Saturday, August 31, 2013

Reminding Me (Poem 151)

There are days 
when sunlight 
comes bursting through 
my shades, shattering 
the twilight dawn,
reminding me of you.

There are nights 
when moonlight 
slips beneath my door 
and glows 
like phosphorescence
on a distant shore, 
peacock blue and balmy,
reminding me of you.

There are dreams 
where palm leaves rustle 
in the dark, a song 
swings, its unctuous rhythm 
marked by the spark and 
glitter of stars, and we 
find a lazy sway and 
wind our sighs around the 
crystal breath of falling dew--
these reveries, my nights and days,
reminding me of you.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Friday, August 30, 2013

Bronze (Poem 150)

Leaves quiver in sun
Reflection bronze on my wall
Summer slides southward

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Thursday, August 29, 2013

The Brave (Poem 149)

wildly suppressed
until the fall
the fighting crashed
and altered 
the brave
so patiently 
tender and cool 
as dented tin pans
of silt and fools gold 
but also
occasionally indifferent
or furiously

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Sitting (Poem 148)

Slip under the surface
To where the dragons are.
Their claws, like ice picks,
Score the granite floors
Of their cavernous maws,
Leaving corrugations large
Enough to hide 
A spider or a diamond.
Sit, just there.
Sit, and tell them fairytales,
Lure them with your faith,
Here in their deep lairs
Of mist and mayhem,
Stone and stars,
Under the surface,
Where the dragons are.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Tuesday, August 27, 2013

Tranquil (Poem 147)

below is blue
smooth and clear as glass
by a membrane of truth
no beginning no end
I in the middle
no end no beginning
by a membrane of truth
smooth and clear as glass
above is blue

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Monday, August 26, 2013

Mirror Lake (Poem 146)

Reflected in a lake,
The mountains.
Hot wind stirs up 
The needles and the dust.
Emma Bovary with me
On the blanket.
Sizzling on a stick, 
A tender trout.

Does the lake
Still mirror that
Bald mountain?
Does the breeze still
Smell of pine and dust?
Do wild Browns still
Spawn far up that
River? Or did 
Our paradise go
The way of us?

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Sunday, August 25, 2013

Swoon (Poem 145)

come sink down with me
let the spring sponge of the earth
absorb your dreams
where we lie, in a
field of blood-red butterflies
heady with delight
in a night of our own making

© 2013, by Hannah Six

Saturday, August 24, 2013

Like Dew (Poem 144)

Close enough to kiss
Smoke entwined in pas de deux
Stars falling like dew

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Friday, August 23, 2013

Sloe Dance (Poem 143)

Sloe Gin Fizz with lime.

Coral lipstick on the glass.
Sax breathes her a dream.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

With appreciation to Ken Peplowski for his heartachingly gorgeous recording of "It's a Lonesome Old Town."

Thursday, August 22, 2013

Thimbleful (Poem 142)

She of the velvet existence--
lonely for 
the camomile beach and 
the creak and sway of old, moored boats and
her thimbleful of unhurried joy--
laughed pleasantly, ignoring
the old missing that pleaded
and tightened, her fingers
clutching a long-missing tube 
of Prussian Blue paint.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Toward Afternoon (Poem 141)

sloping sloping off the bed
watery flowers sliding down 
the window, lilac and gray 
and green slick as a baby 
in bathwater sloping and 
rolling toward morning like 
dead weight praying that 
they come alive again
when the gray seeps through
the blinds like water spreading 
in a pool of daybreak sloping
sloping toward afternoon

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Cinnamon Day

A slant of cinnamon sun,
A shiver of frost on the lawn,
The kind of day that calls 
For an apple-red jacket and
A brisk, windblown 
Country walk,
Or a New England college 
Football game,
Woodsmoke in the air,
Brown leaves crumbling 
Underfoot, icy, still nights 
Flecked with stars--
Shards of light 
pricking the dark--
And cider steaming on the stove
Ladled into handmade mugs,
Warming hands and home 
And air heavy with 
Heady scents of autumn--
Sun-warmed wool, damp earth 
And curbs lined with armies
Of dark bags full to bursting
With summer's leftovers.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Monday, August 19, 2013

Softly (Poem 139)

Today, I know better
Than to expect a
Sweet goodnight and
Sleep tight when I reach
Inside and stub my fingertips 
On the cold hard bottom 
Of the jar. Only crumbs.
Warm milk, then, and 
Something mild,
Saltines, perhaps, or hot,
Buttered white-bread toast.
Tomorrow the cayenne,
And ginger, bitter chocolate
And tart cherry pie. The most
I can hope for now is 
A sweet breeze through 
My veiled window and
A light burning softly
Beside my cool pillow.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Sunday, August 18, 2013

Campbell's Soup on the Stoop (Poem 138)

In honor of Bad Poetry Day
 (Aug. 18, 2013)

