Wednesday, July 31, 2013

Emeralds (Poem 121)

Bowing over the wooden balcony railing, where my cat perches, statue-still, whiskers and ears forward, concentrating on his busy, bushy-tailed nemesis
Lonely and limp in my refrigerator, where you tucked it in the crisper, planning to spread it thickly with cream cheese to accompany your lunch
Watered by the family downstairs, so when all other grass grows crisp and drab, two dark-eyed boys can play baseball with their father on warm days, and organize complex battles when the evenings draw long
Then there was the one who spent so much time enraged over all the affairs he was convinced I had, that I came to believe my loyalty was misplaced 
Stretched out cotton--more comfortable than attractive, chosen many years ago from a farmer's market stall--which warms me even now with memories sweeter and softer than the finest cashmere 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Earlier Now, the Sun (Poem 120)

Earlier now, the sun
finds her rest
on a chaise
of plated silver
veins running the 
horizon's full length,
razor's edge 
traced in violet, deep
as an equatorial sky.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Monday, July 29, 2013

Trespassing (Poem 119)

Slip unnoticed under the fence,
And sprawl in the tall grass
For a while, panting and laughing
With the exhilaration unique
To young people ignoring
No Trespassing sign.
Never meant for swimming, that lake,
Which (of course) makes it covetable
As a cold, crisp, honey-sweet slab
Of watermelon on a Death Valley day.
Overhead, you see, the stars seem 
To be spinning backward, unspooling
Their spider's silk stories, though
You, pulling off and tossing aside
Clothing as you run
Lakeward, barefoot and free,
See only their dim reflection
In the still smooth surface
Of midnight blue water.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Sunday, July 28, 2013

Six a.m. (Poem 118)

Deep foggy morning
Mother-of-pearl sky lustrous
Like dragonfly wings

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Saturday, July 27, 2013

Here & There (Poem 117)

after spending years 
in the dull
I am coming home
to the delightful

during my time here
in the dark 
I've thirsted 
for cool white light 

homesick for sweetness
I've lost my taste
for bitter disappointment
the scenery here
is outstanding
and the people so nice

but emeralds and pearls
will never suit me 
as well 

as a cup of jasmine tea 
in a quicksilver bath 
of moonlight

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Friday, July 26, 2013

The Blues (Poem 116)

Sapphire   I am born
The audience had not yet assembled

Azul   Your family was my favorite part of you
I watched you drive away, downed a glass of water, and then went bowling

Blu   You could not speak my language, nor I yours
When they laughed at her accent, the sound was so joyful she didn't mind

Bleu   You sick bastard, you had no right
Sometimes it is necessary to judge on behalf of those who rely on us for protection

Turquoise   In the distance, the sea
We will break free, and I will lead you there 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Thursday, July 25, 2013

Delta (Poem 115)

curious fluttering hand 
     of Mystery pauses 
at the confluence 
of river and sea 
tapping and swirling 
     an impatient design 
waiting for the words 
     to come 
     they never do 
     all at once 
they have always been 
     in the elegant 
     alluvial language 
of the delta

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Bossa Nova (Poem 114)

she stretches
long in the sun
golden skin
alight she
stretches long
in the sun her
thin straps
undone her hair
a tight chestnut
braid will burst
into waves tonight
when set
free she stretches
long as a 
cat in the sun

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Zelda (Poem 113)

those musical twilights 
the indigo wash formed 
limp gusts of gloom
long flowing satin covers
disintegrated into 
black lace and pale hours 
a cataract on the floor
under the sombre 
ironic golden halo 
lank contemporaneous 
silhouettes twisted and 
tore off short leaves 
of youngness
drunk as debutantes 
the cosmos 
smelted into the 
fashionable incompetence
and nebular significance
of serious people 
fervently impassive
huddling and twinkling 
by moonlight

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

My respects to Zelda Fitzgerald, author of Save Me the Waltz (her only novel). From a few paragraphs of her book, I created a short erasure, which evolved into this poem.

Monday, July 22, 2013

A Pigeon (Poem 112)

A pigeon sheltered from a storm

on a blustery Monday night.

A pigeon sheltered from a storm.

He was simply trying to stay warm

by joining the folks huddled tight,

under an awning,

           as lightning flared bright,

a pigeon sheltered from a storm.

