Wednesday, November 06, 2013

Lace (Poem 218)

Brilliant as a Bahamian 
beach, sinuous as a flute 
in a Mozart concerto,
glossy silk unfurls 
and furls patiently, 
a whisper guided by 
a dream and a gentle touch. 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six



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Sunday, November 03, 2013

Winter Verse (#215!)

It's winter 
     And my toes are cold
It's winter
     And the coffee's brewed
It's winter
     And the does grow bold
Searching for a meal
Where sweet green grass once grew

It's winter 
     And the frost has formed
It's winter
     And the fire's bright
It's winter 
     And your hands are warm
In the brown wool gloves
I knit for you last night

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six



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Monday, October 21, 2013

NQFO*


Unblocked. Can you see the sparkles?


*Not-Quite-Finished Object


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Thursday, October 17, 2013

Crochet Senryu

Single strand of wool

Bamboo hook, two busy hands
Bouquet of comfort

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six




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Monday, September 16, 2013

Needlework


Needlework


Needle tip dips in and out of fabric,

Catching the light,
Drawing up stitches with a rasping tug--
Side by side, like satin,
Peppered, like a delicacy,
A garnish to be consumed sparingly,

Strewn, like newly mown grass--
Lemon-butter silk, raspberry soufflé perle,
Terracotta cotton, fine as a web,
Linen the color of cocoa
With whipped cream. Sweetly
Suggestive of traditional
Feminine wiles and fragile cups

Poured and passed

With secret smiles, and

An occasional glancing
Brush of trembling fingertips.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


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Wednesday, September 11, 2013

It's a fiber arts post! Yay!

Do you read Spin-Off Magazine? I often like to page through and see what's new...

In the Summer 2013 issue, there's an article about "Sprang" weaving, which includes instructions for a project. It was intriguing, but I had trouble envisioning the process. So, like every good student, I looked it up on You Tube...

That's where I found this lovely, straightforward tutorial. If you're interested in learning something new -- portable weaving that doesn't cost a fortune to start! -- check it out. My fingers are now itching to begin. Now where did I put that old picture frame...?



Let me know what you think... Are you going to give it a try?

BTW: I love this woman's relaxing voice! She's the Bob Ross of weaving ;)


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Friday, September 06, 2013

What a tease!

Strange
   how the days slow down
   as they grow shorter

Strange
   how the light grows warmer
   as the temperatures fall

Strange
   how...

Want to read the rest of this poem? C'mon over to http://www.hannahsix.blogspot.com
That's where my daily poetry lives now!


(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


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Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Looking for Poems?

You'll find them over at their new home:

http://HannahSix.blogspot.com

Your company is the house-warming present they want most!



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Tuesday, August 27, 2013

My poems have a new home!

Looking for today's poem? You'll find it on my 
poetry-and-writing blog: http://hannahsix.blogspot.com/

From now on I'll be posting my poetry and other writing-related content on 

Please come on over--and be sure to bookmark the new site! I cherish your
 company on this crazy, year-long poetic journey...

Thank you for visiting, reading--and for returning! 

Hannah  

Knitting/Crochet: http://knitsix.blogspot.com/

PS. 
This move means knitters will see some knitting content here on Knit*Six soon :)


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Monday, August 26, 2013

New home for poetry!

Hello!

Starting today (Monday, Aug. 26), I will post my daily poems on my poetry-and-writing blog: http://hannahsix.blogspot.com/   

Please come on over and don't forget to bookmark the new site! (
I enjoy your company on this crazy, year-long poetic journey...

Thank you for visiting, reading, and returning! 

Hannah  

Poetry/Writing blog: http://hannahsix.blogspot.com/  

Knitting/Crochet blog: http://knitsix.blogspot.com/

PS. 
This move means knitters may actually see some knitting content here on Knit*Six soon :)


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Sunday, August 25, 2013

Poem 145: Swoon

Dear readers: 

Starting tomorrow (Monday, Aug. 26), I will only be posting my daily poems on my writing blog: http://hannahsix.blogspot.com/   Please bookmark the site now, so you can keep on keeping me company on this crazy year-long journey...

