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*


Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Strange Song (Poem 211)

Go among the jealous
   Minding the forgotten
   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

Monday, October 28, 2013

Hourglass (Poem 209)

And now, the stars begin 
to shine, strung like beads 
upon a silken web, each yearning 
to be studied, each recalled,
some fervent, some forgiving 
as the darkness when 
the dreamer, wakened, knows 
the torpid heartbeat of the hours 
and hears the silver whisper as 
the stars slip through the narrow 
middle of the glass.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Sunday, October 27, 2013

A Low Register (Poem 208)

It sounded far off, possibly
a low register, mellow 
but bright. The two of them
considered its range. A strident
quality pushed the upper register 
of acceptable use. Soon, feeble
buzzing marked the high point 
in the wedding, as the euphoria 
of dancing fell, methodically, 
into favor.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Saturday, October 26, 2013

Hammock (Poem 207)

Hammock swinging low
Under swaths of sycamore
The world falls away

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Friday, October 25, 2013

These Letters (Poem 206)

Never comparing affairs aloud,
the daughter anxiously tied these 
fat pink letters with yellow acrylic 
yarn, and slid them into the sleeve 
of a scratchy blue sweater, 
wanting swift closeness, not 
shallow processions of dim 
thoughts and acceptable reasons,
polite as eggshell teacups and 
slightly stale gingerbread.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Tea at the Rittenhouse Hotel (Photo: Joyosity)

Thursday, October 24, 2013

This Time (Poem 205)

Well, open the damn 
windows then, and to hell 
with the bill. Freezing cold 
anyways, and the fire's not going 
to make any difference. 
And while we're at it, let's run 
the hot water for an hour or two, 
and turn on all the lights! 
But don't come crying to me 
if we get kicked outta here. 
Hey, isn't that the oven timer?

When she opened the oven door, 
it sighed a gush of air 
thick with the golden scent 
of baked pears and browning 
shortbread crust. For a moment, 
she was fifteen and laughing with 
a group of leggy, suntanned friends 
as they left the cool river of the drugstore 
and were stunned to a stand-still by a wall 
of Abilene heat. This time, she remembered 
to turn off the oven light.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

You Listen (Poem 204)

When I talk to you, you listen and
sometimes bow your head a little, 
an enviably- heavy lock of golden-brown 
hair falling forward to shade your eyes.

When I talk to you, I imagine
you hearing me, letting my words
tumble over you like a freshet, as if
you are a lichen-covered stone.

When I talk to you, you hold me
in your burning gaze, pupils dilated
in concentration, a smile trembling,
sometimes, at the corners of your mouth.

When I talk to you, I am handing you
my Faberge egg, a Lalique crystal flute,
one perfect Robin's egg shell, and I know 
they are safe from harm, because 
when I talk to you, you are not there at all.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

A Cure (#203)

Better than painkillers, she 
says, dipping her finger into 
a tiny lava flow of cream
cheese icing, delivering it to her 
lips with no attempt at daintiness. 

Outside, the water runs in a silver 
stream to the edge of the grass. 

A stack of weeds, roots clutching
remnants of soil, lay wilting 
next to a cracked, tangerine-vinyl 
knee cushion. 

In the redwood tree, a crow 
cackles in delight.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Monday, October 21, 2013

Risotto (Poem 202)

Rice in saffron robe
Edged with silken coconut
And turmeric lace 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Sunday, October 20, 2013

Nightlight (Poem 201)

Snow-blanketed fields
Eloquent moon bends night to day
Silence like crystal

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Saturday, October 19, 2013

What Shimmers (Poem 200)

Dandelion fairies, carrying childish
Wishes abroad, down the block or 
To the next yard, catching the light, 
A magical fall of twirling snowflakes
Touched by a breath of mid-summer

Jar of fireflies, fruit of hours of labor--
Running and leaping, crawling on deep, 
Moist grass that smells of spring even in 
July--caught with joy, now dancing 
And doomed on a nightstand, until
A gentle hand strokes a downy cheek 
And then carries them outside, to 
The dewy night, and freedom

Shower of sparks glimpsed through a glade
Of evergreens and turning vines, late on 
An autumn afternoon--startling bursts of fire 
Dripping onto the paper-dry forest carpet--
Tricksters who suddenly reveal themselves as
Golden aspen leaves, kindled by a spotlight of
Sun breaking through the velvet canopy

