Thursday, April 27, 2017

Coral Sands (Day 99)


 
Photo: Bermuda Ministry of Tourism & Transport

A gold boat returns.
Fluttering lovers cavort
On coral sands
Of powdered love
Happiness swells,
A turquoise ocean
Dancing with tiny
Yellow fish.

(c) Hannah Six

Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Doors Open (Day 98)

 


The city warms 
with honeyed sun, 
lazy 
afternoons they like 
to call say, 
when doors 
and windows 
open, letting out 
winter 
hostages, grown 
restive and tense

Families 
picnic and take 
aqua plunges,
vacations
for all and none, 
outdoor eating
being less fun 
without food 

And their mother's 
blind fear 
—impenetrable—
jails her children 
while their friends 
run 
free 
two blocks from here

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Tuesday, April 25, 2017

Resilience (Day 97)

 
Photo: Neaco

Resilience is a robin's wing,
a footprint in the sand,
a charcoal sketch drawn loosely,
with a deft touch, 
lace-curtain-patterned sunlight 
on the floor, 

The front porch swing, 
a sky of blowsy clouds, 
the hand you reach for 
in a surging crowd, 
the weight of a tomato 
on its vine. 

Resilience is a garden plot, 
footsteps on a gravel path, 
live music at a party, 
heard from outside,
a cloud of luminescent butterflies.



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Monday, April 24, 2017

Salt on Velvet (Day 96)

 

salt on velvet
a desperate spilling
of diamonds 
a melancholy
dance 
of crystal tippling 
this way and
that   
difference 
between 
interrupted crying
silent
shining 
joy depends 
on the shimmering 
unexpected appearance of 
wandering possibility


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Sunday, April 23, 2017

Belle Dame (Day 95)

 

Delicate jasmine settles 
evening 
calls wearing his silk 
turban    a pale metal weight 
above her 
head

Taking measured steps 
she   among the phlox   keenly
accepts how it is not 
to diminish but 
to leave
to take

Pay or play Belle Dame
before the blazing 
tulip moat 
fluttering at your castle walls
melts your name 
like dog-day ice cream 
dripping 
through a cone



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six



Image above created from original photo, of Sissinghurst Castle gardens, by Elisa Rolle

Saturday, April 22, 2017

Earth Day, 2017 (Day 94)



Earth Day, 2017 (Day 94)

heavy tilting planet
senses the shift    coming 
    of concrete 
and day    thick and shadeless 
concave sidewalk 
    knows 
ramrod feet from breathing 
tree   kind    houses retract
bleached neighborhood    sky white 
    beneath 
the world    thus 
causing    one lean   imagined 
dimension of pretty 
    spinning flatness


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six




Note: Photo is an edited version of one taken by Philip Grimshaw

Friday, April 21, 2017

One Word (Day 93)

 

week of one 
     word
floods us    you 
can't argue with  
these    things 
     spiral out 
of control 
     and love
filters out expertise 

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Thursday, April 20, 2017

Private Ballet (Day 92)



Streaming rivers of silk,
We performed a private ballet,
Seeing ourselves on stage, 
Inhabiting our own glory.

Hands clasped, toes turned out,
We bowed to wild applause,
Lingering in the dream,
Reluctant to give up the story.



(c) by Hannah Six




*Photo: Tatiana Riabouchinska, one of the leading ballerinas of the 1930's, darns a ballet slipper (via Wikimedia Commons)

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Seven Days (Day 91)

 

More than seven days have passed— 
Turned to dandelion fluff and floated, 
Wafted on the April wind—since
This silence bloomed and filled my head. 
From dawn to dark, I waver in a dream, 
Safe from words and whispers, I imagine, 
Surely, in another week will fade.



(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Children's Stories (Day 90)


In children's stories,
golden peacocks splashed
where quaking aspens swayed.

Nap-time plundered
long summer afternoons,
but fluttering midday rustled,
tickling her knees.

She felt her heart bloom, once,
in autumn—under pillow fortresses
where vaults and cloisters hid
their secret oaths and treasure
chest of awakened stars.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Monday, April 17, 2017

Sunday, April 16, 2017

Yellowjackets (Day 88)

 
Image: Sankyaku


Yellowjacket
             circling, 
always three 
     times, 
before 
     moving on 
             to more 
    manageable prey:
a succulent beetle 
     or a crumb 
dropped by 
some long-ago hiker 

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Saturday, April 15, 2017

Fifty Years (Day 87)

 

Fifty years
            of cruel 
sun
   rain
      like tears 
failed
to bleach
the obstinate stain
on that tousled shore

A beach
of coral sand
     beyond 
            the distant 
rumbling breakers 
reach for    pick up
cool pale shell
spirals
      into
secret 
     depths
hold it
to your ear 

Listen 
to the resonant
     song
          welling up
from midnight
     long centuries
abound
     with swelling
summer waves
     the future
is the sound of
children's laughter

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Friday, April 14, 2017

Brief Encounter, 1986 (Day 86)

The beginning
was a seed
of attraction
planted in possibility
watered, soon sprouted

we kissed, changed,
and washed
some serious deep feelings

his face surprised me—
that even, light
displeasure,
brutally honest

instinctively,
I disguised
hope with a mask
of bored disregard
and looked
toward
the television's electric
blue radiance


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Thursday, April 13, 2017

Trio (Day 85)

Lofty metals clash.
Waltz of sparks spiral skyward.
Searing swarms duel.

Sweet old melody.
Sheets of lullabies beckon.
Sleep deep as a well.

