: You can't
trust yourself to know
illness from health.
She said: Obviously, you 
must be wrong because 
you confuse me.
She said: The sky, now that 
you ask, is magenta, striped 
with lime. And burgundy.
She said: I cannot see
any reason why you should 
avoid consuming arsenic, 
bleach, or poison ivy.
She said: You are dismissed.

I agreed.

Monday, December 9, 2013

Stray (Poem 251)

You don't have to stay, but I saw
your eyes when I came home 
tonight. Were you expecting a little
private dinner, a tête–à–tête, 
perhaps? Were you attracted, 
moth-like, to my warmth? 
Or was it the softness of my gaze,
my smile, my whisper? Your long 
legs, the luscious browns and tans 
of you, and gorgeous, sweeping 
hair are alluring, I'll admit. 
The more I saw, the more 
I wanted you for my own. 
But, alas, I am not free. 
You are two too late. Unless-- 
I could convince them that you'll 
help around the house. 
You know, make yourself useful...play 
a few games, keep them entertained. 
I think they'd come to like having you
around. I know I would. No, you don't 
have to stay but I made up a bed 
for you, just in case...

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Deep Thoughts on a Norwegian Email (Poem 250)

the day ends looking 
at his call: drones 
for retail bidders

fractal: infinite pattern in love
with all others perplexed, cross, indifferent 

bitter yelling: so, fortune hunting 
any that were booty calls?

post script: in order to get good 
tabouli, why not let her pilot 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Saturday, December 7, 2013

Out of the Silence (Poem 249)

The water, a silk scarf, pooled teal; 
a door slammed at the foot 
of the cliff; and out of the silence, 
a wall [navy, brown, colors repeated] 
arose. Not a guttural animal 
in the mountains beyond, 
but a cry, a calculated move. 
The sky above my pencil intended
to draw attention, scratching 
on the rough cold to convey 
pitiful suffering. Pressed, we both
knew the paper, like the wind, 
in truth, did not exist. Blustering 
in the shadows of the wall, was he; 
evergreens were the only sound,
a well-planned retribution. 
Emerald-tender grass spread
like an indictment, a rich carpet
laid at my feet: My hopes, 
my feelings, and my needs
welcomed and sustained me.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Friday, December 6, 2013

Big Mistakes (Poem 248)

He was never afraid 
to make big mistakes. His 
ugliest canvas hung, like 
a billboard, in Times Square. 
His memorable Carnegie Hall 
debut was marred by many 
a forgotten lyric. That's why 
I failed to trust him 
to hang the sun in the sky,
to hang the moon, which 
was probably a good thing, 
because if I had trusted him 
with celestial bodies 
I might have, eventually, 
trusted him with my heart.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Thursday, December 5, 2013

Reminder (Poem 247)

Here, in this moment
Breathe: All is well, all is well
Now, and now, all's well

(c) 2013,  by Hannah Six

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Candles (Poem 246)

Warm, but cold, the room
looks blue, old carpeting
tan, dark windows shutting
their eyes 

on the shortest day 
of the year. I am here;
home is where you are, 
which is not in this chill
graying room with me.

Candles, I hear, bring
a spark of life to a room
such as this. When my match
kisses their vulnerable white
wicks and flares, it's clear

they are right. I light some more,
then watch their dancing flames
whipping the darkness back 
into the small corners
of this room.

 (c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Monday, December 2, 2013

Past Imperfect (Poem 244)

Outside, the sun, a clear winter 
day; inside the sofa sinks 
and swells, an old friend's
warm embrace, a deep well
of comfort and strength.
Someone else chose it and
treated it gently, as if knowing
it would someday be mine. 
Like the wind-chimes that thrill 
to the wind in my yard, 
and my favorite chair--
where I knit, write, and dream,
and brush kitty's luxurious hair--
the few things I own don't just 
fill up my home. I delight
in the items I choose, and 
the histories of those 
that have been loved and used. 
As my grandmother said 
way back when: Everything 
old becomes new again. 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six 

Sunday, December 1, 2013

On Illness (Poem 243)

From without, betrayal can 
     rob your life of love,
     turn a summer day 
     to gray, a sparkling 
     sea to mud.
From within betrayal can 
     rob your love of life,
     suddenly your faith is gone,
     the songs you hummed
     fall silent.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

     
     
     

Saturday, November 30, 2013

Light Falls (Poem 242)

The radio sings 
sweetly and soft
light falls 
from the window
landing 
in a gentle splash
of that particular 
honeyed gold 
so utterly irresistible 
to well-fed cats and 
winter-weary women.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Friday, November 29, 2013

Faded Flannel (Poem 241)

Evening turns down
the moon and night 
falls. I hear you
calling my name--
but, no... It's just
yesterday's dream
following me as I
crawl between these
faded flannel sheets.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Thursday, November 28, 2013

