Thursday, January 31, 2019

I closed my eyes (Day 743)

I closed my eyes 

   and angels soared   

great wings beating   flapping 

at the air  

like four and twenty blackbirds 

or a score 

   of fireflies   


over a field of spring-green wheat

I closed my eyes 

   and a wave arose 

transluscent   towering   

with a roar 

that froze my heart   still 

I did not founder

did not drown    but floated   gently   

   over its crest  

         at rest 

upon the liferaft of my breath 

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: PxHere

Wednesday, January 30, 2019

She Managed (Day 742)

despite all the years hurled at her  
she managed to live a good life  

sometimes it arrived wrapped 
in delicate silver-traced tissue  

pure and soft as confectioner’s sugar  
and just as sweet  but   more often  

she found  life had to be wrenched or 
wriggled into place  kicking 

and screaming or   now and then  
laughing   until tears glazed her cheeks

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: Edouard Manet, Plum Brandy (1877), oil on canvas
via Wikimedia Commons

Tuesday, January 29, 2019

An Option (Day 741)

pushing food around their plates   
passing conversation around 
their table   reactions flared and faded   
the unthinkable was real   criminal 
dismissive  disdainful  wait—we choose 
to carry them, don't we?   silence  
unspoken  decisions were made 
one nodded  another smiled  an option
arose  a balance shifted  this wasn’t 
just lunch  it felt more like revolution 

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Monday, January 28, 2019

A feathered thing (Day 740)

That thing has feathers 
for a reason   it flies away 
away   toward the green hills 
or the brown   over fences 
and stands of trees   past 
where those soldiers lay in rows   
or where they fell   scattered 
like petals   like stones 
that thing has feathers to fly 
into the golden sun as it rises 
as it sets   through lavender 
banks of clouds    against gales   
storms   fierce burning sleet 
flies toward the south  the east 
toward distant mountains 
crystalized in shimmering air
and strange warm seas 
where shadows sink and swim  
but   though it perches here 
and there  I often glimpse it 
flying away   its song 
receeding   trickling 
into the blue  blue distance  

In response to Emily Dickinson
(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Sunday, January 27, 2019

He is More (Day 739)

he is more than the lax way 
his lips   shiny with spit   purse 
when he speaks in riddles   
more than those childish hands   
that odd way of standing apart   
even in the midst   he is more than 
earth-toned hair (titanium yellow) 
and skin (quinacridone gold) or 
the stovepipe cut of his ill-fitting 
pants   on fire   he is   an effigy   
a meme   a sinner   a clown  
and the tiny-hands-down winner 
of the craziest race ever run
in which everyone   every  one   
from judge to bystander   lost 

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: George Barnard/Wikimedia Commons

Saturday, January 26, 2019

Missing an Eclipse (Day 738)

alone in a tumbledown barn

windy  frozen  vital  missing 

an eclipse   in reality the moon 

red as candle wax over rooftops  

making them  possible  

harder to catch  killing time  

conversation  nothing really  joy 

is their calling  reliable  unfinished  

unlimited  a mist of reality 

drifts through broken windows   

cementing the panes in that way 

two people can be joined 

together by a secret   or a lie

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Friday, January 25, 2019

Beyond the Gate (Day 737)

The road beyond the gate wobbled 
and tripped over a countryside so green 
as to stun the senses, painted so vividly 
it seemed impossible you could not 
feel and smell and taste each shade, but only 
feast your eyes and pray the image lingered. 

The road beyond the gate spoke your name 
in a language without words, luring you
with a flirtatious curl here and a voluptuous 
angle there, the parts you could not see 
driving you mad with curiosity. 

The road beyond the gate led you beyond 
low-rolling hills, beyond verdant groves 
and sheep-strewn pastures, beyond towns 
and cities to the sovereign sea, on whose 
elegant margin you sway, now, idling, eternal,
poised between yesterday and tomorrow.

Inspired by a mystical experience, as described by artist Duncan Grant (1885 – 1978), a member of the famous Bloomsbury Group. I came across Grant’s tale in this beautifully-written article:

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: PxHere

Thursday, January 24, 2019

Her eyes are open (Day 736)

You’re wondering why 

you kept her number, 

why everyone you know 

seems to be going 

somewhere, while you 

stand, ankle-deep, in 

quick-drying concrete.

