Reminding Me (Poem 151)

There are days 

when sunlight 

comes bursting through 

my shades, shattering 

the twilight dawn,

reminding me of you.

There are nights 

when moonlight 

slips beneath my door 

and glows 

like phosphorescence

on a distant shore, 

peacock blue and balmy,

reminding me of you.

There are dreams 

where palm leaves rustle 

in the dark, a song 

swings, its unctuous rhythm 

marked by the spark and 

glitter of stars, and we 

find a lazy sway and 

wind our sighs around the 

crystal breath of falling dew--

these reveries, my nights and days,

reminding me of you.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

 

Bronze (Poem 150)

Leaves quiver in sun

Reflection bronze on my wall

Summer slides southward

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

The Brave (Poem 149)

wildly suppressed

until the fall

the fighting crashed

and altered 

     all

the brave

so patiently 

triumphant

tender and cool 

as dented tin pans

of silt and fools gold 

but also

occasionally indifferent

or furiously

elegantly

giddy

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Sitting (Poem 148)

Slip under the surface

To where the dragons are.

Their claws, like ice picks,

Score the granite floors

Of their cavernous maws,

Leaving corrugations large

Enough to hide 

A spider or a diamond.

Sit, just there.

Sit, and tell them fairytales,

Lure them with your faith,

Here in their deep lairs

Of mist and mayhem,

Stone and stars,

Under the surface,

Where the dragons are.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Tranquil (Poem 147)

below is blue

tranquil

smooth and clear as glass

supported 

by a membrane of truth

no beginning no end

I in the middle

no end no beginning

by a membrane of truth

supported

smooth and clear as glass

tranquil

above is blue

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Mirror Lake (Poem 146)

Reflected in a lake,

The mountains.

Hot wind stirs up 

The needles and the dust.

Emma Bovary with me

On the blanket.

Sizzling on a stick, 

A tender trout.

Does the lake

Still mirror that

Bald mountain?

Does the breeze still

Smell of pine and dust?

Do wild Browns still

Spawn far up that

River? Or did 

Our paradise go

The way of us?

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Swoon (Poem 145)

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

Like Dew (Poem 144)

Close enough to kiss

Smoke entwined in pas de deux

Stars falling like dew

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Sloe Dance (Poem 143)

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."

Thimbleful (Poem 142)

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

Toward Afternoon (Poem 141)

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

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

Softly (Poem 139)

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

Campbell's Soup on the Stoop (Poem 138)

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

Thief (Poem 137)

Cruel, cashmere breeze 

Slips in like a thief, 

Stealing my breath 

With a sweet violet kiss.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Girl on the Dock (Poem 136)

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

First Cup (Poem 136)

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)

Sherpa (Poem 135)

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

Precious Gem (Poem 134)

Citrine summer day

Warm, topaz afternoon melts

Amethyst at dusk

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Lessons Learned (Poem 133)

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

The Keeper (Poem 132)

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

Sleep Me (Poem 131)

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

Puppy (Poem 130)

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 :)

Some Old Song: Poem 129

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 the 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

 

 

Early-birds (Poem 128)

Face to face, they sit

Silence, coffee between them

Nothing left to say

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Photo: Penrose Diner, Philadelphia

Difficult, Pt. Two (Poem 127)

rippling cavernous slides

strike dromedary urgency

into oblong eyelids

lashes like palm fronds 

slick with unctuous

chartreuse anticipation 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

So Happy (Poem 126)

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

Bound (Poem 125)

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

Welcome Guests (Poem 124)

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

Friday (Poem 123)

Scent of soap on steam

Water running as you shave

Must be Friday night

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Enemy Lines (Poem 122)

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