This move means knitters may actually see some knitting content here on Knit*Six soon :)

Thank you for visiting, reading, and returning! 

And now, on to the poetry...
 

SWOON
 
come sink down with me
let the spring sponge of the earth
absorb your dreams
where we lie, in a
field of blood-red butterflies
heady with delight
in a night of our own making


© 2013, by Hannah Six
 

 


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Saturday, August 24, 2013

Poem 144: Like Dew

Close enough to kiss
Smoke entwined in pas de deux
Stars falling like dew

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Dear readers: 

Starting Monday, Aug. 26,, I will post my daily poems on my writing blog: http://hannahsix.blogspot.com/  

Please bookmark the new poetry site now, so you can keep on keeping me company on this crazy year-long journey...

This also means knitters may be seeing some knitting content here on Knit*Six soon :)

Thank you for visiting, reading, and returning! 

Hannah


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Friday, August 23, 2013

Poem 143: Sloe Dance


Sloe Gin Fizz with lime.
Coral lipstick on the glass.
Sax breathes her a dream.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


With appreciation to Ken Peplowski for his heartachingly gorgeous recording of "It's a Lonesome Old Town."



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Thursday, August 22, 2013

Poem 142: Thimbleful

She of the velvet existence--
lonely for 
the camomile beach and 
the creak and sway of old, moored boats and
her thimbleful of unhurried joy--
laughed pleasantly, ignoring
the old missing that pleaded
and tightened, her fingers
clutching a long-missing tube 
of Prussian Blue paint.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Dear readers: 

My poetry will soon appear on its own (non-knitting) blog! After this week, I will post my daily poems at  http://hannahsix.blogspot.com/  

Please bookmark the new site now, so you can keep on keeping me company on this crazy journey...

Thank you for reading! 

Hannah


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Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Poem 141: Toward Afternoon

sloping sloping off the bed
watery flowers sliding down 
the window, lilac and gray 
and green slick as a baby 
in bathwater sloping and 
rolling toward morning like 
dead weight praying that 
they come alive again
when the gray seeps through
the blinds like water spreading 
in a pool of daybreak sloping
sloping toward afternoon

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Dear readers: 

My poetry will soon appear on its own (non-knitting) blog! After this week, I will post my daily poems at  http://hannahsix.blogspot.com/  

Please bookmark the new site now, so you can continue keeping me company on this crazy journey...

Thank you for reading! 

Hannah




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Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Poem 140: Cinnamon Day

Dear readers: 

My poetry will soon appear on its own (non-knitting) blog! After this week, I will post my daily poems at  http://hannahsix.blogspot.com/  

Please bookmark the new site now, so you can continue keeping me company on this crazy journey...

Thank you for reading! 

Hannah


CINNAMON DAY

A slant of cinnamon sun,
A shiver of frost on the lawn,
The kind of day that calls 
For an apple-red jacket and
A brisk, windblown 
Country walk,
Or a New England college 
Football game,
Woodsmoke in the air,
Brown leaves crumbling 
Underfoot, icy, still nights 
Flecked with stars--
Shards of light 
pricking the dark--
And cider steaming on the stove
Ladled into handmade mugs,
Warming hands and home 
And air heavy with 
Heady scents of autumn--
Sun-warmed wool, damp earth 
And curbs lined with armies
Of dark bags full to bursting
With summer's leftovers.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


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Monday, August 19, 2013

Poem 139: Softly

Today, I know better
Than to expect a
Sweet goodnight and
Sleep tight when I reach
Inside and stub my fingertips 
On the cold hard bottom 
Of the jar. Only crumbs.
Warm milk, then, and 
Something mild,
Saltines, perhaps, or hot,
Buttered white-bread toast.
Tomorrow the cayenne,
And ginger, bitter chocolate
And tart cherry pie. The most
I can hope for now is 
A sweet breeze through 
My veiled window and
A light burning softly
Beside my cool pillow.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


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Sunday, August 18, 2013

Poem 138: Campbell's Soup on the Stoop

In honor of Bad Poetry Day
 (Aug. 18, 2013)

