Monday, April 30, 2018

Cleaning (Day 467)

You name it, it hurts.
Cleaned my old home ‘til it shone.
Now, for the new one.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: ArtsyBee/Pixabay

Sunday, April 29, 2018

A Dreaming Sky (Day 466)

If the sky is a dreamer
what does that mean 

If the clouds are new
is this the same sky 

I used to look at 
the way children do  

the way I am  a dream 
the heavens are having   

gazing into the blue  
beyond which sailboats 

floated when I lay down  
decades ago  except 

those clouds are always 
coming and going 

without saying goodbye 
to one another   

The stars have had time for 
many dreams  So while I lay 

on my back  in the grass 
they are sleeping

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Sebadelval/Pixabay

Saturday, April 28, 2018

Surge (Day 465)

tidal sunset  surge of 
summer sherbet 
day’s redemption
set to the thrum 
of a billion tiny 
wings  magic alighting 
on a blade of grass  

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Friday, April 27, 2018

Conversation (Day 464)

Slithering vines still.
A conversation begins.
Listening to stones.

Careless, current slows.  
Diffident flames stir cool air.
Smoke winds like sorrow.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: StockSnap/Pixabay

Thursday, April 26, 2018

Remembering (Day 463)

And this, and this, 
and yes, this, too 
will float before your 
closed eyes  fragile 
as a moth’s wing  
but strong enough 
to last a lifetime  even 
if you forget  the name 
of a thing  you will 
remember its texture  
and the weight of it 
in your hand.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Wednesday, April 25, 2018

Spring Tanka (Day 462)

Slowly, seasons rise.
Cicadas dream of flying.
Snapping Tulip flags.

Violets keep their own counsel.
Consider the unfallen rain. 

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Tuesday, April 24, 2018

Holding On (Day 461)

Raspberry Beret.
Twenty-six flights of stairs.
Over and over.

Old proverb tells us:
Youth is wasted on the young.
Thoughtlessly squandered.

How else could it be?
It’s painful, living, loving.
If we knew, would we?

Lovers, parents, pets,
Smooth skin, stamina, joints, minds—
We learn to let go.

Think how tragic death would be,
If we died still holding on.

(c) by Hannah Six

Monday, April 23, 2018

Different Perspective (Day 460)

to a different 
   ghetto voices
   git th’ fuck inside
      at their children
no leashes  
      this is how they talk
few restraints
      to their children
   I SAID th’ FUCK 
   in th’ HOUSE
   on a whim
   their fangs
into your wrist 
   or the skin
delicate as a finch 
or a sweet pea
   around your throat 

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Sunday, April 22, 2018

Packing Boxes (Day 459)

The things, the things...
Glasses from Long John Silver
which my grandmother saved 
for me
for decades
A doll I’ve had since she and I
wore the same size clothing
Art supplies I use
art supplies I don’t use and 
art supplies I may want to use 
again   someday
How they anchor us to the past
How they overwhelm the present
How they obscure what might be
And yet
Some things ask to be released
Others wait  patiently
for me to be ready to hold them
for me to be ready to release them 
for me to be ready 
   to move
       into an unburdened future

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Saturday, April 21, 2018

One long ‘Thank you’ (Day 458)

True love is really
one long 
      Thank you
it is giving up 
   your ego
           your rights
             your pride
and opening to 
—a 10-year-old child 
sitting on a curb
conversing with 
a pale yellow dog

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: “If Nick Nolte were a dog...” 
by Christopher Michel via Wikimedia Commons

Friday, April 20, 2018

Cherry Trees (Day 457)

Earth sways  cavorts  
shakes loose from leafless 
cherry trees  a dozen brilliant 
blossoms  bouncing  nestling  
finally resting on deep green 
velvet ground  among a crowd 
of bluebells  bowing  nodding 
to the lingering day

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Thursday, April 19, 2018

Like Shackles (Day 456)

Backing out of our considered 
indifference, like shackles 
increasing gelatinous fear, 
adrenaline clouds 
falling into place beneath 
a fanned-out inversion 
of raised hackles. 
What we observed 
made no sense, 
so we only took notes 
in our little books. 
What we noted made us 
howl and surge. 
Five storms descended 
and we preserved the fallen 
behind chemically-etched glass 
sheets for later observation, 
in case anyone should ask, 
in case anyone should remember.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

