Thursday, May 25, 2017

In the Window (Day 126)

Fifteen minutes and a gnawing hunger 
turned me inappropriately toward 
the local donut store where in college 
before we avoided sugar and fat 
I used to go with my roommate 
for Sunday morning debriefings and 
perhaps one of us arrived once 
or twice in a black dress and high heels 
with a sinuous swagger no one called
the walk of shame even if it was 
pretty lame to sit in the window across from 
your groundbreaking computer engineer 
roommate who spent her evening building 
things you still don't understand while 
you flirted in vain and looked sexy 
in your fuck-me shoes which her mother 
would have killed her for wearing 
not that she ever considered it being 
far more practical than you and therefore 
not majoring in Victorian Poetry.


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six





PS. Roommate is often in one's thoughts, and one wishes her much joy.

Wednesday, May 24, 2017

Labor Away (Day 125)

 
We labor away 
at our own 
vain remembrances, 
loathe to release 
the wild efforts 
of our dreams, 
to regain what little 
ground we may have 
lost, or to capture 
more in preparation 
for a shortage
in the hidden and
untrustworthy future. 

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

Grand Lady (Day 124)

 
Abandoned House, Hagerstown MD

Never a grand lady,
Like those northern upstarts. 
You were even, perhaps, 
A bit careworn, compared 
With your neighbors, whose 
Fresh red confidence eclipsed 
Your plain-Jane simplicity. 
Or was your appearance 
Purposely misleading? 
You might have jealously 
Guarded the golden joy pulsing 
In your veins, familiar warmth 
Radiating comfortably 
To the scrolled tip of each 
finely-turned bone. Glimpses
Of your elegant strength,
Your faultless honesty, 
Your unwavering generosity 
—Visible only to those who 
Knew you, or who thought to look 
Beyond the customary trimmings—
Gifts you bestowed intimately,
Their secrecy lending them 
A covetable air of pricelessness.



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Monday, May 22, 2017

Two Haiku, Two Senryu (Day 123)

Photo: Marabuchi
Birds versus squirrels 
Locked in eternal battle 
Sharing the same tree

***

Rabbit stretches tall
Craning his neck to nibble
Sweet, young poppy leaves

***

Friday: hot humid
Saturday: sweater weather
Mid-Atlantic May

***

Chic woman with scarf
Insouciantly knotted
matches her flowers



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six



Sunday, May 21, 2017

Shore Town (Day 122)

Photo: Cape May, NJ, by Hannah Six

Summer surprised the pretty shore
Rustling like tumbled velvet
Filling cottages, roads, and sand
Crowding up the little station

After breakfast, tourists appeared,
Dutifully marching beachward,
Arms filled with coolers and bright towels,
Claiming the same spots every morning.

The sun climbed higher in the sky,
Parents and children chafed,
Arms full, they soon retreated inland,
Dripping ice cream on the sidewalks.

Late afternoon, clean and revived,
They emerged again to eat
Booking restaurants and filling up bars,
Then going to bed early and watching TV.

After a week of sun and sand,
Growing restless and bored,
They paid their inn bills and headed home,
Leaving behind old receipts and brochures.

The siege continued for three long months,
Leaving the whole town weak,
As summer ended they sighed with relief,
And closed up most of the kitschy boutiques.

Soon, winter enveloped the pretty shore, 
Windy, bitter, and cold.
The people wrapped up in their woolen coats
And rejoiced in their empty beach.


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Saturday, May 20, 2017

Cold Feet, Warm... (Day 121)


Wash that dirty fleece,
And card those dark gray locks,
Spin it in the grease,
And knit me some wool socks.

I like my socks long, 
With cables all around,
Make sure the heel's strong,
And that the toes are sound.

Well, she washed that wool,
And spun up every bit,
Then she let his feet grow cold
Until he begged to learn to knit.



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Friday, May 19, 2017

Idle Fumes (Day 121)


Photo: B137 via Wikimedia Commons


cars idle fumes rise 
like steam 
parking lot black with sun 
hazy overhead   

cashier said we're due 
for storms when it gets this warm 
and wind circles like a half-blind 
shark in shallow water 

waves of exhaust_ion swell
building underfoot 
like melting tar 
but no 

that's the slow freight 
graffitied cars oily 
reverberating through 
the kudzu



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Thursday, May 18, 2017

Sad Story (Day 120)

When you say you say nothing 
new in all the best words under 
the sun blazing down like 
the wrath of that golden calf 
you pray to shimmering 
around your head 
a corona of mistruths disinformation 
fake news words we seem 
to have made up especially 
for you are a fox in the henhouse 
 which explains why 
feathers are finally flying 

away far away as fast as you can 
run away from home to some exotic 
land where a lovely girl will bury 
your head in the sand 
they'll hide you and never let 
us find 
you go 
home

and someday when you 
are dead and gone south 
people will sing songs 
about you and your gang 
like that one about DB Cooper 
who hijacked and jumped out 
of a plane only we all thought 
that story was really pretty cool 
he became a folk hero 
but no one is rooting for you

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Wednesday, May 17, 2017

Hopeful Tanka (Day 119)

Feathered choristers pray.
Short notes whirl above the flutes.
The shining wings beat.