All alone with my thoughts 
And a can of Campbell's soup
I light up a cigarette
And take it with my dinner
Out onto the stoop.
Sitting there I stare out 
Into thin air
And think about the way
I'd wished my life 
Might have been.
Still, I am happy enough
With my Chunky Sirloin and
My brew, in the shade,
On my stoop, being watched by
My snoopy landlady,
Because I don't care
What she thinks.
I know I have everything
A man needs to be happy.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six





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Saturday, August 17, 2013

Poem 137: Thief

Cruel, cashmere breeze 

Slips in like a thief, 
Stealing my breath 
With a sweet violet kiss.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six



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Poem 136: Girl on the Dock

At the end of the L-shaped dock,
Where summer-browned children,
Yelping, jump into murky green,
A girl. Alone, book in lap, 
She sits facing shore, leaning 
On one arm, pale, flawless 
Legs curled to her left 
In a studied pose: 
"Starlet at leisure,"
Inspired, no doubt, by fantasies
Of old-Hollywood glamour 
And intrigue. Soft as a petal,
A lake-borne breeze ruffles 
And lifts the smooth, caramel 
hair from her shoulders.
She looks up, as if surprised,
From the page she has not turned 
In half an hour, then returns 
To her almost-convincing display 
Of superb focus, careful 
Not to notice the sweating, 
Brightly-suited crowd scattered,
Like pebbles, on the shore. 
We are her contrasting background, Setting off her cool, milky beauty 
To perfection. She is lovely, 
In her shorts and 
Knotted checked blouse, 
Sunglasses and sandals,
Pretending to read, 
Watching herself play--unaware 
Of how obviously--the leading role 
In the movie in her mind. 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


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Friday, August 16, 2013

Poem 136: First Cup

Six green rocking chairs
Sunrise warms the ocean breeze
Welcome, gentle hours

Low morning voices
The day unfurls and ripples
Drawn out by the tide

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

(Photo: Chris Six)


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Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Poem 135: Sherpa

the utter ice of it, the white 
white broken black and blue 
and void unstoppable gaping 
maws sucking souls into unfathomable 
frozen rattling death breath, 
the beating beating beating of feet 
and hearts and minds and the 
clattering lungs and bits of gear 
dangling randomly from ribs 
and packs his is too light 
because his is too heavy 
the cold the cold the 
cold razor blade slicing off lips 
and tongues and toes and ears 
nothing to hear anyway and 
the wet the sickly sweet smell 
of wet always wet and 
light pack overbearing assuming 
ha ha ha in the face 
of majesty tramping over virgin 
snow and humanity so disposable 
unseen unheard a herd 
of silent keepers kept

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six



Note: Today's poem was inspired by this fascinating interview with Grayson Schaffer, a senior editor and writer for Outside magazine, who wrote an article about Sherpa guides on Mt Everest: http://goo.gl/RhGT3T


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Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Poem 134: Precious Gem

Citrine summer day
Warm topaz afternoon melts
Amethyst at dusk

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


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Monday, August 12, 2013

Poem 133: Lessons Learned

I used to think it mattered,
     but it doesn't.
I used to think I needed, 
     when I wanted.
I used to trust that people 
     really meant it.
I used to think I would,
     but I won't.

I used to think I'd love it, 
     but I hate it.
I used to think I couldn't,
     but I can.
I used to think the whole
     world was watching.
I used to think I cared,
     but I don't.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


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Sunday, August 11, 2013

Poem 132: The Keeper

Turning from the stove,
Iron skillet in hand, 
He flashed
Her a glittering smile.
Strong coffee was brewed;
He poured her a mug,
And told her to sit
For awhile.
She closed her eyes, "Happy 
as a clam," she thought,
Cheerfully mellow
And mild.
And a waterfall of notions
Surged in her mind:
This catch 
Must not return 
To the wild.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

PS. My challenge was to use all of the following words in a poem: smule, glittering, clam, cheerfully, waterfall