The lights are out, but in 

the candlelight you can 

see a glimmer—her eyes 

are open. She is awake, 

sitting cross-legged 

on your floor, waiting 

for you to say something.  

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Pexels

Wednesday, January 23, 2019

Tuesday, January 22, 2019

If You Don’t (Day 734)

How can I walk on this ice 

   without slipping?

How can I look the other way? 

Navigate this overgrown path

  without tripping?

Feel my heart break every day? 

Beloved liars, bullies, friends— 

  because I’ll love you if you don’t,

and when we reach our separate ends,

  I may still love you if you do.

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Monday, January 21, 2019

Hardship (Day 733)

It breaks our hearts that you’re so hungry,
and we ache for you—we do—
because we feel famished, too, 
sometimes, when dinner is hours away.

It breaks our hearts that you are freezing, 
and we feel for you—we do—
because we feel chilly, too,
sometimes, and must turn up the heat.

It breaks our hearts that you’re in danger,
and we shudder for you—we do—
because we feel afraid, too,
sometimes, when life seems to go awry.

So please don’t call us heartless,
or say we don’t care about you.
In fact, if you had more compassion, 
you’d see: We know hardship, too.

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: MaxPixel

Sunday, January 20, 2019

PB&J (Day 732)

That was a peanut-butter-and-jelly sort of day: 

Sweet, salty center, a bit tired toward the end,

Gently satisfying, in a nostalgic way,

Comforting as coffee with a trustworthy friend.

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Matias Garabedian/Wikimedia Commons

Saturday, January 19, 2019

The Same Pure Sound (Day 731)

Hesitant morning 

leaned and stretched 

into the shape of an afternoon 

the color of unwashed glass, 

and found me, dreaming, 

pen in hand.

Two bright birdcalls 

   streamed from the woods 

beyond a rumpled counterpane 

   of grass and snow spread out 

below the window 

where I lingered.

As bircalls will, 

they drew a glance, 

green-eyed, from the sill, 

where the ginger cat 

had arranged himself 

like an eclair 

on a bistro plate

We both glanced toward 

   the denuded trees, reacting 

to the same pure sound—

To me, spring whispered: 

   Just a while.

The cat licked his chops, 

   and appeared to smile.

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Friday, January 18, 2019

Now That You’re Gone (Day 730)

Poetry isn't a profession, it's a way of life...
an empty basket; you put your life into it 
and make something out of that. 
— Mary Oliver (1935 – 2019)

I don’t know what to say to you 
now that you’re gone. 
Never did I assume we’d meet, yet 
your presence was a warm blanket 
on a cold night, your voice a chorus 
of bells dancing lightly across 
a snowy morning. When I forgot 
the perfection of the everyday, 
I turned to you. Your words 
offered the warmth of a familiar 
embrace, the companionship of 
a wise friend. You were inscrutable. 
Inimitable. Cheerfully, delightfully 
unattainable. Out of sight, 
you were often out of mind. 
And then, like spring’s first crocus, 
there you’d be, delighting me 
all over again, reminding me of all 
the reasons why this world is 
worth the pain, worth living in, 
worth dying for. And so, you did. 
And, now that you are gone, 
I don’t know what to say anymore.

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: Claude Monet, The Magpie
via Wikimedia Commons

Thursday, January 17, 2019

Try to imagine (Day 729)

Try to imagine 
   how it felt at the time  
quiet  complicated afternoons 
   sidling up to the jukebox 
playing Journey and painting 
panoramic pictures of the bay   
nibbling on Twix  curiosity 
   and imagination   carefree  
empty hands slippery with clay  
relationships rigid with freedom
instinctive  obssessive  wild 
like a hundred little campfires 
   on broad damp beaches

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: Wikimedia Commons

Wednesday, January 16, 2019

How it all became clear (Day 728)

How your day was 
crystalline  gulping
great mouthfuls of cold
along the way 
to your end   
of a snow-muted rainbow

How it all became
clear   wind-scoured
clouds lightened
violet mountains resting 
on layers of bare trees

How  like a Japanese quilt   
it was   tinted every delicate 
shade of taupe   edged 
with mauve
in the melancholy 
manner of winter 

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: Pixabay