Fresh Pot (Poem 240)

"Well, at least that's over with!"
She pulled the dish towel 
from her waistband with 
a locker-room-worthy snap.
Those of us lingering
over coffee at the table
held our breath for a moment 
until, from the next room,
the television's hum 
broke the silence. Relief
seeped into the room, with 
the fragrance of a fresh
pot of coffee. The conversation 
continued, and someone 
reached out to cut another 
slice of pecan pie.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Gratitude (Poem 239)

Three days ago, the sun 
shone. We were filled with joy 
at the sight of it. Yesterday, too,
it woke us, brilliant light slanting 
through the blinds, and we 
smiled back. Today, when 
a furtive cloud caused a few 
moments of dimness, we scowled. 
"Oh, no!" we cried.
Gratitude is a demanding mistress. 
What would happen if 
you were as charmed the 
thousandth time he opened 
the car door for you 
as you were on your first date?
How would the world change if, 
when she bakes your favorite 
chocolate cake on your birthday
once more, you tell her you are 
astonished, and grateful? 
If what seems common and 
to-be-expected are, in reality, 
nothing more than abundant 
miracles we have not earned, 
do not deserve? This joy
that hauled you out of despair
is, like all things, impermanent--
it does not belong to you.
Open your heart to the coquette 
who, ignored, robs you of wonder,
and you will find her, instead,  
a generous and loyal friend, who 
--when you've forgotten today's
good fortune--will sit with you,
spread an album across your knees,
and show you her pictures.


(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Waves (Poem 238)

Indigo, aqua
Ocean rises heavily
Then folds into waves

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Monday, November 25, 2013

One Eye Open (Poem 237)

We never wore shoes
in the summertime, or
hardly ever, 
anyway. We ran wild,
clambered through creeks
and the dusty eaves
of each others' houses,
hacked through brambles
and roamed across town
in search of a friend,
or a swim, or a perfect,
ripe peach whose honey-
sweet juice would gush
like love over our chins
and hands. And all 
the time, we were barefoot,
keeping one eye open
for glass shards glinting
in the hard sun, and 
the other open for glimpses
of the women we would become.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

El Camino Real, Burlingame, CA
Photo: Wikipedia Commons

Sunday, November 24, 2013

Things Changed (Poem 236)

Things changed and change 
   changed and then 
her normal life was lost
   and strange   far out of 
range beyond  those mountains 
    there and those ones too 
she cared about her people 
there and cared for these 
as well    but time will tell who 
cares for her 
sometimes    he's walking 
back and walking    backtracking 
back to her in shoes whose soles 
are worn    his shoulders warm 
with sun and hard 
with snow    he'll go back some 
day and when he does she knows 
she'll pack her bags 
and head his way and walk 
those roads    touching 
with each step she steps
the bits of sole he left 
behind him when 
things changed.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Saturday, November 23, 2013

Soft (Poem 235)

and we become so soft
summer cool and winter 
warm    we whose ancestors 
swathed continents on foot 
by horse or wagon   each 
exquisite day in fine detail   
crocus nosing a ribbon of snow   
snapping mornings   frost 
on quilts   tang of woodsmoke   
swirling leaves   melting summer 
days in wool and collars and 
sleeves and stays   you hold 
the door   toss keys   we peel 
off layers as we go   we shed 
our strength like sweat and salt 
and subway grime swept 
seaward by the shower's cool 
pulse   an end-of-day oasis    
our stern ghosts close the door 
on our laughter as they leave

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

 
  

Friday, November 22, 2013

Betrayal (Poem 234)

vacuum bedroom 
duster shelves 
tchotchkes motes
journal beige carpet 
pages flexed   blue ink blue
lines blue 
scrawl eyes 
his mouth his mouth his mouth 
lies voices traffic crying
past the past the past   door 
street floor boxes tearing 
ripping tossing    promises
day night day night day 
hands breath head down
eyes closed 
beginning

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Thursday, November 21, 2013

Gift, II (Poem 233)

When the 
    bow is untied, 
when the 
    paper is torn, 
when the 
    seal is broken, 
when the 
    top is pulled 
free 
and the tissue 
    cast aside, 
the gift 
    is revealed.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six




(Image: Pomegranate Council)

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Gift (Poem 232)

She untied the bow
And when she opened the box
The sunrise burst forth

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

On Choosing Wisely (Poem 231)

I sat down next 
to my cat and 
asked where 
I'd gone
wrong. 
She winked, 
and said I'd 
been singing 
to a distant flock 
of  birds who hadn't 
heard a single song 
in years. 
So I dried my tears
and got cozy 
in bed. Then I 
sang to my 
cat instead.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Monday, November 18, 2013

Sketches (Poem 230)

Two sketches, beloved
no longer. Closed shutters, 
forever. She was not enough.

