Thursday, August 31, 2017

Summer's Song (Day 225)

Dry, sharp grasses bend.
Summer whispers, familiar heaven waits.
Stolid ponds gaze skyward.
Tiny blue-bellies do pushups on warm rocks.
Banal toads sigh among singing frogs.

(c) by Hannah Six

Wednesday, August 30, 2017

The Dog & I (Day 224)

You see, the dog 
        & I took 
                a walk 
        this evening 

Our neighborhood 
        came out 
                to greet 
       her—all of her 
favorite friends 

& she just 
        smiled & smiled
                with that 
        particularly canine 
breed of joy

At that moment
        a thought fluttered 
                 down & alit 
        on my shoulder: 
is feeling 
like Everything is 
going to 
all right 

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: Lucky, by H. Six

Tuesday, August 29, 2017

I Am Cold Weather (Day 223)

Today I am cold weather   damp 
and wind-chimes   after that picturesque 
and uninteresting summer
     What can I say
     Outside cars read the street like Braille 
     running wet fingertips
     over the night she was buried 
and I climbed into my mother's lap 
and she held me 
and I cried
and then she dipped my fingers 
and toes in warm honey
and brought me upstairs 
and tucked me in to bed again
     Gone now   like summer 
and I am wearing thick woolen sweaters 
and socks to warm  
and I'm in bed
     —warm cat cool sheets—
and I miss the days when everything 
     seemed like it would be all right 
     for a while
and we were so happy 
and wet 
and windblown 
     into that narrow restaurant
     in a gust of leaves
and umbrellas insufficient for 
     an oncoming hurricane

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: Roman Boed

Monday, August 28, 2017

Angels Admitted (Day 222)

In these hours of fascination 
the mountains, running north 
to south to north, have had 
the uncommon good sense—or 
imagination—to admit angels. 
Not to be left out, watery realms 
from oceans to streams also 
extended gracious invitations, 
but leave no doubt about it:
it was the mountains who 
started the trend. Now, when 
the very air seethes with wishes 
and threats, an angel on bended 
knee, can be found in every puddle, 
on every street corner. Do you doubt 
the truth of this? Then drive beyond 
the clipped seams of your cities, 
into a rolling countryside on a cool 
autumn morning. There, in the small 
valleys and gullies, where creeks trickle 
and rivulets flow, you will see, with 
your very own eyes: angels rising 
in ribbons from the earth, and 
on the hushed air, their misty sighs.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: CGCowboy

Sunday, August 27, 2017

Late Pears (Day 221)

Late pears drop through 
branches and leaves  landing 
with muffled plops on 
overgrown grasses  rotting in 
the sun  drawing bees and 
hornets to sip delicately at 
trickles of hot syrup  
soon leaves slip off trees and 
ships rock  creaking with truth 
and frustrated eagerness  
slickly filtered through a veil 
of midnight smiles.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six 

Image: KRiemer

Saturday, August 26, 2017

Chrysalis (Day 220)

From all sides 
beleaguered  he curls inward 
sea anemone  protecting 
its tender center  
chrysalis  undefended  vulnerable 
somehow valiant in pure 
inevitability  facing down storms  
exposed  yet diffident  
his strategy  detachment 
rolled and coiled 
in deepest dark 
in singular solitude  it begins 
in a crystal spark 
a listless centering  elemental 
listening will be his 
salvation  intuition  the springtime of 
his moist-winged fluttering  
carried aloft 
by a grateful current

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: msandersmusic

Friday, August 25, 2017

The Starry Night (Day 219)

The brown serge, warm in the deluge, 
grew clammy and rumpled easily 
when squeezed into the five-thirty’s
ever-crowded, cramped seats.
Trillions of stars watched as he
—shoulder to shoulder with neighbors 
and strangers in the second car from 
the end—relaxed into the swaying ride 
down the coast toward the unknowable 
emptiness of this Friday evening. 
Somewhere, his seat-mate’s newspaper 
announced with barely suppressed glee, 
a devastating something or other
had caused property damage and,
almost certainly, loss of life.
Somewhere else, right now, he imagined, 
a plane was touching down on searing, 
crackled tarmac, bumping toward a terminal, 
fuselage already covered in red dust,  
overhead bins clunk-clunking, heralding 
the beginning: of vacations, of adventures, 
of memories of a lifetime. Unbelievably,
that lifetime was no longer his; no longer 
his, the smile, the camera, the deep bliss 
of the first, exhausted flop onto the hotel bed, 
the sigh of delight, the de rigeur perusal 
of nightstand drawers and room service menu.
Trillions of stars still watched, as the silver line
of his train pulled up to a darkened station,
spilled a swarm of damp, disgruntled 
commuters onto the pavement, and heaved 
itself southward. Hitching his collar higher, 
fingers wound tightly around the house keys 
in his pocket, he paused, took one slow breath,
then turned left and headed uphill, trudging 
slowly upward into the starry night. 

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Fæ via Wikimedia Commons

Thursday, August 24, 2017

What You Saw (Day 218)

What you saw
through the glass
that night
eyes blazing
with bitter fear

What you heard 
that growl
white knuckles
hair flying howling 
with rage pacing 
and prowling like 
a caged tiger

What you saw
tore you apart
and engulfed you
engulfed your heart
but it could not 
will never 
take it 
from us

(c) 2017 by Hannah Six

Image: StockSnap

Wednesday, August 23, 2017

Afternoon Melts (Day 217)

afternoon melts 
warm breeze through 
topaz days of baseball 
and lawn-mowing and 
complex watery 
flowers sliding down 
lilac and gray 
evenings drawn long as 
tart cherry pie 
tender crisp and sweet 

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

(Image: Vintage picnic [1962], courtesy of Heather)

Tuesday, August 22, 2017

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


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)

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
entrenched hearts 
embarrassingly brave
like thunderstorms
and lightning bugs
our disdain makes us 
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