An old welder talks.
Their last child grown, leaving home.
He takes his wife's hand.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Backpacking with Madame Bovary (Day 84)

I am stretched out on
the floor of an unzipped tent,
reading Madame Bovary,
while the nylon sides
breathe in
and out,
each inhalation
and exhalation ending with
a muffled pop,
like distant sails on a blue bay.
A hot afternoon stretches
ahead of and behind me,
baking dust and melting
pine resin a delicate incense
gently teasing the dry breeze.
I, however, am
a century away, in a country
where no one speaks
my mother tongue,
flirting and curtseying
and yearning and knowing
each character's heart
as well
as I know my own.
But, the pleasure
of my company is requested,
on a foray in search of wild
trout for dinner,
and I realize my hair is damp
against my neck,
so I roll over, stretch,
unfurl myself from the floor
with the effortlessness
of nineteen years,
and bid Flaubert adieu
until nightfall, when
my flashlight and I will answer
the siren call of Madame Bovary—
and the tragedy of her
unfulfilled heart—once more.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

Finch (Day 83)

 
US Fish & Wildlife Service via WikiMedia

Today, as I was sipping
a dripping glass 
of iced green tea 
a sudden resonating 
song gave me a start.
As bright and crisp, 
as sparkling wine, fizzing
in a crystal flute,
a finch had found 
an old light housing
built his nest, and now
was boasting to any
bird who'd listen. 
Although the golden day 
is slipping into slow 
blue early evening, 
I'm certain
my finch is still singing,
if only in his heart.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six



Monday, April 10, 2017

Next Door (Day 82)

friendly voices next door
unravel
a perfect spring day  
moved by consent  
hushed
a deep violet story
emerged
as evidence that to speak
is a considered
constraint
we cannot allow
tomorrow
to affect you
in an intense fight
while three weeks
of late summer
languish in another city
the shoe is reversed
listen  
follow us home

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Friday, April 7, 2017

Red Delicious (Day 79)


Source: US Dept of Agriculture*

Red delicious, the color 
of fall, of the garnet ring 
I used to wear, dreaming 
myself into fathomless 
depths, where flashes 
of amber mingled with 
the sweetness 
of late summer 
cherries—the colors, 
I thought, of a midnight sky, 
viewed through a glass 
of Gamay. Or, perhaps, a Merlot...
No matter. 
I treasure the shawl, knit 
with my own grateful hands 
in a pattern of diamond lace. 
But the ring? One day 
a jeweler shattered the stone 
and replaced it with one 
dark as sin, and opaque 
as the heart of the long-ago man 
who presented it to me. 
So I pawned it. 
Now, by the fire, in my red 
woolen shawl, I consider 
the ring and the man
and I think:
Good riddance to all bad apples.

Thursday, April 6, 2017

Floating (Day 78)


Photo: Jon Sullivan

She lay on her back, looking skyward
as the constellations passed overhead
and began their lazy descent.

Somnolent currents lifted and steered, 
rocking her so she drifted, 
embraced in a weightless waltz.

Oceans of ice slowly cooled her veins,
and numbness spread, transforming
confusion into a distant ache. 

And the tides sang in her blood, bestowing 
an ancient sense of belonging and knowing
the sea, which soothed her restless mind.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Wednesday, April 5, 2017

Every Single Parakeet (Day 77)


He flicked the tip of his cigarette 
into a crystal ashtray—a wry object, 
he thought—and continued: 
"People believe the most 
expensive sentences they read, 
wanting to know what's inside 
every single parakeet and canary,
what's happening in the past, 
in apricot nectar, and in Barbie's Dream 
Machine." The other guests nodded. 
One woman's steely bob swung 
forward and backward 
with each movement 
of her head, mesmerizing him. 
"Now, we turn to strategy instead 
of chopsticks," she said. "It's consistent,  
it's complicated, clean and direct, 
its everything to everyone." 
A moment of silence 
as twelve wineglasses were raised, 
as the scent of sophisticated 
pondering filled the room, like lilies 
on a hot day. A flushed, jovial man 
proposed a toast: "Do the right thing. 
Sign up—there's no reason not to!" 
The hostess sighed. Not for a moment 
had the gentle tapping 
of her fingernail on the table 
been interrupted.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six




Monday, April 3, 2017

Kestrel (Day 75)



Kestrel hovers, calling
Calling in a plaintive cry.
Rides the wind upward
Until, wings tucked, 
He's falling, spiraling 
Bullet-like across the sky.
Other birds sit up, take 
Notice, chickadees chatter
Mourning doves sigh. 
Not for them this
Unfettered acrobatic
Winged delight. They find
Their strength among
Their numbers, migrating
By the dark of night. 
Eyes all glittering, they
Stop chittering, envying
Kestrel's solo flight.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Sunday, April 2, 2017

Splendid Truth (Day 74)

Remember those cool
whisperings,
when each trembling
breath
coaxed wonder
from our rippling
blood

And how we
then disappeared, under
cunning circumstances,
not inclined
to forget
the splendid truth

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Saturday, April 1, 2017

On Hand-Washing Dishes During a Flare-Up (Day 73)

 

Under the hot water my hands 
feel better   bubbles enfolding
fingers and the muscular
swell at the base
of my thumb   three plates
done   each progressively heavier
tugging my hands 
toward the wide enamel
sink   the soapwater
maelstrom will suck each joint
gently through 
the drain and into the dark 
which eventually   I am told   surges
into the Chesapeake   there a cast
of immature blue crabs 
and a shimmering, darting school
of silversides will kiss
tickle peck nibble 
until nothing 
remains but a puzzle 
of porcelain bones.



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six