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

Needlework

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 

http://hannahsix.blogspot.com/

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  

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

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

PS. 

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

My poems have a new home!

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

 

 

Poem 145: Swoon

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

Poem 144: Like Dew

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."

Poem 143: Sloe Dance

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

Poem 142: Thimbleful

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

Poem 141: Toward Afternoon

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

Poem 140: Cinnamon Day

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

Poem 139: Softly

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

Poem 138: Campbell's Soup on the Stoop

Poem 137: Thief

Cruel, cashmere breeze 

Slips in like a thief, 

Stealing my breath 

With a sweet violet kiss.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Poem 137: Thief

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

Poem 136: Girl on the Dock

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)

Poem 136: First Cup

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

Image: http://goo.gl/JNjseS

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

Poem 135: Sherpa

Poem 134: Precious Gem

Citrine summer day

Warm topaz afternoon melts

Amethyst at dusk

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Poem 134: Precious Gem

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

Poem 133: Lessons Learned

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

Poem 132: The Keeper

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

Poem 131: Sleep Me

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 :)

Poem 130: Puppy

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 

 

 

Poem 129: Some Old Song