Today Our Traitors... (Day 455)

today our traitors 
and began to pack  eager 
  to do nothing 
  good  different  worrisome
they took virtually 
  they wanted
  their friends wanted  
spoke fickle praise  dramatically 
while the flames they fanned 
  their illicit affairs 
all evidence disintegrated  
and now they are allowed
to leave  
  their names  their strict honor 
to leave 
  this place  
  less improved than broken 

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Tuesday, April 17, 2018

The Empty Beach (Day 454)

You could sling a stone from the ranch 
and it would land in the sea, plunking,
tumbling to the bottom: a submarine 
garden of undulating anemones, 
slumbering in the sway 
of the afternoon tide,
where swift-gliding fish 
flashed silver in shafts of sunshine 
or in sweeping beams 
from the lighthouse late at night

You could sling a stone from the ranch 
and hit the sea—it was that close—
but why would we have 
done such a thing, when we could 
clamber down the cliffs, run 
the length of the empty beach, 
hide in the flat-bottomed cave, 
only to wander home hours later, 
taking pocketsful of fossilized mollusks, 
in exchange for the echoes of our voices, 
and two trails of fugitive footprints.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Wendy Seltzer/Wikimedia Commons

Monday, April 16, 2018

Revolving Door (Day 453)

She craves 
the tonic of truth,
the flavor of 
cold canteloupe 
honey-sweet and 
slippery  sliced thin as 
mountain morning air 
She yearned 
to wander through 
the labyrinth of language  
to spin in and out 
of the revolving door 
the Summer of Love’s
fizzing orange 
and unripe green 
and the cobalt blue
Reagan era’s satin  sequins 
and cheap gold plate 

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Wikimedia Commons

Sunday, April 15, 2018

Summer of lapsed attention (Day 452)

She cannot undo her summer 
of lapsed attention in exotic 
lands  sledding downhill and
drinking sparkling lime tinged
with juniper  a miraculous 
invisible line of “but” “yet” and 
“though” traces a path from 
forehead to willing heart  
without doubt  without abandon  
mingling with the bitter things 
that make her mouth hard 
to know  the slow travel of 
an ordinary life among the humid 
evening hours  She proceeds 
to talk strikingly about the shame 
of being unfathomable  suspended
on ribbons of blue smoke between 
her previous life and the next

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Cyprus (public domain)

Saturday, April 14, 2018

Areas of Weakness (Day 451)

following you around 
laughing or playing
suffering needlessly 
in the middle   blue 
as fieldstone and long 
as a ride along to our
broken places  muddling 
our meaning because
they are neighborhood 
voices  agitated  come out 
to soak up asphalt heat
under a violet fence 
the kind movie cowboys 
ride along to check 
for areas of weakness 
in need of repair

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Black Cowboys
Negro State Fair, Bonham, TX 
c.1913 via Wikimedia Commons

Friday, April 13, 2018

In that other world (Day 450)

Opening this day
unwrapping it  so
green and soft and 
newly breathing
distractions away
in that other world
where hurry and
wanting took root
invasive  flourishing
like children did 
before the world took 
on a blue glare  floating 
on the surface  opening 
to the fire  the swish 
the bark and bite
and horror and grind 
of the day and the subtle 
way it lingers on your 
lips  a gentle touch 
of forgetfulness  let it 
always be like this

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Tommie Hansen/Flickr
(La Pelosa beach, Sardinia)

Thursday, April 12, 2018

Spring Tanka (Day 449)

Deep, full breath of spring.
Windows thrown open at last.
Even the house sighs.

The peach blossoms assure me:
This is not a rehearsal.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Photo: PxHere

Wednesday, April 11, 2018

Dear 46 (Day 448)

we are sorry 
to hand you
such tarnished keys
but hope 
you will find 
in the violence 
he engendered 
the havoc 
he wreaked 
a million or more 
for miracles

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six
Image: Tom Thai/Flickr

Tuesday, April 10, 2018

Background Music (Day 447)

his well-bred tenor voice 
manages to be both 
decorous and ingratiating  
just a touch too loud  
  there’s really no need for 
  the fireplace when it’s so hot 
  except for ambience  
  they probably lit it on purpose 
  to sweat people into buying 
  more drinks   
now and then her eyes dart 
around to see if anyone is 
listening  but mostly she nods 
and smiles distractedly  
  look how gaily the sun is 
  beating down on the windows
  —isn’t it amusing? 
a wistful southern gentleness 
reminding you of background 
music at an elegant lawn party

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six