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

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

(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 
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 

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 

in the same way that 
no one should shout 
he  is  so  angry 
he is so angry    for fear of frightening 
the very people who urged him to 
express his 
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