Thursday, May 30, 2013

60 Days... 60 Poems!


She, the prettier, informed 
a thousand eyes and 
I, instead, their hearts.

Those considerate 
parts, we mused, probably 
weren't taken with consent.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Much (Poem #59)

May not seem like much,
Petals unfurling each dawn,
Until you try it.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Poem #58: Dear


Running, you cry out and 
whimper. I hurry to your side, but 
you can't tell me what hurts.
Your sweet brown eyes 
gaze into the distance, 
unseeing, focused inward. 
My heart breaks, but
you can't tell me what's wrong.
In seconds, you fall to pieces,
centered and still in an 
unfamiliar, ominous way that 
leaves me shaken and frightened, but
you can't tell me what you need.
Dear one, 
     your innocence touches me,
     your devotion thrills me,
     your love warms me, but 
I can't tell you how it hurts.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Monday, May 27, 2013

41st & Baltimore: Poem #57

41st & Baltimore

July, 41st and Baltimore,
sere sidewalk bleached by 
stark midday sun, 
humid air like paste on 
my skin, buckled and broken 
sidewalk undulating in 
dizzying, dappled shade. 
And there, near a hedge, 
on pavement that reflected 
the day's heat into 
night's wee hours, moving 
with excruciating purpose, 
a wholly-unexpected 
Stillness, soon to be split 
open, its tenderness invaded by 
cicadas' siren songs, pressed 
against my eyes and ears; 
no children's laughter, no 
stoop-sitting conversations 
in flaccid Philadelphia 
accents set to the music of ice 
chiming in sweated glasses, 
no rumbling thunder, no 
squalling subway-surface line. 
Just the turtle, 
and me. 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

SEPTA 56 Line, 1980
Photo: D. Jacksich


Poem #56: Fumbled


Lingerie unwillingly folded,
Fumbled players losing grins,
Dismayed the jury; as he scolded,
Humbled judge said: No one wins.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Sunday, May 26, 2013

Poem #55: Embellishment


Dashes and dots of 
clouds, like running stitches 
decorate the edge 
of night with stars arranged 
in untidy rows.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Saturday, May 25, 2013

Poem #54: It Will Be Different

It Will Be Different

I keep thinking I am 
In love 
With my dreams, even 
Though I've never swum 
In clear, turquoise waters.
I keep thinking 
It's going to get better--
Spring will be soft and 
Warm again; diamonds will burn 
Like fire on my pale earlobes;
And the bitter, fragrant coffee
I pour will stay hot longer 
in my favorite crimson mug.
I keep thinking 
I will see that
     --though my life
     hasn't been simple
     or easy--
The not knowing 
What it will look like 
Six months from
Is what frightens me most.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Friday, May 24, 2013

Poem 53: District of Columbia, May 2005

District of Columbia, May 2005

A slow rain, insipid and vague, 
Fizzes on glistening sidewalks, 
Releasing soft, tepid steam,
And refracting a golden glow 
Of laughter, lingering dinners, and
Tender tuckings-into-beds.
Shushing the faintly-amber night
It swathes the world in silk
And sequins, luring
Each innocent blade of grass 
Wondrously upward, until, 
In unison, they sidle through 
The planet's crust and inhale 
The wet-rubber musk of 
A rainy morning
In the city, in May.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Orchard Lane, in Georgetown, Washington DC


Thursday, May 23, 2013

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.)


Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Poem #51: 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


Monday, May 20, 2013

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, 
He is uncertain.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Sunday, May 19, 2013

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 
end, watching me 
swim away?

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Poem #48... A SPAM sandwich!


I don't realize 
how you're no longer 
actually a lot 

Smartly appreciated
you might be right 
now you are 
very intelligent you 
your stuff 
is at all times 

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!


Saturday, May 18, 2013

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


Thursday, May 16, 2013

Poem #46: Poppy


Oh, powerful, ancient poppy!
Ornamental, colorful, edible
provider of drugs
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


Wednesday, May 15, 2013

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 
and yet... 
They may cost 
three days
of lying in bed
about taking another 
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


Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Poem #44: Autumn Whispers

Autumn Whispers

Amber snowflakes drift
around us
autumn whispers softly 
another quiet 
wilderness of deer and grass 
and rude insect sounds 
yesterday was never 
mine but now 
dawn has cleared 
the road bringing you nearer 
and I 
regard the improved prospect
the fences
holding me in
welcoming you
and fall.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Monday, May 13, 2013

Poem #43: Clover

Barefoot on the grass,
Clover hummed with honey bees...
All is quiet now.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Sunday, May 12, 2013

Poem 42: Leaden

to breathe,
to eat, 
to drink, 
too great an effort 
for my brain 
        curtains and 
        the door.

Arms growing weak, too
weak to move 
a pen across 
the page.
What saves me is
this moment, is all
      between worlds,
doing without, 
wanting to 
curl around and cradle
my silky self.

Simply not enough 
        to cook,
        to water, 
        to want,
to eat 
     on the boardwalk
       faster than 
         it can melt.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Wildwood, NJ


Saturday, May 11, 2013

Poem #41: Jane Smiles

Painting of the 3 Brontë Sisters, by Branwell Brontë (L to R: Anne, Emily, Charlotte)

Jane Smiles
(Inspired by Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre)

At rest, stern, 
Strong, the squared-off jaw, set
Almost stubbornly, betrayed
Only by the softening
At the corners 
Of his mouth,
And the gentle
Brightness of his eyes
         --often darkened by 
         the onset of a storm--
Though this is how 
I think of them
         --searching, sweet--
When I think of them,
When he smiles,
And smile.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Poem #40!

