Sunday, June 30, 2013

Poem 91: Sanctuary


sweep the darkness 
from ancient 
        pagan idols'
lichen-clad feet
tasting the lurid 
of diluvian decay
their fog-enfolded 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Saturday, June 29, 2013

Poem 90: Tumbling

sweet, the tumbling
sliding into dreams unbroken
vast, opaque, the snowfall
words unspoken
glanced at sideways 
or altogether disregarded
silent, then 
so low, the hard ground 
wide open, clover 
sweet green apronfuls
a gentle place 
to land, unbroken, and 
a place to rest

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Friday, June 28, 2013

Poem 89: Puzzling

woman impatient
squinting puzzling 
over the raving 
fluorescent summer 
each supple gripping 
lover treated to 
a silver smile and 
silent moving pause

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Thursday, June 27, 2013

No. 88

crazed with night 
brilliant pain 
the fight quickens 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Wednesday, June 26, 2013

Poem 87: Colors the Clouds Are

all the colors the clouds are
muted watercolor washes 
easing memories into place
to a time before knowing,
wanting, having,
and losing an inch here 
and there, but for the grace
of silver slipping and 
pooling in puddles 
in the sky, reflecting
all the colors the clouds are

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Poem 86: Lark's Lullaby

The lark made his lullaby
Of rippling conversation,
Wrapping the rumors
In a sparkling scale.

Dreaming of thunderheads
Over vast painted deserts,
He tried out the tune
From atop a cattail.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Photo: Cattails Beside Pond, by David Wagner

Monday, June 24, 2013

Poem 85: Upstart

Twisted, like softly-plied 
Wool in your fingers,
The points of your needles
Find all the right loops--
Twisted, and wrapped, and
Pulled through and knotted,
Then folded, forgotten, in
A cupboard to which you've
Long since lost the key.

Resting in darkness, with
Others who kept you 
Warm, no harm done, no
Storm damage
From tempests that once
Rose like fury between us,
Erupting in downpours
Of unspoken words.

But what seemed safe,
Now is not, and my rest is
The refuge of disused and
Misplaced loves, faces forgotten, 
Our voices unknown.

You save face, we trail 
Into the forest, and comfort 
Each other with tales
Of our fortune and 
Harrowing escapes
From your upstart heart.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Saturday, June 22, 2013

Poem #83: Tender Hearts

Sometimes, the blue sky
Is more heartbreaking 
Than rain. Clouds are 
More forgiving to 
Tender hearts that 
Burn in the midday sun.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Friday, June 21, 2013

Poem #82: Off the Highway

Off the Highway

Sad old rusty truck 
drops off the highway,
Right turn onto smooth blacktop
Smelling of tar,
In every direction waves of grass
Ripple in the wind,
Clouds of dust, circling hawk,
Silver-faced black dog barks 
From a porch,
Fierce heat, screen doors,
Bleached laundry on the lines,
Sawdust floors, baseball games
Where lights are dimmed, slightly,
By thick clouds of flying insects,
Pie and coffee at the Kountry Kettle,
Settle the bill, crickets sing,
Right turn off the smooth, 
Blacktop road, smelling of tar.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Poem #80: The Brick Path

The Brick Path

Is there a right way for a sweet, yellow rose to unfurl and bask gratefully under a gentle June sun?

Is there a right way for the clouds to part, while the world sleeps, setting the garden aglow with moonlight?

Is there a right was for a loyal maple, much climbed and often read under, to release its golden leaves into a bright autumn breeze?

Is there a right way for the coast to beckon to incoming swells, luring them toward an inevitable, tumbling, raucous embrace?

Is there a right way to open the gate, walk down the carefully-swept brick path to the shady road, and open our green mailbox, hoping for a letter from you?

Is there a right way, then, to sigh as I withdraw my empty hand, glancing right and left to see if a neighbor has noticed my shameful solitude?

I turn, walk back up the path, and close the gate behind me.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Entrance to the Garden Gate by T.E. Butler

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Poem #79: The Picture

Beginning with the promises,
Dreadfully calm,
He yawned, shifted,
Shot his cuffs, eagerly
Expecting refreshments,
Pleased to join the picture.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Monday, June 17, 2013

Poem #78: Only Today

Only yesterday, I dragged my
Fingers through your thick, gold hair.

Only last week, I drank the last
Sip of wine from your forgotten glass.

Only last month, I stopped wearing
The bracelet you gave me on our seventh date.