All alone with my thoughts 
And a can of Campbell's soup
I light up a cigarette
And take it with my dinner
Out onto the stoop.
Sitting there I stare out 
Into thin air
And think about the way
I'd wished my life 
Might have been.
Still, I am happy enough
With my Chunky Sirloin and
My brew, in the shade,
On my stoop, being watched by
My snoopy landlady,
Because I don't care
What she thinks.
I know I have everything
A man needs to be happy.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Saturday, August 17, 2013

Thief (Poem 137)

Cruel, cashmere breeze 
Slips in like a thief, 
Stealing my breath 
With a sweet violet kiss.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Friday, August 16, 2013

Girl on the Dock (Poem 136)

At the end of the L-shaped dock,
Where summer-browned children,
Yelping, jump into murky green,
A girl. Alone, book in lap, 
She sits facing shore, leaning 
On one arm, pale, flawless 
Legs curled to her left 
In a studied pose: 
"Starlet at leisure,"
Inspired, no doubt, by fantasies
Of old-Hollywood glamour 
And intrigue. Soft as a petal,
A lake-borne breeze ruffles 
And lifts the smooth, caramel 
hair from her shoulders.
She looks up, as if surprised,
From the page she has not turned 
In half an hour, then returns 
To her almost-convincing display 
Of superb focus, careful 
Not to notice the sweating, 
Brightly-suited crowd scattered,
Like pebbles, on the shore. 
We are her contrasting background, Setting off her cool, milky beauty 
To perfection. She is lovely, 
In her shorts and 
Knotted checked blouse, 
Sunglasses and sandals,
Pretending to read, 
Watching herself play--unaware 
Of how obviously--the leading role 
In the movie in her mind. 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Thursday, August 15, 2013

First Cup (Poem 136)

Six green rocking chairs
Sunrise warms the ocean breeze
Welcome, gentle hours

Low morning voices
The day unfurls and ripples
Drawn out by the tide

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

(Photo: Chris Six)

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Sherpa (Poem 135)

the utter ice of it, the white 
white broken black and blue 
and void unstoppable gaping 
maws sucking souls into unfathomable 
frozen rattling death breath, 
the beating beating beating of feet 
and hearts and minds and the 
clattering lungs and bits of gear 
dangling randomly from ribs 
and packs his is too light 
because his is too heavy 
the cold the cold the 
cold razor blade slicing off lips 
and tongues and toes and ears 
nothing to hear anyway and 
the wet the sickly sweet smell 
of wet always wet and 
light pack overbearing assuming 
ha ha ha in the face 
of majesty tramping over virgin 
snow and humanity so disposable 
unseen unheard a herd 
of silent keepers kept

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Note: Today's poem was inspired by this fascinating interview with Grayson Schaffer, a senior editor and writer for Outside magazine, who wrote an article about Sherpa guides on Mt Everest:

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Precious Gem (Poem 134)

Citrine summer day
Warm, topaz afternoon melts
Amethyst at dusk

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Monday, August 12, 2013

Lessons Learned (Poem 133)

I used to think it mattered,
     but it doesn't.
I used to think I needed, 
     when I wanted.
I used to trust that people 
     really meant it.
I used to think I would,
     but I won't.
I used to think I'd love it, 
     but I hate it.
I used to think I couldn't,
     but I can.
I used to think the whole
     world was watching.
I used to think I cared,
     but I don't.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Sunday, August 11, 2013

The Keeper (Poem 132)

Turning from the stove,
Iron skillet in hand, 
He flashed
Her a glittering smile.
Strong coffee was brewed;
He poured her a mug,
And told her to sit
For awhile.
She closed her eyes, "Happy 
as a clam," she thought,
Cheerfully mellow
And mild.
And a waterfall of notions
Surged in her mind:
This catch 
Must not return 
To the wild.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

PS. My challenge was to use all of the following words in a poem: smule, glittering, clam, cheerfully, waterfall

Saturday, August 10, 2013

Sleep Me (Poem 131)

Sleep me, close 
My eyes and rest me
Savagely, surrender me 
And wrap me in 
Unthinking swells of 
Indigo unconsciousness
Sleep me, slip me
Into a nest of 
Qiviut clouds
Downy and warm as
Primeval loam
Sleep me, sink me 
In sea-glass
Shards of silence 
That cut through the 
Thinking thinking thinking
Aloft, sleep me home
Under, drift down
Sun-slanted leagues
And layers of tranquil
Slumber, peace of 
Mind, the gap 
Between has 
And will is deep, so 
Sleep me sleep me sleep 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Friday, August 9, 2013

Puppy (Poem 130)

