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

Emeralds (Poem 121)

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

Poem 120: Earlier Now, the Sun

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

Poem 119: Trespassing

Poem 118: Six a.m.

Deep foggy morning

Mother-of-pearl sky lustrous

Like dragonfly wings

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Poem 118: Six a.m.

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

Poem 117: Here & There

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

Poem 116: The Blues

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

Poem 115: Delta

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

Poem 114: Bossa Nova

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.

Poem 113: Zelda

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

Poem 112: A Pigeon

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

Poem 111: Jumping Jack

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

Swallows (Poem 110, a rondelet)

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

Poem 109: A Thousand Verses

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

Poem 109: Sweet Evening

Poem 108: So-So

Devoid of words, I gaze

Across moss-spotted rooftops

Home seems far away

Poem 108: So-So

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

Poem 107: Counting Cherries

Poem 106: Another Senryu

You did not notice

Before you painted me bronze

My brilliant gold heart

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Poem 106: Another Senryu

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

Poem 105: Venus' Song

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

Poem 104: Midnight

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

Poem 103: Winter Sun

"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

"Hurrying Toward Forever" (Poem 102)

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

Wisteria: Poem 101

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

Poem 100!!!

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

Poem 99: Chimes

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

Turning to Water: Poem 98

Ugly: Poem 97

An ending so ugly 

it takes

my breath 

away 

stay 

far away from me

and make yourself

a home 

where people 

like you

    like you

a gaping void now 

yawning black

and silent

    oh so peaceably silent

that your absence

makes my heart ring

and my ears 

grow quite suddenly 

fonder

(c) 2013 by Hannah Six

Ugly: Poem 97

Poem 96: Six Silver Carp

six silver carp 

rolled and twinkled 

with secret amusement 

looking askance 

at the rumors 

from far away

cautiously interrupting

the promise you blurted 

furtively praying 

for my forgiveness

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Poem 96: Six Silver Carp

Poem 95: True

Today, there is only one blossom 

on the plum tree by the door. 

Come sit with me and rest a while; 

the porch is sweetly cool. 

Tomorrow, perhaps, those petals 

will fall--I'll still be here with you.

And when night overtakes the garden, dampening the chill air with her breath, we'll watch the stars turning, 

slowly, from our porch swing, 

your hand a blossom in mine.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

The Albert Stevens Inn, Cape May, NJ

(Photo: Christopher D. Six)

Poem 95: True

Poem 94: Circles

what you have 

to say is meaningless 

because 

           you 

               talk 

                  in 

        circles 

anyway 

where am I 

supposed to go 

when everyone 

I know 

tells me 

one 

thing and 

does another? 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Poem 94: Circles

Poem 93: Ordinary

Creamsicle cat

Has sixteen whiskers

All of them white, but one.

Draped like a scarf

Across my pillow, 

He wakes, lifts his head, 

And trills a soft question.

One brown whisker

Among all the pink, 

And white,

And apricot--

A reminder that, while

Elegant and lithe,

Beloved and beautiful,

He is not precious,

But ordinary,

And gorgeously at peace

With his ordinariness 

And his single, brown whisker. 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Poem 93: Ordinary

Poem 92: Submerged (Ocean City, Md., June, 2013)

Submerged

(Ocean City, Md., June, 2013)

From shore, hardly a splash was heard when the spiraling, two-seat plane hit the water.

Aghast, the people stood among their umbrellas in oily bronze-pink-and-white clusters, looking out to sea, shielding their eyes against the glare with hands, hats, and celebrity magazines.  

Some asked, uncertainly, if they shouldn't do something.

Their quieter neighbors secretly looked forward to exciting gossip in the restaurants that night.

At the water's hissing edge, children continued to splash and build sand castles on the hard wet sand.

Others, seeing their parents' expressions, wondered nervously if they should stop having fun now.

Half a mile out, the fuselage slipped--unassumingly, without a trace--beneath the surface.

Smooth, blue-green swells rolled in from the east, as if nothing extraordinary had happened at all.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Photo: Tiago Fioreze

Poem 92: Submerged (Ocean City, Md., June, 2013)