Only last year, I asked to sit next to
The man with the kindest eyes I'd ever seen.

Only today, did you kiss me and 
Close the door behind you with a soft click.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Photo source:

Sunday, June 16, 2013

Poem #77: Crossings


The best surprise, 
I think, has always 
been a blanket of fireflies 
over a cornfield 
on a June evening,
delighting the eye 
and igniting a sweet
nostalgia for a moment 
that hasn't yet passed--
a moment that finds me 
thinking, dreaming of 
the windswept prairies
my grandmother knew
and loved, the same 
rolling grasslands, 
the same vast, 
blue heaven, 
the same shipwreck 
of mountains
floating in a sea of gold 
that I traverse--back 
the way they came--to
the place that remembers 
the weight of my step, 
the curve of my hip, 
the gentle kiss
of my fingertips. 
She reaches out, 
and draws me in 
to the blinding glare 
of sun on marble, 
where I can breathe 
in dignity, and 
rest a while 
on her aged breast, 
dazzled, sightless, 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Spearfish Canyon, South Dakota
Photo: USDA

Saturday, June 15, 2013

Poem #76: Rescue


he breathed the 
usual hundred times 
drowning among the 
languid tulips 
lost in a splash
of concerned smiles 
and desperate 
clich├ęs the 
cost of rescue 
a wink and 
a hesitant closeness 
into a slippery trust

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Sunset Beach, Cape May, NJ

Friday, June 14, 2013

Poem #75: Each


You splinter the night, enter 
and unravel my dreams, 
a long red thread. 
Panting, I wake, mired 
in my bed, pushing the fright 
out of my eyes and blinking at 
the slanting moonlight slipping 
through the shades 
of you, a midnight-blue reverie 
shrouded in 
a damp fog of desire and 
a firestorm of regrets, each 
wrapped in bright, clear silver, 
each a June day, 
each a November evening.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Thursday, June 13, 2013

Poem #74: Peony

Peony drops her petals
Rare gems for the wind

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Poem #73: Frames


Those are 
my grandfather's 

Black frames, 
square, with yellowed

The style 
you see in old 

Somehow when 
I was young 
they didn't 
seem retro

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Poem #72: After Evening

After Evening

On this perfumed 
night, frogs chirp, 
in place of cricket song.

No fireflies, but slender 
yellow columbine 
hovers and trembles 
in the dying blue light; 
and tweed-hued warblers 
seek the rennet, 
tried and tested favorite 
of all the birds who find 
our sunburned feeders.

Have you never understood
the stillness 
after evening's dither 
or risked the 
knowing empress-breath 
of tulip and plum, 
struck soundless 
by languid wonder?

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Photo: Steve Voght

Monday, June 10, 2013

Poem #71: "Title: A Title: B Title: Nada"

Confused by this poem? See note at end.

Title: A Title: B Title: Nada

Incandescent flight pears overhead with saris
that thorn my side like glare (soleil, soleil, soleil)

more than once upon a time, etc. etc. the woman tore her hair
and stairs collapsed (de rien)

bouyant, 1-2-3, shards burst outward
can of cat food, mountain of cans (pas de probleme)

mounting anesthesia, physics realm, dream to nightmare
Oh, Belle Dame Sans Merci. Alarm.

(c) 2013 Hannah Six

Note: In 2005, I wrote this poem in response to a few purposefully "difficult" poems I'd read. While my tastes have changed/broadened since then, I continue to (strongly) prefer poetry that is at least somewhat accessible. So...this parody is still relevant. 

Sunday, June 9, 2013

Poem #70: Outside the Party

Outside the Party

From the terrace,
sheared grass stretches,
gray and undefined, into
a galaxy of stars. A cool 
breeze carries the scent of 
seaweed from beyond 
the woods. Behind her, 
a door opens, releasing 
the music, then subduing it
again with a soft click
of the latch. She does not turn,
but listens to the languid
pattern of his pace as he 
crosses the flagstones to 
the pitted concrete balustrade 
that abrades her elbows.
A hushed scrape, a flare, 
a dim crackling as a glowing 
cigarette tip answers 
the inquiry of his breath.
A sigh. The horizon
holds her eyes, drawing his 
from her ice-pale face, 
which glimmers. Like
snakes charmed from 
their low, fat baskets, two 
blue columns of smoke
meet, hesitate, and then 
begin a spiraling, ascending 
pas de deux.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Photo: Kengoora