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Friday, October 18, 2013

Born Again (Poem 199)

someday, i will sing like an angel
someday, i will paint with oils
someday, i will walk among the skyscrapers
someday, i will go home
someday, i will have a daughter
someday, i will tailor a suit
someday, i will travel alone to sri lanka
someday, i will eat snails
someday, i will read melville
someday, i will shear sheep
someday, i will pilot a bi-plane
someday, i will hike china's great wall
someday, i will feel young again
someday, i will relish the fall
someday, when i am born into a new life
someday, or never at all

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Thursday, October 17, 2013

Crochet Senryu (198)

Single strand of wool
Bamboo hook, two busy hands
Bouquet of comfort

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Cats Asunder (197)

Two cats asunder
Eyes locked in mute intercourse
Plotting my demise

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

What She Saw (Poem 196)

Watching him watching 
Quincy reruns, Hershey's Kisses
By his elbow, she sees--not the
Striated gray combed across 
His dented skull, not the belly 
Sliding steadily toward his lap,
Nor the way his mouth now turned
Down at the corners--but 
The shiny wave of raven hair
That touched his brow,
The firm shoulder her hand
Rested on when dancing,
And the sparkle in the
Blue, blue eyes of this man
Who, for thirty-seven years,
Walked through the door 
With a wink and a smile, 
At 6 p.m. sharp, 
like clockwork.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Monday, October 14, 2013

Mt Rainier (Poem 195)

And, when you look south, 
past the maples' fading 
flames, whose colors burst 
and smolder with the sun, 
to where encroaching night, 
a violet mist, veils the blue 
that sparkled through the day, 
a ghostly presence moves 
behind the fog--broad, white 
shoulders draped with strands 
of gray. Mere apparition, 
better known by day, 
when, looming god-like, 
to the sky's great depths, 
it urges clouds to part,
and later, holding back
the crystal night--vast 
power, alchemically transformed
by twilight's indigo--
the ancient ruler of this
wild domain rests not,
nor threatens yet the souls
swimming through dreams  
on its effluvial plane.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Mt Rainier (photo: NPS)

Sunday, October 13, 2013

The Hive: A parable in progress (#194)

The queen bee 
could not see 
her workers 
from the center 
of the nest.
Even so she 
felt entitled 
to demand more 
than their best.
"You get more 
than you deserve," 
she said, "for 
your menial work.
Besides, I am 
your chosen queen, 
this throne's my 
rightful place."
The tired, hungry 
workers sent a 
spokesbee in to 
plead their case:
"How can you 
know us, Majesty, 
from here when 
we're out there,
tending pupae, 
cleaning cells, 
collecting pollen, too?
We want a
hint of fairness, 
and the same 
care you'd 
give yourself. 
Or, perhaps, 
you'd rather we
relocate you to 
someplace else?"
Before he left, 
the bee advised
his queen to
change her views.
"For you may
think that we 
are less," he 
said, "but we 
outnumber you."

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Photo: Muhammad Mahdi Karim

Saturday, October 12, 2013

Love, Like Steel (Poem 193)

Gentle is the hand
That, like a snowflake, rests
Upon the child's brow

Soft and fleeting touch
Belies the lifelong power
Love, like steel, endures

(c) 2013 by Hannah Six

Friday, October 11, 2013

Lunch-mate (Poem 193)

He arrived late for lunch,
but spotted me easily, there
with my nut-brown bagel 
and cream cheese, glowing
bars of canteloupe stacked
on a plate, glistening in the sun.
Beads of sweat on my glass,
bright beads of eyes studying
me from where he perched, 
head cocked slightly,
across the table, waiting
for me to offer a bite.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Thursday, October 10, 2013

October Pear (Poem 191)

Better than I ever thought it could be:
fat and bottom-heavy, acid green

tinged with unexpected flush of roses,
freckles, indentations darkening--

Perched and growing juicy on the sill,
until I pluck it off and slice it open,

juice running like honey down my knife...
Delaying that first taste for just a moment,

anticipating that burst of delight
when I become last summer with one bite.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Clash (Poem 190)

pale strands of grass smoothed 
flat by thunder    birds gone 
silent    air taut 
with tension    rent flesh--
gorgeous bloody gashes 
hanging skin--apocalyptic 
cries and crashing skulls    
eyes rolling bodies rolling 
running watching    stunned
statues     conquered and
conqueror    the conquest,
at last, the prize

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

(Photo: Yathin S Krishnappa, 2010)

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

Magic (Poem 189)

The breath is slow;
It comes and goes--
The mind is so willing,
The body so weak.
So I stroke his fur,
And my cat, he purrs--
That sweet, soothing sound
Working magic on me.