Small, self-effacing 
once again, being passed
to the next blank imagination.
Still, time will tell.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Sunday, November 17, 2013

Is Spring... (Poem 229)

Crumpled, brown, curled in
on itself like a small bird's wing, 
a lingering leaf so gently cradled
on this bed of new snow. Is spring just
a distant memory, or a fledgling hope?

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Saturday, November 16, 2013

Words Like Silk (Poem 228)

Like wool, like silk,
words wind around 
and slip through
my fingers. I bend
them, knot them,
coax them into soft, 
pleasing, useful shapes, 
always aware that 
it is not my own
shoulders the final
product must fit. 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Friday, November 15, 2013

Fraught With Danger (Poem 227)

The path is narrow 
and fraught with danger. 
A cascade of tiny, five-petaled 
yellow flowers pouring down 
a rough-and-tumble stone 
fence, threatens the heart 
with memories of a bright spring 
day by a snow-swollen river. 
The vivid pastels of a rainbow 
glimpsed unexpectedly during 
a mid-storm sun break, glowing 
against graphite and white clouds, 
puts one in peril of recalling 
dreams of a future once promised, 
but perhaps not received. 
And, most dangerous of all,
the intricate imbroglio of
improvised jazz, framed 
by the undulating rustle of voices 
and staccato ring of glass and silver,
educing one glimpse of love 
so enduring, so captivating, 
that a heart, once entangled-- 
having slipped off the narrow 
path of indifference--would surely 
remain ensnared for all time.

(c) by Hannah Six


Photo: Stan Shebs

Thursday, November 14, 2013

What's True (Poem 226)

What I say now
isn't always true. 
What's true is you, standing 
like some ancient blue and 
silver idol under the full moon. 
What's true is the blanket 
of mist that shrouds the valleys 
and damp fields in amethyst 
silence at dawn. 
What's true is the long, slow sway 
of the mid-day ferry between 
kelp scented sea and crisp clear sky, 
and the first joyous leap when 
those elusive dolphins burst from 
the wave off the bow. 
What's true is the sweet, slightly-musty scent 
of faded elegance and the creak 
of the stairs under our feet. 
No, what I say now 
isn't always true. 
But what I knew then, was.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

Charley's Haiku (Poem 225)

Taunting yellow rump 
and that damn curlicue tail... 
You're dead, crocheted mouse!

(c) 2013, by Charley and Hannah Six


Tuesday, November 12, 2013

The Next Salvation

I want to tell you about the time 
   I, as a child, rode a palomino bareback 
   at a hippy commune, and it ran wild 
   toward a closed gate that it would have 
   jumped, but for the heroics of a naked   
   guy on a chestnut gelding.
I want to tell you about my family's first dog, 
   adopted at the cusp of my teen years,
   with whom I took long walks and 
   had endless soul-baring talks, until 
   she was given away.
I want to tell you about my gray hamster, 
   whose curiosity got the best of him    
   when he escaped his cage once 
   too often, and came face to face 
   with the cat on duty.
I want to tell you about one of my goldfish, 
   who lived seven years in a bowl 
   I wish I'd changed more often, and 
   for whom my grandfather cared 
   after I left for college.
I want to tell you about three of my most-beloved 
   cats, and how--after 14 years--
   my heart shatters 
   a little every day because 
   I had to leave them behind 
   to escape a life-threatening situation.
I want to tell you about one of life's 
   true miracles, which flows in 
   through the cracks and crevices in 
   the walls I've built around my heart, 
   softens the edges of past losses, 
   takes my hand, and leads me--its
   willing victim--toward the next 
   beloved, the next heartbreak, 
   the next salvation.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Monday, November 11, 2013

Blanket of Hope (Poem 223)

In the sky, fragile 
beauty, a shimmering 
memory transformed
by magical hues,
their shivering petals 
rustle a scarce-heard 
song of blooming 
dawn and sunset glow,
a blanket of hope, drawn
around the fretful fallen 
and the world, lost 
in heedless slumber 
around them

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

http://www.legion-aux.org/Programs/Poppy/

 (Photo: Eric Hill)




Sunday, November 10, 2013

Floating (Poem 222)

Crows like bickering 
   demons foraging 
     in the rustling cornfield    
cicadas endlessly 
     whirring whirring 
   in the cedars   the whole 
world bleached 
white and gold and dry under 
   a dazzling haze of moisture 
      and dust and pale blue sky 
and    me    
alone    floating 
   on my back 
in the neighbor's 
     above-ground pool     
seduced by the chilling
illusion    that I am the last 
human-being    on earth 
in the oppressive   hush
   of a workday afternoon 
     in the middle of the week

