Poem 52: The Party

The Party

Wishing to dare, 

to divine one day 

the abyss of leisure, 

the secrets of their 

nature, I only saw  

their importance, 

the party, with their 

wandering pleasures.

Solemn hands 

made gestures of 

mystery the theme 

magnified, mild. 

They bestowed smiles 

on affairs, flirted with 

     --and sang to--

languidly gallant actors 

closely connected 

with the clique.

Perceptible, spirits 

appeared to give 

vivacity, to influence 

souls particularly summoned,

unlikely to return.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Dumas Bay, WA 

(Having nothing to do with this poem... Just a memory of a lovely day I want, always, to remember that way.)

Poem 52: The Party

Poem #51: Inside

Inside

Vast tundra
Sheets of ice and rain
Obscure daylight in my mind
Banks of fog close in
And blind me

Blue above
I see only gray
As I lay gazing upward
Body drifting down
Out of reach

Fresh gale blows
Lazy here with you
Watching fruit tree petals fly
From the greening limbs
Is enough

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Poem #51: Inside

Truly Happy (#50)

Truly Happy

When was 

the last time 

you were 

truly happy? 

she asks. 

Befuddled, he 

answers: two 

months ago, 

his voice rising, 

question-like. 

He is uncertain.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Truly Happy (#50)

Poem #49: The Shallow End

The Shallow End

In shadow, the deep 

end was always colder 

than where the stairs,

in their ubiquitous aqua 

glory, first descended 

into the pool.

The Deep End.

Goal of every sun-tanned swimming child,

tantalizingly beyond reach

on the other side 

of a string 

of ovoid plastic pearls.

Terrifying, seemingly bottomless,

trophy of dreams, desires,

nightmarish feelings of

perceived helplessness,

ultimately achieved 

after a series of classes: 

education, practice, and 

heart-breaking warnings 

about the dangers of being 

drawn down 

into those alluring 

amethyst depths. 

Having survived the gauntlet,

Floating effortlessly 

atop the gentle heaving 

breast of our emergence, I 

looked back, to find you 

far behind me,

splashing, sputtering, afraid

to glide into and befriend

the delicious 

silence of the deep. 

How is it, then, in the 

shallow 

end, watching me 

swim away?

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Poem #49: The Shallow End

Poem #48... A SPAM sandwich!

Manhandled

I don't realize 

reality 

how you're no longer 

actually a lot 

more. 

Smartly appreciated

you might be right 

now you are 

very intelligent you 

understand

your stuff 

is at all times 

nice.

Significantly 

this topic 

made me personally 

consider a lot 

of various angles.

Like women 

your individual 

men are not interested 

until one thing 

is accomplished.

Handle it up.

Woman gaga.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Why SPAM? Because this is an erasure-style poem inspired by a fantastic piece of junk email!

Poem #48... A SPAM sandwich!

Poem #47: A Little Green

A Little Green

green emeralds 

jade money 

growing grass offers women

      resources, information 

      fertility life grass roots

the most restful color,

green symbolizes eco-terror 

and animal activism

green is a real universal 

grass-roots bastard

save money 

make money help 

      mentally and physically 

      restore your community

this weekend, last 

october green is the color 

of beautiful blues

the new red 

green is good 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Poem #47: A Little Green

Poem #46: Poppy

Poppy

Oh, powerful, ancient poppy!

Ornamental, colorful, edible

provider of drugs

     --analgesic

         narcotic 

           medicinal

            recreational--

ease our suffering.

Wrap us in your 

crumpled ruby robes 

of blessed forgetfulness.

Help us 

remember, too,

the blood-red petals 

that bloomed and stained 

your fields, mud 

of earth and draining life; 

those who

     --so rudely torn from this 

         world of dizzying beauty 

           and curious regrets--

we pray

will remember us.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

The Poppy Field, by Anne Redpath

Photo: Tate Gallery

Poem #46: Poppy

Poem #45

Another One

How things are 

supposed to be:

Easy, some say.

Not like me, then.

Not like this, when

(as is so often the case)

clean carpets seem 

     simple

     enough

and yet... 

They may cost 

three days

of lying in bed

thinking 

about taking another 

sip 

of water 

     ---from that cup

      over there,

      on the nightstand---

and listening to myself 

breathe: OK,

time, now,

for another one.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Poem #45