(c) 2013 by Hannah Six

Sunday, July 21, 2013

Jumping Jack (Poem 111)

Starry skies
Bright sunrise
Go away
Rainy day
Step back
Jumping Jack
Here take
Your cake
Shouldn't you
Partake too
Must fly
Say goodbye
In bed
Sleepy head
Nursery rhyme
Dream time

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Saturday, July 20, 2013

Swallows (Poem 110, a rondelet)

In the house across the way,
In a tiny dryer vent,
In the house across the way,
A pair of swallows came to stay.
In and out they flew, all energy spent,
Their babies grew, then off they went, 
From the house across the way.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Friday, July 19, 2013

A Thousand Verses (Poem 109)

a thousand swift verses
freely water the hedge
as justice nods along dazed

her clear laughter lingers
and covers the lapse
cheerfully aimless and queer

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Thursday, July 18, 2013

Sweet Evening (Poem 109)

One cat on the sofa,
One sleeping on the chair,
One sock off the needles,
Soon to be a pair;

Jazz sways in the background,
Children play tag outside,
I'd think this was heaven,
But I haven't died.

Evening cascades downward,
The cooling air, pure bliss;
Bed and book await me,
Twilight unfurls slowly,
Lingering so sweetly,
Like a goodnight kiss.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Poem 108: So-So

Devoid of words, I gaze
Across moss-spotted rooftops
Home seems far away

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Counting Cherries (Poem 107)

In the grocery store,
we count the cherries,
one by one, removing 
from the plastic bag
those we cannot afford.
Three plums or four?
Next to us, a man
weighs an ugly yellow 
melon in his hand, 
touching it,
gazing at the price sign, 
his head cocked 
first to the right, 
then the left.
An elderly couple,
gesticulating grandly,
discusses whether to buy 
a cabbage or 
a bunch of celery. 
Too casually, I pick up 
a small packet of grapes, 
and head back to my cart,
flushing at my ostentatious
A young woman has 
supplanted me at the altar 
of the cherries
--black as dried blood--
and counts them out,
one by one, removing 
from the plastic bag
those she cannot afford. 

 (c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Monday, July 15, 2013

Another Senryu (Poem 106)

You did not notice
Before you painted me bronze
My brilliant gold heart

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Sunday, July 14, 2013

Venus' Song (Poem 105)

In their eyes,
they stand below,
but within my embrace,
these children
who race toward me,
growing up too soon,
as children do.
around me, close and far,
my sisters, brothers, 
cousins are dancing
joyously, our own 
racing outward, pulling us
apart. Gladly, though,
we go, singing out loud
on our way to
the very heart, where 
the edge is the middle,
the middle the start.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Saturday, July 13, 2013

Midnight (Poem 104)

I lay my plump and
blooming midnight
down to sleep
in a moment of joy.
Come nearer,
ray of light--
he has turned off
the night,
and sleeps, certain
that morning
will look after him.

© 2013,  by Hannah Six

Friday, July 12, 2013

Winter Sun (Poem 103)

Sliding furtively
Along the south horizon
The winter sun--abashed 
By the evidence 
Of his impotence,
A vague, watery 
The party quietly, 
Preferring to blind 
And distract the
Warmer climes
With the brilliant
Falsehoods of his 
Varied charms.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Thursday, July 11, 2013

"Hurrying Toward Forever" (Poem 102)

A long time ago
my candle would awaken
me, the book, imagined
in my hands, a channel
of impressions.
Some, like scales would
begin to separate from
me, astonishing
and incomprehensible,
without matter, whistling
like a bird
hurrying toward forever
in a strange place.
The last farewells,
echo in the night,
delightful once again.

© 2013, by Hannah Six

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Poem 101: Wisteria

Directly overhead, sun
Bleak, searing,
White-hot air thick
With moisture, magnifying
The day's sultry excess
On the bleached gravel
Path through dusty
Grand old gardens
Around a corner, though,
Wisteria arbors
Dark and cool
Green grottoes scented
Spicy and sweet, air
Ambrosial liquid jade
Healing the day's excess
Lungful after lungful, longing 
And willing to breathe 
This particular variety
Of heaven forever

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

Poem 100!!!