Musings on my Companion

Gentle comfort, like
Toast and marmalade,
Served with sugared, milky tea.

Toes, curled in on themselves,
Cozily, in reflex, next to me.

Like tiny velvet nautili,
Feet neatly crossed,
In an X of pure contentment.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Friday, May 10, 2013

Poem #39

Early Summer, from Bed

What matters now is
The wars of summer being waged 
Around the neighborhood,
Punctuated by high, thin screams,
Guerrilla troops armed with plastic
Guns and sabers, ducking in and out of bushes,
Answering to the imperious commands issued
By an ever-evolving platoon of leaders.

What matters now is
The barking of that same, damn dog--
You know the one...little, yellow--
Against the background of 
Evening's baroque birdsong,
Accompanying the alto voices of
Mothers who, dinner cooked 
And families fed, trade stories 
In work-wearied tones
While their children run wild.

What matters now is
The pungent smoke from the neighbor's 
Impromptu barbecue pinching my nose;
The gentle hum of my box fan,
Working hard these days;
The glowing azure of 
Twilight drawing close;
The bitter, plummy taste of
Dark chocolate on my tongue;
And the sweet, soft kindness 
of your kiss lingering 
Momentarily, on my lips.

[With thanks to Pat Schneider for the inspiring exercise...]
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Thursday, May 09, 2013

Poem #38

M.E. #1

Severe, complex,
Multi-systemic, persistent.

...disabling permanent exhaustion muscle and joint pain nausea cognitive dysfunction flu-like sore throat fever swollen glands body aches depression inability to get restorative sleep changes in vision headaches, migraines strain on family and social networks lives changed drastically...

There is no test.
There is no treatment.
There is no cure.

The effects, they say,
May be

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six


Wednesday, May 08, 2013

Poem 37: Strangers, you

Darkness glows,

Deep inside this
First morning

Strangers, you, 
Who cannot see, 
Sense, the
Elegantly draped

(c) Hannah Six, 2013


Tuesday, May 07, 2013

Poem 36: Pretty Reeds

When pretty reeds flock teasingly,
You will change.
When mockingbirds sing pleasingly,

And midnight winds blow hot and strange,
The sky tilts
And strokes the parched and fevered range.

It soothes the secret heart, which melts.
It carefully undoes itself.

© Hannah Six, 2013


Sunday, May 05, 2013

Poem 35!

Verse 1.

Shooting the splendid distances,
we attended
the impractical, blonde
where auspicious weeks
once developed,
like rather acceptable

(c) Hannah Six, 2013


Saturday, May 04, 2013

Poem #34: Should be considered

Should Be Considered
By Hannah Six

The appropriate answer is this:
you shouldn't feel--
it is unhealthy,
in that camp.

While I encourage the truth,
studies show consumption
reduces effectiveness
and increases
and--never serious--a racing heart.

By the way,
when it comes to other words,
it doesn't matter--
if you're shot to the body,
all is created equal

Your best bet is
to lay off,
and forget all you were
before finishing.

Hope should be considered


#33: Tiny Soldiers

Nights will drift down around you
like snow,
Tempting you to wrap yourself
In a cloak of priceless words, embroidered with gold thread.

Choose wisely, words that
drop like April petals,
Land between the lines, and present themselves for inspection,
like so many tiny soldiers.

Take heart, and send your favorites
Off to war, into battle,
Let them lead the charge.
Use them, and find them later,
Wandering dazed among the fields
Of a poem.

(c) Hannah Six, 2013


Friday, May 03, 2013

#32: Old Gull

Old Gull

A blind dove, I saw, above me, at the rail
There, in gray, she stands
Each day, aloof.

Each day, she weeps into the sea--
That slovenly maiden who sips angels' tears--
And the horizon, though obtuse, not cruel,
Brushes dry her cheek with soft, gold hands.

Below her perch, old gulls like me
Toil, and sing, and meet,
Each day, God's bespoke abuse.
For those like me, how slow rolls this fleet,
And how sweet, each night,
Our meager, sunburnt sleep...

I've heard say
some drinking men have met
The nascence of our lore
In sinking dreams,
While those whom fate detests
Lose patience, sigh,
And, too soon, look away.

(c) Hannah Six, 2013


Wednesday, May 01, 2013

#31 (May 1, 2013)

Celestial Arrival

How bitter! To foresee
My own celestial arrival--
Having detached
My mother's soft-clad soul
From mine,
My only sight her blindness.

I feel myself embrace her,
Yet do not know
Her cheek,
The roughness of her hair,
Her coldness,
Her frailty.

I note my bold intrusions,
My failure to recognize
Her eyes, the firmness
Of her shoulders, sharp and fine,
In immeasurable formlessness.

How pitiful I once was,
A mere vessel
For a spirit
I no longer remember.

(c) Hannah Six, 2013


Alchemy (Day 30, #NaPoWriMo 2013)

Alchemy abounds these days,
Lovers like us seldom part,
I rest, stunned, and stare at you,
And you at me.

I'm not timid, nor you weak--
When we revel in desire,
You succomb like tender fields,
In August's blaze.

Fruits imperiled by the sun,
Which to mud has dried the stream,
Still taste succulent and sweet,
Upon the tongue.

(c) Hannah Six, 2013