Happiest (Poem 212)

Sharing our warmth beneath 

the heavy peacock-colored afghan 

your grandmother crocheted, we rest.

I close my eyes so that, after a while, 

when your gentle sighs fold themselves 

into the welcome rhythm of slumber, 

I can see your face, dearest to me 

in all the world, and the almost-smile 

that appears when we curl up together. 

Tempted to slide across the rumpled 

sheets, to tiptoe down our creaking

stairs and make myself useful (pitting 

the rich, black cherries I washed 

this morning, mixing up a crust for 

your favorite pie, folding freshly-dried

towels with the jazz station humming 

quietly) I shift my attention to my hands, 

my toes, melting into the mattress 

like a cat in the sun, and, finally, 

meeting you where you dream, 

waiting for me.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Photo: Funky Junk Interiors*

*http://www.funkyjunkinteriors.net/2010/04/paint-ed-wooden-crate-stairs-for-so-you.html

Strange Song (Poem 211)

Go among the jealous

   Minding the forgotten

Somewhat 

   Wonderful with pity

Pretending to be timid

   Shrinking from existence

Striving toward the stars

   Fighting to feel wanted 

Far down deep 

below us

Way up high 

above us

Willing us to love

Willing us

To love

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Autumn Haiku (Poem 210)

Leaves bright as poppies

Fall in mellow autumn sun

Fiery puddles form

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Hourglass (Poem 209)

And now, the stars begin 

to shine, strung like beads 

upon a silken web, each yearning 

to be studied, each recalled,

some fervent, some forgiving 

as the darkness when 

the dreamer, wakened, knows 

the torpid heartbeat of the hours 

and hears the silver whisper as 

the stars slip through the narrow 

middle of the glass.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

A Low Register (Poem 208)

It sounded far off, possibly

a low register, mellow 

but bright. The two of them

considered its range. A strident

quality pushed the upper register 

of acceptable use. Soon, feeble

buzzing marked the high point 

in the wedding, as the euphoria 

of dancing fell, methodically, 

into favor.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Hammock (Poem 207)

Hammock swinging low

Under swaths of sycamore

The world falls away

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

These Letters (Poem 206)

Never comparing affairs aloud,

the daughter anxiously tied these 

fat pink letters with yellow acrylic 

yarn, and slid them into the sleeve 

of a scratchy blue sweater, 

wanting swift closeness, not 

shallow processions of dim 

thoughts and acceptable reasons,

polite as eggshell teacups and 

slightly stale gingerbread.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Tea at the Rittenhouse Hotel (Photo: Joyosity)

This Time (Poem 205)

Well, open the damn 

windows then, and to hell 

with the bill. Freezing cold 

anyways, and the fire's not going 

to make any difference. 

And while we're at it, let's run 

the hot water for an hour or two, 

and turn on all the lights! 

But don't come crying to me 

if we get kicked outta here. 

Hey, isn't that the oven timer?

When she opened the oven door, 

it sighed a gush of air 

thick with the golden scent 

of baked pears and browning 

shortbread crust. For a moment, 

she was fifteen and laughing with 

a group of leggy, suntanned friends 

as they left the cool river of the drugstore 

and were stunned to a stand-still by a wall 

of Abilene heat. This time, she remembered 

to turn off the oven light.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

You Listen (Poem 204)

When I talk to you, you listen and

sometimes bow your head a little, 

an enviably- heavy lock of golden-brown 

hair falling forward to shade your eyes.

When I talk to you, I imagine

you hearing me, letting my words

tumble over you like a freshet, as if

you are a lichen-covered stone.

When I talk to you, you hold me

in your burning gaze, pupils dilated

in concentration, a smile trembling,

sometimes, at the corners of your mouth.

When I talk to you, I am handing you

my Faberge egg, a Lalique crystal flute,

one perfect Robin's egg shell, and I know 

they are safe from harm, because 

when I talk to you, you are not there at all.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

A Cure (#203)

Better than painkillers, she 

says, dipping her finger into 

a tiny lava flow of cream

cheese icing, delivering it to her 

lips with no attempt at daintiness. 

Outside, the water runs in a silver 

stream to the edge of the grass. 

A stack of weeds, roots clutching

remnants of soil, lay wilting 

next to a cracked, tangerine-vinyl 

knee cushion. 