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Saturday, August 10, 2013

Poem 131: Sleep Me

Sleep me, close 
My eyes and rest me
Savagely, surrender me 
And wrap me in 
Unthinking swells of 
Indigo unconsciousness
Sleep me, slip me
Into a nest of 
Qiviut clouds
Downy and warm as
Primeval loam
Sleep me, sink me 
In sea-glass
Shards of silence 
That cut through the 
Thinking thinking thinking
Aloft, sleep me home
Under, drift down
Sun-slanted leagues
And layers of tranquil
Slumber, peace of 
Mind, the gap 
Between has 
And will is deep, so 
Sleep me sleep me sleep 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


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Poem 130: Puppy

Puppy in a car
Parking lot on sunny day
Owner needs training

(c) Hannah Six

A study by the Stanford University School of Medicine showed that temperatures inside cars can rise dramatically even on mild days. With outside temperatures as low as 72 degrees, researchers found that a car's interior temperature can heat up by an average of 40 degrees within an hour, with 80 percent of that increase in the first 30 minutes. A cracked window provides little relief from this oven effect. The Stanford researchers found that a cracked window had an insignificant effect on both the rate of heating and the final temperature after an hour.
(Source: King 5 - Seattle News)

P.S. No worries... Animal Protection soon arrived on the scene :)


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Friday, August 09, 2013

Poem 129: Some Old Song

At the pink of the day
The light lures my thoughts astray
And the old times still seem 
Fresh as falling dew

Somewhere far off a band will play
While silk-draped couples sway
And once again I'm with you

Twilight falls like a veil
As my reverie grows pale
And the jasmine sweetly
Puts the day to bed

All the dancers have wandered off
Your footsteps, too, grow soft
Night falls as I walk away.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six 






 

























 


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Wednesday, August 07, 2013

Poem 128: Early-birds

Face to face they sit
Silence, coffee between them
Nothing left to say

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Photo: Penrose Diner, Philadelphia


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Tuesday, August 06, 2013

Poem 127: Difficult, Pt. Two

rippling cavernous slides
strike dromedary urgency
into oblong eyelids
lashes like palm fronds 
slick with unctuous
chartreuse anticipation 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


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Monday, August 05, 2013

Poem 126: So Happy

An astonishing cocktail
of sunlight and warmth
is lavished on 
our cool and misty world 
today. We walk around, smiling 
like people in-the-know,
and say 
Can you believe this heat? 
Days ago, 
when it rained, 
we came out of our houses 
and scowled at the sky. 
Can you believe how cold it is?
And we told each other how, 
when it warmed up 
again, we would be 
so happy.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six



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Sunday, August 04, 2013

Poem 125: Bound

Swaddled in 
my threadbare blanket 
of weakness and pain,
I arrange myself in bed 
again, and watch
the friendly, old world 
unfold, from a distance.

(c) 2013 by Hannah Six

"ME is a serious, disabling and chronic organic (i.e. physical not mental) disorder. ME has been classified by the World Health Organisation (ICD 10 G 93.3) as a neurological illness affecting approximately 200,000 individuals within the UK. Of that number, approximately 25% of those affected will go on to develop severe ME which is an extremely debilitating illness, sometimes lasting for years, in some cases, even decades, often rendering the sufferer completely housebound, wheelchair & bedbound and dependent upon carers for their everyday needs.  The Chief Medical Officer’s Report on the subject of CFS/ME (Chronic Fatigue Syndrome/Myalgic Encephalomyelitis) issued in January 2002 recognises that “CFS/ME should be classed as a chronic condition with long term effects on health, alongside other illnesses such as multiple sclerosis and motor neurone disease."

Source: http://www.investinme.org/faq-1.htm




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Saturday, August 03, 2013

Poem 124: Welcome Guests

The house 
            was dim,
the day, bright.
When the door 
               opened,
you quickly stepped 
into the light 
and closed it 
with a click,
locking the long night 
               inside.
Another door 
               opened
as you stood 
               blinking 
on the dazzling sidewalk,
waiting to regain 
your sight.
Unafraid, you 
entered and left it 
               open wide 
for the autumn air,
the honeyed sunlight,
those sweet old songs,
and all the other 
welcome guests 
you knew
would come along.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Photo: Wikipedia Commons


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Friday, August 02, 2013

Poem 123: Friday

Scent of soap on steam
Water running as you shave
Must be Friday night

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


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Thursday, August 01, 2013

Poem 122: Enemy Lines

Behind the door, in the dark, 
you lurk, more frightening 
than those childhood monsters 
my mother conquered
with a click of the light switch. 

