Pirate Samba (Poem 333)

Slippery, picky path

almost intoxicating

hard-driving pirate samba,

profane, fairly cloudy 

salacious material,

a bell-ringing distraction

diverting quintessential

ceremonial intersection 

of sugarcane and copper

cow bells

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

Spring magic (Poem 332)

Bluebells  woods

Green filtered light

Spring's sweet magic

Clear cold nights

Secret blossoms

Presage fruit

Full and round

And ripe

Welcome (Poem 331)

One simple morning, 

mountain folding back 

a golden rose blanket 

from its shoulders, 

first gaudy sunrise 

biting at the heels 

of winter's dark rain. 

One simple song 

on the radio, swaying 

in rhythm with northbound 

tires, taillights a swathe of 

crimson sequins draped 

over the rippling highway. 

One simple day, love 

and light a glimmering cloak 

whose only opening 

allows the future to seep in, 

unannounced, anticipated, welcome...

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

Foolish Turtle (Poem 330)

Foolish turtle,

   walking your solemn course

   to nowhere 

Peering skeptic,

   the process pleases 

   you best

Some swift, grinning tart

   drifting in your wake

   may try to pass, but 

You, puffed up and solemn,

   forgive the interlopers 

   in your quest 

   for a pickled beet and 

   a perfectly uneventful day

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

New (Poem 329)

Tumbling lines 

of curvaceous 

skyscrapers pushed

this way and that

by black patent 

leather reflecting 

the sky    bands of 

brass and grasses 

Norwegian pine and 

glass    blue steel 

sequins glinting 

in the sun    no corners 

no cornices no clay    

powder maize peach 

and mint    cool 

liquid Jordan almond 

candy poured 

sweet and creamy    

making every side 

the sunny side of the 

newly paved streets

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

Katja (Poem 328)

Billows of white

silk    swirling 

underfoot

clouds caressing 

ankles    hands

smoothing 

benevolent mist 

moving 

silently   assured

of admiration

and contentment

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

Search Wildly (Poem 327)

Search wildly 

    the spirited moon, 

consider the indigo sea.

You loved and were 

    clearly triumphant,

surprised by the pinch 

    of the years, 

fatigued by their 

    eccentric dance,

but brave to have 

    taken the chance.

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

Morning Sketch (Poem 326)

White paper, black ink,

Coffee in cherry-red mug,

Now, saved for always

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

Imperfection is beautiful :)

The Lie (Poem 325)

Shaken by the idea of taking advantage, 

yet not enough to resist telling him what he 

wanted to hear, she knew the lie would remain, 

lightly folded and slightly threadbare 

from wear and tear, in her lingerie drawer 

for years. 

Who would not agree that happiness is more important than an engagement ring under your pale yellow, satin-encased pillow? 

On Sunday afternoon, at her mother's 

dinner, someone was asking questions.

Immediately, she gathered her cashmere 

coat and private concerns, tied a silk 

scarf around her neck, and said her

goodbyes. 

An hour afterwards, in a bleak, 

fifth-floor hallway, a certain detective presents a hawk-nosed investigator 

with the list of times and dates, then 

sits, tipped back in his arthritic 

desk-chair, and worries. 

The payments on the incandescent 

diamond ring--which he turns over and over 

in his right hand--are only half-finished, and their train will be departing 

(whether she's married or not) 

at half-past-six.

(c) by Hannah Six

One Last Explanation (Poem 324)

His car is new, the grass long 

and bright. They spread a blanket 

under the pines near the chapel, 

unwrap Italian hoagies from 

crackling white butcher paper, and 

eat together, apart. She is ambivalent, 

and finds his manner ingratiating, embarrassingly repentant. 

He hands her a brown paper napkin,

laughs too easily at her half-joking remarks, makes it clear he fears 

she's had enough. And he is right. 

His apologies are a decade overdue. 

The valley spreads broadly beyond 

the little ridge, a film of ocher dust 

tinting the air. His flattery makes her brittle and jumpy. So, when he offers 

his hand to help her up, she 

pretends not to notice, and when 

he allows his lower lip to tremble, 

she stands up, brushes off her jeans, 

and feels for her keys. Following her 

to her car, he subjects her to 

one last explanation, their final 

passage, ridiculous, entangled.

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

Hesitant (Poem 323)

Umbrellas of green 

shelter hesitant pink buds 

tricked into blooming

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

Ovation (Poem 322)

Yet I glean 

tomorrow   tonight 

we'll lay in   

my dreamboat   

is not empty

for none will be 

mine   let's sup 

on orange anemone

and wanton red apple   

ovation I want you  

for my sake   I wrote 

in a poem end 

to end (more)   reach 

to the sky   promise 

peace

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

Photo: USAF Senior Airman Joshua Strang (Wikimedia Commons 2006 Photo of the Year)

Bone (Poem 321)

Although he buried it raw 

hours ago, Dog looks at 

me with pity--I've forgotten, 

and will surely demur. 