In the redwood tree, a crow 

cackles in delight.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Risotto (Poem 202)

Rice in saffron robe

Edged with silken coconut

And turmeric lace 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Nightlight (Poem 201)

Snow-blanketed fields

Eloquent moon bends night to day

Silence like crystal

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

What Shimmers (Poem 200)

Dandelion fairies, carrying childish

Wishes abroad, down the block or 

To the next yard, catching the light, 

A magical fall of twirling snowflakes

Touched by a breath of mid-summer

Jar of fireflies, fruit of hours of labor--

Running and leaping, crawling on deep, 

Moist grass that smells of spring even in 

July--caught with joy, now dancing 

And doomed on a nightstand, until

A gentle hand strokes a downy cheek 

And then carries them outside, to 

The dewy night, and freedom

Shower of sparks glimpsed through a glade

Of evergreens and turning vines, late on 

An autumn afternoon--startling bursts of fire 

Dripping onto the paper-dry forest carpet--

Tricksters who suddenly reveal themselves as

Golden aspen leaves, kindled by a spotlight of

Sun breaking through the velvet canopy

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Born Again (Poem 199)

someday, i will sing like an angel
someday, i will paint with oils
someday, i will walk among the skyscrapers
someday, i will go home
someday, i will have a daughter
someday, i will tailor a suit
someday, i will travel alone to sri lanka
someday, i will eat snails
someday, i will read melville
someday, i will shear sheep
someday, i will pilot a bi-plane
someday, i will hike china's great wall
someday, i will feel young again
someday, i will relish the fall
someday, when i am born into a new life
someday, or never at all

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Crochet Senryu (198)

Single strand of wool

Bamboo hook, two busy hands

Bouquet of comfort

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Cats Asunder (197)

Two cats asunder

Eyes locked in mute intercourse

Plotting my demise

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

What She Saw (Poem 196)

Watching him watching 

Quincy reruns, Hershey's Kisses

By his elbow, she sees--not the

Striated gray combed across 

His dented skull, not the belly 

Sliding steadily toward his lap,

Nor the way his mouth now turned

Down at the corners--but 

The shiny wave of raven hair

That touched his brow,

The firm shoulder her hand

Rested on when dancing,

And the sparkle in the

Blue, blue eyes of this man

Who, for thirty-seven years,

Walked through the door 

With a wink and a smile, 

At 6 p.m. sharp, 

like clockwork.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Mt Rainier (Poem 195)

And, when you look south, 

past the maples' fading 

flames, whose colors burst 

and smolder with the sun, 

to where encroaching night, 

a violet mist, veils the blue 

that sparkled through the day, 

a ghostly presence moves 

behind the fog--broad, white 

shoulders draped with strands 

of gray. Mere apparition, 

better known by day, 

when, looming god-like, 

to the sky's great depths, 

it urges clouds to part,

and later, holding back

the crystal night--vast 

power, alchemically transformed

by twilight's indigo--

the ancient ruler of this

wild domain rests not,

nor threatens yet the souls

swimming through dreams  

on its effluvial plane.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Mt Rainier (photo: NPS)

The Hive: A parable in progress (#194)

The queen bee 

could not see 

her workers 

from the center 

of the nest.

Even so she 

felt entitled 

to demand more 

than their best.

"You get more 

than you deserve," 

she said, "for 

your menial work.

Besides, I am 

your chosen queen, 

this throne's my 

rightful place."

The tired, hungry 

workers sent a 

spokesbee in to 

plead their case:

"How can you 

know us, Majesty, 

from here when 

we're out there,

tending pupae, 

cleaning cells, 

collecting pollen, too?

We want a

hint of fairness, 

and the same 

care you'd 

give yourself. 

Or, perhaps, 

you'd rather we

relocate you to 

someplace else?"

Before he left, 

the bee advised

his queen to

change her views.

"For you may

think that we 

are less," he 

said, "but we 

outnumber you."

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Photo: Muhammad Mahdi Karim

Love, Like Steel (Poem 193)

Gentle is the hand

That, like a snowflake, rests

Upon the child's brow

Soft and fleeting touch

Belies the lifelong power

Love, like steel, endures

(c) 2013 by Hannah Six

Lunch-mate (Poem 193)

He arrived late for lunch,

but spotted me easily, there

with my nut-brown bagel 

and cream cheese, glowing

bars of canteloupe stacked

on a plate, glistening in the sun.

Beads of sweat on my glass,

bright beads of eyes studying

me from where he perched, 

head cocked slightly,

across the table, waiting

for me to offer a bite.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

October Pear (Poem 191)

Better than I ever thought it could be:

fat and bottom-heavy, acid green

tinged with unexpected flush of roses,

freckles, indentations darkening--

Perched and growing juicy on the sill,

until I pluck it off and slice it open,

juice running like honey down my knife...

