Tuesday, August 22, 2017

Cat (Day 216)


Takes his rightful place.
Ringed tail tip, slowly: right, left.
Imprints lap with fur.



(c) by Hannah Six
Image: Charley, H. Six

Monday, August 21, 2017

After I Left (Day 215)

One week after 
I left, I lay down
on the floor 
on a borrowed futon cushion 
in my new apartment 
in a building that used 
   to be a paper factory 

there were no sheets on my bed
there were no dishes in the kitchen 
there were no curtains on the windows
there were no books on the shelves 
there were no shelves 
there were no lamps

what was there 
was a blue candle 
   with three wicks
   in a wide-mouthed jar 
and a goldfish named Cal, 
   because I loved Cal Ripken,
   baseball hero with eyes like ice
   and a whole lotta heart  

that night, 
after work
after running up 
   the building’s stairs
after blowing out 
   each wick, I lay 
on the floor 
in the dark

and when the demons arrived, 
as expected, right on time,
I closed my eyes 
and listened 
to Cal, sorting through 
the gravel in his bowl, 
sucking up each pebble 
and spitting it out

plink…plink…plink 

and was glad for the company



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Bowl of Goldfish, by Childe Hassam, 1912

Sunday, August 20, 2017

Our Heroes (Day 214)

Are you, our heroes,
tumbling into dull despair?
Forgetting how 
the ripest fruits are worth 
the highest price?
Don’t fear the flashing 
lights that wake your 
bedroom walls at night.
Don’t gauge the value 
of the prize 
on the violence of the fight.
Do you recall how 
those you followed, 
merrily, shook with mirth—
imagining, with lust, 
the day the meek receive 
the Earth?
Allow the sky its blue, and 
clouds their varied shades,
your voice to shout 
your truth, authentic 
love to win the day.



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Parade for returning Apollo 11 astronauts, NASA


Saturday, August 19, 2017

Are You the Same (Day 213)

are you 
the same one
or did i succumb  
to thin gray sleep 
at dawn  and dream
your name 

look back 
at the day  drawn 
bright  askew
how  in the damp 
blue evening 
we can be 
the light


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Antietam Battlefield, Robshenk

Friday, August 18, 2017

Remembering (Day 212)


Sing the robins  silver clouds 
dancing on the ceiling  there 
glancing through my window shrouds 
fairies spin in gentle prayer 

above the moaning  laughing throng
you arrive  fragile and sweet
played dolce  piercing a forte song
a clarinet weeps on a city street

memories dulled with exacting care
dreams worn soft as fine old lace
emboldened  wings beat at the air
sip teardrops  daintily  from my face

outside  a crowd  a protest  singing
inside  one soul  remembering



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: B W Townsend

Thursday, August 17, 2017

Now (Day 211)



Now 
is the winter
of the Summer
of Love

and the summer
of the winter
of our discontent



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: zalazaksunca

With gratitude to Mr Hemingway and Mr Shalespeare for this poem's inspiration

Wednesday, August 16, 2017

Terrible Beautiful World (Day 210)



Terrible terrible 
beautiful world 
destitute of pity
futile to engage
the shallow 
end of humanity
unfathomably 
entrenched hearts 
embarrassingly brave
like thunderstorms
and lightning bugs
our disdain makes us 
luminous
but raging fighting
flash-bang spent
we may not last
the night



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Loavesofbread

Tuesday, August 15, 2017

Monday, August 14, 2017

I Can't Express (Day 208)



Your eyes   I can’t 
express  recall
myself another story 
it’s not always fair 
to see 
where were you
heading to shine 
let me light 
your path
through the forest
at night   how can 
we all exist 
in a world 
so full  so full


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: StockSnap

Sunday, August 13, 2017

Mars Fires (Day 207)


Mars fires paper lies.
Clearly, glacial summer sleeps.
Cedars stand their guard.

Storms erase low-hanging fruit:
Empty secrets cowards sell.

Grief awaits late spring.
Rain falls, men sit together.
Deserts spit their fire.

Later, waves of steam ascend.
Prose laps at the shore.


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: tpsdave

Saturday, August 12, 2017

Blue Fish Fly (Day 206)

Blue fish fly and catfish 
cry, on fence-posts 
beneath an apricot moon.
It’s June, and the world 
is beautiful—in bloom, 
our world is beautiful—
rising from peace, 
like a distant choir, listen 
when the wind shrugs 
her shoulders, the notes 
draped like lace on the trees. 
It’s Monday, the world is 
welcoming us, arms open, 
with a grandmother’s love, 
and maybe the worst is over, 
or almost, and maybe 
you know all the answers, 
things are already better, 
and maybe it’s not so 
frightening, watching 
the shining blue fish fly, and 
hearing the thoughtful catfish 
cry out their poems, 
high on their fence-posts 
beneath the apricot moon.