For decades, you possessed me, 
altered me, held me prisoner, 
brought me to my knees, impoverished 
in so many ways. 

There were days when the sun broke through the clouds 
and my doubts cleared 
under the cerulean sky, 
when my escape seemed certain 
and a song of rejoicing 
already softened my lips. 

But, no. You tracked me 
and lay in wait. 
Ambush was only 
a matter of time. 

Why, then, did you let me go 
when I last ran? 
Why was the line you drew 
in the sand 
so shallow and vague? 
At play in the waves, 
I only realized I'd crossed it 
when I looked back 
at the beach 
and saw I was alone. 

How brave I felt! 
How bold and proud! 
Children bounded and splashed 
around me, grinning back 
at my self-satisfied smile. 

If only-- If only!  If only I'd stayed 
closer to shore--
If only the current 
that bore me further out 
had been clear and blue, 
not cold and opaque 
as unfeeling jade. 

Maybe then I might have 
noticed the crescent shadow 
that flickered 
in the depths, 
beneath me. 

Maybe then, I'd still be 
innocent of your insidious 
grasp, ensnaring my ankle 
so delicately, 
a mere tickle. 

Maybe then, I'd have remembered 
to leave the light on 
as I slipped below 
the surface of sleep
into unfathomable dreams.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six



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Wednesday, July 31, 2013

Emeralds (Poem 121)

Maple
Bowing over the wooden balcony railing, where my cat perches, statue-still, whiskers and ears forward, concentrating on his busy, bushy-tailed nemesis
Celery
Lonely and limp in my refrigerator, where you tucked it in the crisper, planning to spread it thickly with cream cheese to accompany your lunch
Lawn
Watered by the family downstairs, so when all other grass grows crisp and drab, two dark-eyed boys can play baseball with their father on warm days, and organize complex battles when the evenings draw long
Jealousy
Then there was the one who spent so much time enraged over all the affairs he was convinced I had, that I came to believe my loyalty was misplaced 
Sweater
Stretched out cotton--more comfortable than attractive, chosen many years ago from a farmer's market stall--which warms me even now with memories sweeter and softer than the finest cashmere 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


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Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Poem 120: Earlier Now, the Sun

Earlier now, the sun
finds her rest
on a chaise
of plated silver
veins running the 
horizon's full length,
razor's edge 
traced in violet, deep
as an equatorial sky.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


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Monday, July 29, 2013

Poem 119: Trespassing

Slip unnoticed under the fence,
And sprawl in the tall grass
For a while, panting and laughing
With the exhilaration unique
To young people ignoring
A No Trespassing sign.
Never meant for swimming, that lake,
Which (of course) makes it covetable
As a cold, crisp, honey-sweet slab
Of watermelon on a Death Valley day.
Overhead, you see, the stars seem 
To be spinning backward, unspooling
Their spider's silk stories, though
You, pulling off and tossing aside
Clothing as you run
Lakeward, barefoot and free,
See only their dim reflection
In the still smooth surface
Of midnight blue water.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


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Sunday, July 28, 2013

Poem 118: Six a.m.