Puppy in a car
Parking lot on sunny day
Owner needs training

(c) Hannah Six

A study by the Stanford University School of Medicine showed that temperatures inside cars can rise dramatically even on mild days. With outside temperatures as low as 72 degrees, researchers found that a car's interior temperature can heat up by an average of 40 degrees within an hour, with 80 percent of that increase in the first 30 minutes. A cracked window provides little relief from this oven effect. The Stanford researchers found that a cracked window had an insignificant effect on both the rate of heating and the final temperature after an hour.
(Source: King 5 - Seattle News)

P.S. No worries... Animal Protection soon arrived on the scene :)

Thursday, August 8, 2013

Some Old Song: Poem 129

At the pink of the day
The light lures my thoughts astray
And the old times still seem 
Fresh as falling dew

Somewhere far off a band will play
While silk-draped couples sway
And once again I'm with you

Twilight falls like a veil
As the reverie grows pale
And the jasmine sweetly
Puts the day to bed

All the dancers have wandered off
Your footsteps, too, grow soft
Night falls as I walk away.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six



Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Early-birds (Poem 128)

Face to face, they sit
Silence, coffee between them
Nothing left to say

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Photo: Penrose Diner, Philadelphia

Tuesday, August 6, 2013

Difficult, Pt. Two (Poem 127)

rippling cavernous slides
strike dromedary urgency
into oblong eyelids
lashes like palm fronds 
slick with unctuous
chartreuse anticipation 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Monday, August 5, 2013

So Happy (Poem 126)

An astonishing cocktail
of sunlight and warmth
is lavished on 
our cool and misty world 
today. We walk around, smiling 
like people in-the-know,
and say 
Can you believe this heat? 
Days ago, 
when it rained, 
we came out of our houses 
and scowled at the sky. 
Can you believe how cold it is?
And we told each other how, 
when it warmed up 
again, we would be 
so happy.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Sunday, August 4, 2013

Bound (Poem 125)

Swaddled in 
my threadbare blanket 
of weakness and pain,
I arrange myself in bed 
again, and watch
the friendly, old world 
unfold, from a distance.

(c) 2013 by Hannah Six

"ME is a serious, disabling and chronic organic (i.e. physical not mental) disorder. ME has been classified by the World Health Organisation (ICD 10 G 93.3) as a neurological illness affecting approximately 200,000 individuals within the UK. Of that number, approximately 25% of those affected will go on to develop severe ME which is an extremely debilitating illness, sometimes lasting for years, in some cases, even decades, often rendering the sufferer completely housebound, wheelchair & bedbound and dependent upon carers for their everyday needs.  The Chief Medical Officer’s Report on the subject of CFS/ME (Chronic Fatigue Syndrome/Myalgic Encephalomyelitis) issued in January 2002 recognises that “CFS/ME should be classed as a chronic condition with long term effects on health, alongside other illnesses such as multiple sclerosis and motor neurone disease."


Saturday, August 3, 2013

Welcome Guests (Poem 124)

The house 
            was dim,
the day, bright.
When the door 
you quickly stepped 
into the light 
and closed it 
with a click,
locking the long night 
Another door 
as you stood 
on the dazzling sidewalk,
waiting to regain 
your sight.
Unafraid, you 
entered and left it 
               open wide 
for the autumn air,
the honeyed sunlight,
those sweet old songs,
and all the other 
welcome guests 
you knew
would come along.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Photo: Wikipedia Commons

Friday, August 2, 2013

Friday (Poem 123)

Scent of soap on steam
Water running as you shave
Must be Friday night

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Thursday, August 1, 2013

Enemy Lines (Poem 122)

Behind the door, in the dark, 
you lurk, more frightening 
than those childhood monsters 
my mother conquered
with a click of the light switch. 

For decades, you possessed me, 
altered me, held me prisoner, 
brought me to my knees, impoverished 
in so many ways. 

There were days when 
the sun broke through the clouds 
and my doubts cleared 
under the cerulean sky, 
when my escape seemed certain 
and a song of rejoicing 
already softened my lips. 

But, no. You tracked me 
and lay in wait. 
Ambush was only 
a matter of time. 

Why, then, did you let me go 
when I last ran? 
Why was the line you drew 
in the sand 
so shallow and vague? 
At play in the waves, 
I only realized I'd crossed it 
when I looked back 
at the beach 
and saw I was alone. 

How brave I felt! 
How bold and proud! 
Children bounded and splashed 
around me, grinning back 
at my self-satisfied smile. 

If only-- If only!  If only I'd stayed 
closer to shore--
If only the current 
that bore me further out 
had been clear and blue, 
not cold and opaque 
as unfeeling jade. 

Maybe then I might have 
noticed the crescent shadow 
that flickered 
in the depths, 
beneath me. 

Maybe then, I'd still be 
innocent of your insidious 
grasp, ensnaring my ankle 
so delicately, 
a mere tickle. 

Maybe then, I'd have remembered 
to leave the light on 
as I slipped below 
the surface of sleep
into unfathomable dreams.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six