Delaying that first taste for just a moment,

anticipating that burst of delight

when I become last summer with one bite.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Clash (Poem 190)

pale strands of grass smoothed 

flat by thunder    birds gone 

silent    air taut 

with tension    rent flesh--

gorgeous bloody gashes 

hanging skin--apocalyptic 

cries and crashing skulls    

eyes rolling bodies rolling 

running watching    stunned

statues     conquered and

conqueror    the conquest,

at last, the prize

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

(Photo: Yathin S Krishnappa, 2010)

Magic (Poem 189)

The breath is slow;

It comes and goes--

The mind is so willing,

The body so weak.

So I stroke his fur,

And my cat, he purrs--

That sweet, soothing sound

Working magic on me.

(c) 2013 by Hannah Six

.

Daydreamer (Poem 187)

Underneath the glamour,

When you gaze out the window,

Cigarette in hand,

Do you see the ordinary?

Or do you see your world

In spiraling candy colors--

A lollipop that dazzles the eye

Before it upsets the stomach?

Glass in hand, your lips

Slightly downturned, you

Revise and revive the stories. 

I shift my feet, and you turn

To me with a smile.

(c) 2013, Hannah Six

 

Prairie Song (Poem 188)

Slowly, slowly grew the pumpkin

Bitter blew the wind

Upon the air the tang of woodsmoke

On the trees the leaves had thinned

Bitter blew the wind

Longer, now, until the morning

Shorter, now, the days

The evenings passed with books and knitting

Warm before the crackling blaze

Shorter, now, the days

Piled high with quilts and blankets

Tucked into our beds

A lullaby from father's fiddle

Mother's kiss upon our heads

Tucked into our beds

Safe and snug within our cabin

Tucked into our beds

In gratitude to Laura Ingalls Wilder for a lifetime of happy reading, nostalgic dreaming, and comforting (if vicarious) memories.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Into a Garden (Poem 186)

reaching, folding into the pink, 

the coral, the everlasting violet 

and yellow turning smiles at the sky, 

hand stemming, leafing, vining 

around interlopers and slipshod silver 

birch bark, adjusting, fluffing, sculpting life 

into a form her mind takes, then

pushes up, through the heavy loam 

that settles on her bones sometimes 

with a damp, mossy ache and 

paints her brow with stripes of clay, 

which mingle with her salt and soothe

the tenderness her flowers awake 

in her faint and furrowed heart

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

A Poem (185) & A Perspective

Enough is enough. In my opinion, the current debate needs an injection of reality. So here goes:

I have Myalgic Encephalopathy (ME) and am often too sick to walk more than a block or two, let alone to work at all. 

I NEED 'OBAMACARE'!!!

Many people have made negative comments to me about the Affordable Healthcare Act--ironically, mostly people who can afford food, shelter, transportation AND healthcare. 

I cannot. Nor can many people I know. In the kind and caring USA, however, most people are afraid to be open about that. (Perhaps rightly so.) 

Well, I say to hell with it. Without my medicine and healthcare, my life would be unbearable, and I would be incapacitated!!! 

So when/if you "debate" Obamacare, you can keep me in mind, and remember you are talking about whether or not REAL PEOPLE deserve to live or die. 

Now, at least for people who know me, the issue has a face.

---------------

Today's poem:

Untitled

Sometimes the exquisite sorrow 

In this world wrenches my heart 

and leaves me gasping. 

The cruelty: People against people, 

Against The Different, against all creatures;

Governments toward citizens and non-citizens; 

Unthinking nature, neither for nor against, 

But often damaging, all the same.

The blame, as senseless as the acts,

The meaning a fine, clear filament 

Invisible to the naked eye.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Heart (Poem 184)

Beyond iron clouds

Turquoise sky sweetened by sun

Brusque man's heart of gold

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

The Decider (Poem 183)

"I don't like your game, 

and I don't want to 

play with you," said 

the brown-eyed boy 

as he scrambled to his feet 

and brushed the musty sand 

from his seat. "So you 

can't play anything either!" 

As he walked away, 

the peaches-and-cream girl 

and her freckled older brother 

sat still, stunned into inaction.

Then they, too, stood up 

and went home, 

leaving the sandbox 

empty. 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Excess (Poem 182)

Aware of the excess 

     and the perfect 

         proportion of the hours 

beneath the surface    leaving bare

bones of the day    jewel hued 

sleep and lowing fog 

of laughter    cries of 

ducklings and children    the wind

roaming like a prophet 

           through the trees    

it was these for which she 

was looking when 

   the excess fell away

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six