Deep foggy morning
Mother-of-pearl sky lustrous
Like dragonfly wings

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six




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Saturday, July 27, 2013

Poem 117: Here & There

after spending years 
in the dull
I am coming home
to the delightful

during my time here
in the dark 
I've thirsted 
for cool white light 

homesick for sweetness
I've lost my taste
for bitter disappointment
 
the scenery here
is outstanding
and the people so nice

but emeralds and pearls
will never suit me 
as well 

as a cup of jasmine tea 
in a quicksilver bath 
of moonlight

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


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Friday, July 26, 2013

Poem 116: The Blues

Sapphire   I am born
The audience had not yet assembled

Azul   Your family was my favorite part of you
I watched you drive away, downed a glass of water, and then went bowling

Blu   You could not speak my language, nor I yours
When they laughed at her accent, the sound was so joyful she didn't mind

Bleu   You sick bastard, you had no right
Sometimes it is necessary to judge on behalf of those who rely on us for protection

Turquoise   In the distance, the sea
We will break free, and I will lead you there 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


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Poem 115: Delta

curious fluttering hand 

     of Mystery pauses 
     distracted 
at the confluence 
of river and sea 
tapping and swirling 
     an impatient design 
waiting for the words 
     to come 
     they never do 
     all at once 
they have always been 
hidden 
     in the elegant 
     alluvial language 
of the delta

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


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Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Poem 114: Bossa Nova

she stretches
long in the sun
golden skin
alight she
stretches long
in the sun her
thin straps
undone her hair
a tight chestnut
braid will burst
into waves tonight
when set
free she stretches
long as a 
cat in the sun

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


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Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Poem 113: Zelda

those musical twilights 
the indigo wash formed 
limp gusts of gloom
long flowing satin covers
disintegrated into 
black lace and pale hours 
a cataract on the floor
under the sombre 
ironic golden halo 
lank contemporaneous 
silhouettes twisted and 
tore off short leaves 
of youngness
drunk as debutantes 
the cosmos 
smelted into the 
fashionable incompetence
and nebular significance
of serious people 
fervently impassive
huddling and twinkling 
by moonlight

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


My respects to Zelda Fitzgerald, author of Save Me the Waltz (her only novel). From a few paragraphs of her book, I created a short erasure, which evolved into this poem.


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Monday, July 22, 2013

Poem 112: A Pigeon

 
A pigeon sheltered from a storm
on a blustery Monday night.
A pigeon sheltered from a storm.
He was simply trying to stay warm
by joining the folks huddled tight,
under an awning,
       as lightning flared bright,
a pigeon sheltered from a storm.
(c) 2013 by Hannah Six



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Poem 111: Jumping Jack

Starry skies
Bright sunrise
Go away
Rainy day
Step back
Jumping Jack
Here take
Your cake
Shouldn't you
Partake too
Must fly
Say goodbye
In bed
Sleepy head
Nursery rhyme
Dream time
 (c) 2013, by Hannah Six


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Saturday, July 20, 2013

Swallows (Poem 110, a rondelet)

In the house across the way,
In a tiny dryer vent,
In the house across the way,
A pair of swallows came to stay.
In and out they flew, all energy spent,
Their babies grew, then off they went, 
From the house across the way.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


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Friday, July 19, 2013

Poem 109: A Thousand Verses

a thousand swift verses
freely water the hedge
as justice nods along dazed

her clear laughter lingers
and covers the lapse
cheerfully aimless and queer

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


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Poem 109: Sweet Evening

One cat on the sofa,
One sleeping on the chair,
One sock off the needles,
Soon to be a pair;

Jazz sways in the background,
Children play tag outside,
I'd think this was heaven,
But I haven't died.

Evening cascades downward,
The cooling air, pure bliss;
Bed and book await me,
Twilight unfurls slowly,
Lingering so sweetly,
Like a goodnight kiss.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six




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Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Poem 108: So-So

Devoid of words, I gaze

Across moss-spotted rooftops
Home seems far away


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Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Poem 107: Counting Cherries

In the grocery store,
we count the cherries,
one by one, removing 
from the plastic bag
those we cannot afford.
Three plums or four?
Next to us, a man
weighs an ugly yellow 
melon in his hand, 
touching it,
gazing at the price sign, 
his head cocked 
first to the right, 
then the left.
An elderly couple,
gesticulating grandly,
discusses whether to buy 
a cabbage or 
a bunch of celery. 
Too casually, I pick up 
a small packet of grapes, 
and head back to my cart,
flushing at my ostentatious
extravagance. 
A young woman has 
supplanted me at the altar 
of the cherries
--black as dried blood--
and counts them out,
one by one, removing 
from the plastic bag
those she cannot afford. 