(c) 2013 by Hannah Six


Monday, October 7, 2013

Daydreamer (Poem 187)

Underneath the glamour,
When you gaze out the window,
Cigarette in hand,
Do you see the ordinary?
Or do you see your world
In spiraling candy colors--
A lollipop that dazzles the eye
Before it upsets the stomach?
Glass in hand, your lips
Slightly downturned, you
Revise and revive the stories. 
I shift my feet, and you turn
To me with a smile.

(c) 2013, Hannah Six

Sunday, October 6, 2013

Prairie Song (Poem 188)

Slowly, slowly grew the pumpkin
Bitter blew the wind
Upon the air the tang of woodsmoke
On the trees the leaves had thinned
Bitter blew the wind

Longer, now, until the morning
Shorter, now, the days
The evenings passed with books and knitting
Warm before the crackling blaze
Shorter, now, the days

Piled high with quilts and blankets
Tucked into our beds
A lullaby from father's fiddle
Mother's kiss upon our heads
Tucked into our beds

Safe and snug within our cabin
Tucked into our beds

In gratitude to Laura Ingalls Wilder for a lifetime of happy reading, nostalgic dreaming, and comforting (if vicarious) memories.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Saturday, October 5, 2013

Into a Garden (Poem 186)

reaching, folding into the pink, 
the coral, the everlasting violet 
and yellow turning smiles at the sky, 
hand stemming, leafing, vining 
around interlopers and slipshod silver 
birch bark, adjusting, fluffing, sculpting life 
into a form her mind takes, then
pushes up, through the heavy loam 
that settles on her bones sometimes 
with a damp, mossy ache and 
paints her brow with stripes of clay, 
which mingle with her salt and soothe
the tenderness her flowers awake 
in her faint and furrowed heart

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Friday, October 4, 2013

A Poem (185) & A Perspective

Enough is enough. In my opinion, the current debate needs an injection of reality. So here goes:

I have Myalgic Encephalopathy (ME) and am often too sick to walk more than a block or two, let alone to work at all. 


Many people have made negative comments to me about the Affordable Healthcare Act--ironically, mostly people who can afford food, shelter, transportation AND healthcare. 

I cannot. Nor can many people I know. In the kind and caring USA, however, most people are afraid to be open about that. (Perhaps rightly so.) 

Well, I say to hell with it. Without my medicine and healthcare, my life would be unbearable, and I would be incapacitated!!! 

So when/if you "debate" Obamacare, you can keep me in mind, and remember you are talking about whether or not REAL PEOPLE deserve to live or die. 

Now, at least for people who know me, the issue has a face.


Today's poem:

Sometimes the exquisite sorrow 
In this world wrenches my heart 
and leaves me gasping. 
The cruelty: People against people, 
Against The Different, against all creatures;
Governments toward citizens and non-citizens; 
Unthinking nature, neither for nor against, 
But often damaging, all the same.
The blame, as senseless as the acts,
The meaning a fine, clear filament 
Invisible to the naked eye.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Thursday, October 3, 2013

Heart (Poem 184)

Beyond iron clouds
Turquoise sky sweetened by sun
Brusque man's heart of gold

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

The Decider (Poem 183)

"I don't like your game, 
and I don't want to 
play with you," said 
the brown-eyed boy 
as he scrambled to his feet 
and brushed the musty sand 
from his seat. "So you 
can't play anything either!" 
As he walked away, 
the peaches-and-cream girl 
and her freckled older brother 
sat still, stunned into inaction.
Then they, too, stood up 
and went home, 
leaving the sandbox 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Excess (Poem 182)

Aware of the excess 
     and the perfect 
         proportion of the hours 
beneath the surface    leaving bare
bones of the day    jewel hued 
sleep and lowing fog 
of laughter    cries of 
ducklings and children    the wind
roaming like a prophet 
           through the trees    
it was these for which she 
was looking when 
   the excess fell away

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six