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Kolisberg via Wikimedia

Friday, August 11, 2017

A Single Source (Day 205)



Delight, divorce, devotion,
a cup’s a cup, no matter 
who finally pours the tea
fright, remorse, a common
notion, from a single source,
infinitude, a dream, a lie
resounding between your 
aspirations and my own, 
a treasure, found: a kiss 
goodbye, a shell, perhaps 
it simply seems full-blown, 
because your eyes are green, 
my own, the darkest brown



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Free-Photos via Pixabay

Thursday, August 10, 2017

But, Still (Day 204)

Their souls cry: Of course,         we are

You may never see that              far

Or dance among cascading       stars

But, still, you should 
                         know better





(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: skeeze, via Pixabay

Wednesday, August 9, 2017

Up Late (Day 203)

Last night, we stayed up
late, my companions and I,
lulled into insomnia by
some stark-raving guy. 
Drawn like moths to 
the flickering blue screens
we held, lights on, tethered 
to the world by a handful of
characters, all chattering
away, every line rippling
with anxiety. Journalists,
artists, hucksters and me,
a smattering of fear-mongers 
among us, a meeting 
of minds like and unlike. 
Nonsensical rantings had 
scared us, but by midnight, 
it took effort to care. And that
saturation is the strange stuff 
of nightmares, the creep of 
ambivalence more dangerous
than words.


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: by 809499, via Pixabay

Monday, August 7, 2017

Shades (Day 201)

shades of neighborhood 
we see day in day out 
these gardens parks 
forests swaying gently 
in the valley's breath 
gnarled from resisting 
mountainside Novembers
chestnuts clover green
blue tinged sycamores 
maples dark as merlot
gathering a harvest 
of white heat billowing
deep into the night
from concrete ribbons 
draped about their roots


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Patricia.fidi

Sunday, August 6, 2017

How the Poem Gets In (Day 200)


First, the soft sound 
of stocking-footed steps, 
barely a breath on 
the concrete. A whisper, 
a slight change in the quality 
of light raining down 
through windows opened 
wide to capture even 
the shyest rays of sunlight. 
Like a gentle nudge—no, less—
a mellow pressing against 
my side, friendly as 
the family dog, but unknown, 
unfamiliar until now. 
Ears trained on the non-silence, 
straining to hear vague rustlings, 
I look up from my knitting,
blink as if shaken awake from 
a long, dreaming doze, alert 
to the stirred air, the charged 
atmosphere, and welcome my new 
guests, inviting them to sit 
on my velvet sofa, offering 
a fresh pot of tea. Sustenance, 
because the day is young, 
and we have work to do.



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Simon Q

Saturday, August 5, 2017

Regulation Standards: A prose poem (Day 199)

 
 Two of my neighbors built a horseshoe pit,
to regulation standards, in the yard next door. 
For a few evenings, their laughter rang out like 
a clanging bell, testifying to the neighborhood’s 
well-being. Then the games ended. I wonder 
what happened? Did one cheat the other 
out of points, or the last hot dog on the grill, 
or half a handful of their mutually-preferred drugs? 
Or maybe one asked too much of the other, 
expected too much time, too much hilarity, and 
frightened the other away? Perhaps it was 
the simple fact that one was employed, 
while the other avoided jobs like cracks in a sidewalk 
(not wanting to break his estranged mother’s back). 
These days, young rabbits graze the grown-over pits, 
and lush weeds camouflage the wooden backstops, 
disguising the evidence that, for a few evenings, 
two men’s worlds overlapped, like a Venn diagram, 
but were unable to sustain contact. 




(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Horseshoe pitching contest at the annual field day of the FSA (Farm Security 
Administration) farmworkers community, Yuma, Arizona, courtesy US Library of Congress

Friday, August 4, 2017

Have You Heard (Day 198)

have you heard
the planet
affects far more 
than your heart
if you’re a woman 
you can sense 
a pulling away from
a getting dissolved by
the plentiful cause 
you may not have
heard they don’t tell 
you this stage is 
preventable reversible 
and—you can see—
ugly so ugly

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image via NASA Image Library 



Thursday, August 3, 2017

Generous Hearts (Day 197)

Generous hearts sigh heavenly
above a vengeful wreck,
alchemy draws awe from ice
eager, crackling spring
reveals infant pity, curled 
a nautilus of frozen hope
belligerence and boredom stilled 
unwilling, marble cries 
brittle joy, unsatisfied
cruelty’s fronds unfurl,
smoke rings stain a golden sky
filigree shrouds a violet pearl
brave new winter looms beyond
cicada evenings soft and long


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Karsten Paulick

Wednesday, August 2, 2017

Singing Alouette (Day 196)


singing Alouette   unaware 
of the threat behind the rolling words 

which   one day   she’ll wish she could 
forget   when the plucking of the little bird 

disturbs her brave heart   disrupts her 
tender soul   a bower of deep green 

dreams   hidden high among the pears  
seated on a V   longing for admittance 

to a world she does not know   for questions
proving what her answers show

pushing back a darkness she knows well  
a slippery pet  claws at her family tree

reckless   overwhelmed   she takes a stand
determined not to let her feelings show

she plants her feet   a warrior   sword at hand     
and stares down her fire-breathing foe


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six