 (c) 2013, by Hannah Six



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Monday, July 15, 2013

Poem 106: Another Senryu

You did not notice
Before you painted me bronze
My brilliant gold heart

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


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Poem 105: Venus' Song

In their eyes,

they stand below,
but within my embrace,
these children
who race toward me,
growing up too soon,
as children do.
Around me, close and far,
my sisters, brothers, 
cousins are dancing
joyously, our own 
racing outward, pulling us
apart. Gladly, though,
we go, singing out loud
on our way to
the very heart, where 
the edge is the middle,
the middle the start.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six




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Saturday, July 13, 2013

Poem 104: Midnight

I lay my plump and
blooming midnight
down to sleep
in a moment of joy.
Come nearer,
ray of light--
he has turned off
the night,
and sleeps, certain
that morning
will look after him.

© 2013,  by Hannah Six


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Poem 103: Winter Sun

Sliding furtively
Along the south horizon
The winter sun--abashed 
By the evidence 
Of his impotence,
A vague, watery 
Weakness--leaves 
The party quietly, 
Preferring to blind 
And distract the
Warmer climes
With the brilliant
Falsehoods of his 
Varied charms.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


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Thursday, July 11, 2013

"Hurrying Toward Forever" (Poem 102)

A long time ago
my candle would awaken
me, the book, imagined
in my hands, a channel
of impressions.
Some, like scales would
begin to separate from
me, astonishing
and incomprehensible,
without matter, whistling
like a bird
hurrying toward forever
in a strange place.
The last farewells,
unfamiliar,
echo in the night,
delightful once again.

© 2013, by Hannah Six


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Wisteria: Poem 101

Directly overhead, sun

Bleak, searing,
White-hot air thick
With moisture, magnifying
The day's sultry excess
On the bleached gravel
Path through dusty
Grand old gardens
Around a corner, though,
Wisteria arbors
Dark and cool
Green grottoes scented
Spicy and sweet, air
Ambrosial liquid jade
Healing the day's excess
Lungful after lungful, longing 
And willing to breathe 
This particular variety
Of heaven forever

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six



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Tuesday, July 09, 2013

Poem 100!!!

JA, at the Window

Smiling enigmatically, 
inwardly
listening to gentle creaks 
and sputtering 
wax, twigs tapping at the window,
and beloved voices
--muffled by walls and hallways--
the sounds of daily life
she sees in her minds eye 
what a passer-by might glance:
a rich, golden glow 
a cozily lit room that looks 
warmer than it ever really is and 
--through frost-etched glass--
a woman 
placing a pen carefully in its holder 
slipping a sheaf of small, neat pages 
     into her sloping desk and 
smiling enigmatically, 
inwardly
listening to gentle creaks 
and sputtering 
wax, twigs tapping at the window 
and beloved voices 
--muffled by walls and hallways.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Chawton Cottage garden, Tony Grant, London Calling



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Poem 99: Chimes

the neighbor's 
wind-chimes speak 
     to me 
of sweeter times
fireflies 
     cool green
flickering 
and dancing
to the night orchestra
harmonizing 
from dim tangles
of kudzu dark cedars 
and overgrown grass 
smelling tantalizingly 
of your warm 
                 brown 
                        neck

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


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Sunday, July 07, 2013

Turning to Water: Poem 98

neither here nor there, 
often nowhere at all. 
no matter
alone I am 
my own 
home, the only one 
who can offer me 
a place 
to rest

weeks 
   and months 
      and years of flight
my heart is tired 
now
I cannot count on you 
to wrap it 
in liquid aqua silk 
and kiss it 
goodnight 

I cannot count on you 
to see the ocean
drop by drop
being squeezed 
from my body 
until I am parched 
and fevered

I can 
only count on you 
to hand me 
a tepid glass 
of tomato juice 
and tell me it's pure 
cool spring 
water

even were I stupid 
   as you think I am
I could still see 
the color 
of blood turning 
to water
through your fingers

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


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