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Saturday, November 9, 2013

A Day Like This (Poem 221)

On a day like this   day 
turns to gray to twilight 
to white to gray again and    
finally to night    what else 
can you do but flip 
through a magazine    or climb in 
bed with a book    or you 
can build a fire and toast
marshmallows and watch movies 
or paint or write or knit or curl 
up tight with your lover under
cover of a fluffy duvet 
and a winter day

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Friday, November 8, 2013

Then It Happens (Poem 220)

going back becomes halfway    
at loose ends on glinting pavement
clammy after a sultry city 
rain    no one to tell 
me about neighborhoods 
I already know 
how to fraternize when ruddy 
open friends have been drinking 
caramel-colored whiskey    I try 
to call but fumble and say 
I miss you silly chatty you    finally
laughing she puts you on
and wraps you around her golden
shoulders before finally going 
out    then it happens 
and once more 
that was a long time ago 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Thursday, November 7, 2013

Rough Cover (Poem 219)

blanket of unconsciousness, dull,
the weft, dense, fuzzy weeds, 
mementos of a life, the rough 

weave of the real, vast world
linen, strong and durable, coarse
wool, speckled, here and there, 
with grass, leaves, and 
the occasional surprise

of honeyed January heat,
when tender petals unfurl into 
the oncoming white, 
then fade, wither, and fall

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Lace (Poem 218)

Brilliant as a Bahamian 
beach, sinuous as a flute 
in a Mozart concerto,
glossy silk unfurls 
and furls patiently, 
a whisper guided by 
a dream and a gentle touch. 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Syrian Lullaby (Poem 217)

There is a sweetness in the air, 
but we fear it may be poison gas.
There is a slight chill in the air, 
but autumn's lost its charm. 
There is a peaceful silence here, 
since the soldiers left, at last. 

There is a sweetness in the air, 
a broth of weeds and bones. 
There is a slight chill in the air,
without my child in my arms. 
There is a peaceful silence here, 
now that we've left our homes. 
There is a sweetness in the air.
There is a sweetness...

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Monday, November 4, 2013

MElting* (Poem 216)

Some days I'm the Wizard;
Others, I feel like 
     Wicked Witch goo.
Nothing for it but to rest,
So, for tonight, 
    this rhyme will have to do.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


*Thanks for understanding!
By the way... ME = Myalgic Encephalomyelitis. You can learn more here: http://www.meassociation.org.uk/about/what-is-mecfs/


Sunday, November 3, 2013

Winter Verse (Poem 215)

It's winter 
     And my toes are cold
It's winter
     And the coffee's brewed
It's winter
     And the does grow bold
Searching for a meal
Where sweet green grass once grew

It's winter 
     And the frost has formed
It's winter
     And the fire's bright
It's winter 
     And your hands are warm
In the brown wool gloves
I knit for you last night

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six








Saturday, November 2, 2013

Last Apple (Poem 214)

When the tree flowered
We felt such joy, but today
The last apple fell.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Photo: Arnstein Rønning

Friday, November 1, 2013

The Peak (Poem 213)

Like silver, the light, burnished
and reflecting the glow of
the sun's loving gaze

Like gold, the clouds, billowing
forth with abandon from 
their own illuminated dreams

Like bronze, the peak, streaming
and resplendent in the last rays
of the day before the storm 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

(Mt. Rainier, November Sunset)


Thursday, October 31, 2013

Happiest (Poem 212)

Sharing our warmth beneath 
the heavy peacock-colored afghan 
your grandmother crocheted, we rest.
I close my eyes so that, after a while, 
when your gentle sighs fold themselves 
into the welcome rhythm of slumber, 
I can see your face, dearest to me 
in all the world, and the almost-smile 
that appears when we curl up together. 
Tempted to slide across the rumpled 
sheets, to tiptoe down our creaking
stairs and make myself useful (pitting 
the rich, black cherries I washed 
this morning, mixing up a crust for 
your favorite pie, folding freshly-dried
towels with the jazz station humming 
quietly) I shift my attention to my hands, 
my toes, melting into the mattress 
like a cat in the sun, and, finally, 
meeting you where you dream, 
waiting for me.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Photo: Funky Junk Interiors*






*http://www.funkyjunkinteriors.net/2010/04/paint-ed-wooden-crate-stairs-for-so-you.html

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Strange Song (Poem 211)

Go among the jealous
   Minding the forgotten
Somewhat 
   Wonderful with pity
Pretending to be timid
   Shrinking from existence
Striving toward the stars
   Fighting to feel wanted 
Far down deep 
below us
Way up high 
above us
Willing us to love
Willing us
To love

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Autumn Haiku (Poem 210)

Leaves bright as poppies
Fall in mellow autumn sun
Fiery puddles form

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six