JA, at the Window

Smiling enigmatically, 
listening to gentle creaks 
and sputtering 
wax, twigs tapping at the window,
and beloved voices
--muffled by walls and hallways--
the sounds of daily life
she sees in her minds eye 
what a passer-by might glance:
a rich, golden glow 
a cozily lit room that looks 
warmer than it ever really is and 
--through frost-etched glass--
a woman 
placing a pen carefully in its holder 
slipping a sheaf of small, neat pages 
     into her sloping desk and 
smiling enigmatically, 
listening to gentle creaks 
and sputtering 
wax, twigs tapping at the window 
and beloved voices 
--muffled by walls and hallways.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Chawton Cottage garden, Tony Grant, London Calling

Monday, July 8, 2013

Poem 99: Chimes

the neighbor's 
wind-chimes speak 
     to me 
of sweeter times
     cool green
and dancing
to the night orchestra
from dim tangles
of kudzu dark cedars 
and overgrown grass 
smelling tantalizingly 
of your warm 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Sunday, July 7, 2013

Poem 98: Turning to Water

neither here nor there, 
often nowhere at all. 
no matter
alone I am 
my own 
home, the only one 
who can offer me 
a place 
to rest

   and months 
      and years of flight
my heart is tired 
I cannot count on you 
to wrap it 
in liquid aqua silk 
and kiss it 

I cannot count on you 
to see the ocean
drop by drop
being squeezed 
from my body 
until I am parched 
and fevered

I can 
only count on you 
to hand me 
a tepid glass 
of tomato juice 
and tell me it's pure 
cool spring 

even were I stupid 
   as you think I am
I could still see 
the color 
of blood turning 
to water
through your fingers

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Poem 97: Ugly

An ending so ugly 
it takes
my breath 
far away from me
and make yourself
a home 
where people 
like you
    like you
a gaping void now 
yawning black
and silent
    oh so peaceably silent
that your absence
makes my heart ring
and my ears 
grow quite suddenly 

(c) 2013 by Hannah Six

Friday, July 5, 2013

Poem 96: Six Silver Carp

six silver carp 
rolled and twinkled 
with secret amusement 
looking askance 
at the rumors 
from far away
cautiously interrupting
the promise you blurted 
furtively praying 
for my forgiveness

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Thursday, July 4, 2013

Poem 95: True

Today, there is only one blossom 
on the plum tree by the door. 
Come sit with me and rest a while; 
the porch is sweetly cool. 
Tomorrow, perhaps, those petals 
will fall--I'll still be here with you.
And when night overtakes the garden, dampening the chill air with her breath, we'll watch the stars turning, 
slowly, from our porch swing, 
your hand a blossom in mine.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

The Albert Stevens Inn, Cape May, NJ
(Photo: Christopher D. Six)

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

Poem 94: Circles

what you have 
to say is meaningless 
where am I 
supposed to go 
when everyone 
I know 
tells me 
thing and 
does another? 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Tuesday, July 2, 2013

Poem 93: Ordinary

Creamsicle cat
Has sixteen whiskers
All of them white, but one.
Draped like a scarf
Across my pillow, 
He wakes, lifts his head, 
And trills a soft question.
One brown whisker
Among all the pink, 
And white,
And apricot--
A reminder that, while
Elegant and lithe,
Beloved and beautiful,
He is not precious,
But ordinary,
And gorgeously at peace
With his ordinariness 
And his single, brown whisker. 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Monday, July 1, 2013

Poem 92: Submerged (Ocean City, Md., June 2013)

(Ocean City, Md., June, 2013)

From shore, hardly a splash was heard when the spiraling, two-seat plane hit the water.

Aghast, the people stood among their umbrellas in oily bronze-pink-and-white clusters, looking out to sea, shielding their eyes against the glare with hands, hats, and celebrity magazines.  

Some asked, uncertainly, if they shouldn't do something.

Their quieter neighbors secretly looked forward to exciting gossip in the restaurants that night.

At the water's hissing edge, children continued to splash and build sand castles on the hard wet sand.

Others, seeing their parents' expressions, wondered nervously if they should stop having fun now.

Half a mile out, the fuselage slipped--unassumingly, without a trace--beneath the surface.

Smooth, blue-green swells rolled in from the east, as if nothing extraordinary had happened at all.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Photo: Tiago Fioreze