A temple of new leaves swings.
Hope gathers on the horizon.


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six


Sweet photo by Frank Schulenburg, "House Finch (Haemorhous mexicanus) with an Oregon Junco in Strawberry, California"

Tuesday, May 16, 2017

Words Fail (Day 118)


Some days the words fail
You refusing to come home
Leaving the Muse alone
With silence
Like a barren page



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Monday, May 15, 2017

Unsophisticated Intruder (Day 117)


Unsophisticated intruder, 
breaking into and erasing 
our news, our truth, our
wallets, our daughters' date
rapes, rolling around in 
delicate systems and files,
shedding lies like dead skin—

Your dirty dreams are 
responsible for limitless 
unplugged devices, editing 
the free out of range, 
riding your black-hatted 
disorganization into endangered, 
broad-spectrum communities, 
a never-has-been directing 
Grade A insecurity, helter-skelter,

at the [inter]national level.


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Sunday, May 14, 2017

Unstoppable (Day 116)



Cicada husks 
obscured the walkway 
an exoskeletal patina 
pecan-dark and crunchy 

Howling she stomped out 
the pointless icons 
unstoppable as 
a howling December flood 

Behind mullioned windows 
the family's lesser matron 
pausing in the middle of her tea 
pronounced:

Hoarding words in a notebook 
is not the same as preparing 
for an inevitable future


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Saturday, May 13, 2017

How We Talk Now (Day 115)


(Travel Journal Page, Laura Mandelbaum)

How we talk now 
text now thoughts through 
hands thumbs screen 
like pen on paper 
no midnight scent of ink
or glide of gold nib soft 
as caramel on a slick  
old-fashioned journal page
we can write in bed 
or on the train or in the car or 
simply speak 
our stories lives letters
poetry on the page 
in our own voices 
different voices careless 
boisterous silly strong   
tongue fingers thumbs 
an accent different from 
the gentle rolling 
hybrid print and cursive
that I used to write 
my father's mother like 
notes dashed off to mine 
now love dispatched 
post haste with 
a few taps of my thumbs

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Friday, May 12, 2017

Turning Toward (Day 114)


What I remember most 
is how much harder 
we find it to turn,
intentionally, toward love, 
joy, attention, than 
to sink into the alluring 
quicksand of anger, 
dismay, and apathy—
and how the urgency 
of this turning  
is so elegantly attuned to 
the often-monumental 
effort of doing so.


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Thursday, May 11, 2017

A Heart Like This (Day 113)

 

A Heart Like This

Behind the white hot burn 
bright love, blinding me to 
the bruises behind my eyes, 
a heart like this, that slithers 
rather than flips, puddling 
around me, a silk dress, slipped 
from my shoulders at the end 
of a long, sad-song day. 

In a pool, in my mind, 
soft wings of water wrapped 
around me like salvation, pure 
as polar runoff, and twice as blue,
eyes fixed on a sky the size 
of Texas, tightly laced by cedars 
soaring above the ridge, 
watching two bald eagles 
circling around spirals of circles, 
rising on Earth's warm exhalations, 
celebrating the completion 
of this year's nest.

Arms spread wide, watching 
the eagles gliding, it seems 
blue is the color of this afternoon, 
of the veins in my wrists, 
of his eyes, the color 
reflected by the crystal stream 
that flows beneath the bridge, 
where she once lay, 
when cottonwood tufts played,
on beams of honeyed light, 
and over which, with gentle step
she crossed once more today.


In loving memory of Katja, most beautiful kitty in the world,
whose joy, love, and friendship I was blessed with 
for more than 15 years.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Wednesday, May 10, 2017

Just Wait (Day 112)


I did this. 

I was happy to do 
something 
for the front 
in those early days.

I cannot remember 
the year, but 
I do remember 
a deeply-textured dividing,
and everything else.

My original focus—
I did finishing.
It was the work 
they offered.

It inspired me,
and I still think fondly 
of the photo 
of the original body 
and of the drape. 

It has stood 
the test of time, and I 
am more than pleased.

Four long decades have passed
since my favorite career.
I think I still have great instincts.
Just wait. You'll see what I mean.


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Tuesday, May 9, 2017

Gold Stars (Day 111)


Fourteen-karat 
     stars—
gold as his 
     watch (already too 
     long),
his fountain 
     pen (overused), 
his ormolu 
     furniture, taking up 
valuable real estate, 
     the like of which 
he has never sold
—none will be 
given to those 
with dirty hands 
and failing grades.


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Monday, May 8, 2017

Shrill Bones (Day 110)



Shrill  bones 
and  feathers   strange 
unnatural  silence   long 
cold  weeks 
producing  sudden 
change   timid  voices 
soothe  and  
promise  meaning   
all  charges 
suddenly  dropped   and
broken



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six