He sits in front of the oven,

where a rather large

piece of cow is 

slowly roasting to a 

heart-breaking tenderness. 

You buried it, remember?

Looking down, I encounter 

a pitying pair of 

dark, doleful eyes. 

Of course, he will relish 

my gasp when, after

waiting all winter for 

the bone to cure, 

he pulls what looks like

a human femur--marbled 

with brown and oozing 

marrow--from the mud. 

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

Marlene's World (Poem 320)

favored symbols, ancient, versatile--inspired by indigo-warm, 

weather-brushed conscience 

selection of boutique-sweet 

pacts--women giving hope 

under uncomfortable drawstring pasts 

thick with utopia 

short takes of observation 

experiencing varied thick-spirited 

elements, mixed with 

current alpaca-rich traditions 

of aromatic goats, and patronage

festive dream 

spirit of small beauty and organic 

changes in iconic

reclaimed-copper knitting 

feeling perfect

provides the utmost variety 

combining the texture of popped metals 

in gorgeous fusion

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

Confection (Poem 319)

Strings of dancing 

fairy lights 

trailing dreams 

and wishes

through the trees

brighten this night

with memories

deliver the secret 

of a smile

of sunny mornings

and the sweetness 

of watermelon 

on my tongue

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

(Photo: BriYYZ via Wikimedia Commons)

Shadow Soldier (Poem 318)

Shadow soldier at the fete, 

dancing, teasing, I laugh 

at myself, only in time 

to capture one last glimpse 

Arm around my shoulders, in 

the company of night-masked 

revelers, he walks me into 

the frozen aqua dawn

We step off the path to kiss 

a bit awkwardly--in a patch of

winter berries like droplets 

of blood on the snow--while 

the others go on without us 

Later, alone on the fourth floor, 

amid stacks of dusty volumes 

in German and French, I remember 

His hand in my back pocket 

and the empty city streets 

and the garnet-strewn ground 

and decide I can work with this

Oh, my God, I was so much 

braver when I was young.

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

Junk Mail* (Poem 317)

We have recently learned that 

discreet housewives can't say 

goodbye to weight-loss experts;

that hot Chinese girls never 

complete auto repairs or 

trick local Jewish singles;

and that the president waived 

the sexy visions of beautiful 

married women. 

But, what if technology could

restore youthful hair? 

You could already be longer, 

harder, stronger, more... You 

still have time to change 

your perfect panty, 

sell your timeshare, or browse 

profiles of love through faith. 

This 10-second holiday could prevent your heart attack.

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

*Once again, thank you, spammers, for providing such bountiful material and inspiration!

The Ashamed (Poem 316)

How do the feverish ashamed

--cheeks prickling, eyes 

glowing and glazed--hide the 

gritty heft of their skeleton keys? 

How do they silence the jangling 

in their pockets that reminds them 

of the rusty-hinged doors they 

closed, of the dark, still passages 

leading there?

How do they capture and 

quiet the trilling flock 

of musical nights and diner days? 

How shade the vivid fury 

of diamonds and daydreams? 

In what gilded cages do they 

display the aging hearts' desires 

and unborn loyalties that would, 

otherwise, fall into a jagged V 

and disappear 

into the southern night?

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

Tsunami (Poem 314)

Long before it 

arrives

freight-train rumble 

bearing down

prairie storm inking 

out the horizon

tidal wave of

gunmetal thunderheads 

steamrolling creases 

from hills that glow

eerily in the half-light

claw all you want 

at the cliff's face

they say

this tsunami will break

and you will 

be overwhelmed, 

crumpled and finally

swept out to sea

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

Pointillist (Poem 313)

Tuesday 

plastic food 

premiered park

bicycle bag fashion 

giant jazz butcher 

controlled trellis plane

prison beggars address

exam cactus calculators

aerial satin sparrow 

remote widow 

cream panther fur

(c) 2014 by Hannah Six

Luxe, Calme et Volupté ("Luxury, Calm and Pleasure") by Henri Matisse, 1904. Oil on canvas, 98 x 118.5 cm. Musée d'Orsay, Paris. 

Look Up (Poem 312)

Odious afternoon that 

precedes the ominous 

night, the gentle tug 

of the clear water lapping 

at your toes. Why not look 

up, scan the horizon? 

The living sand, wet 

beneath your feet, begins 

to suck at your ankles.

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

Attica Road (Poem 312)

High tomorrow 

we found plum 

magical you can fear 

her   you need air

then give her more 

cashmere and deal 

me in Friday

on Attica Road

Be still child of time   

morning will soon be 

the cat's ears are up

in the moon on his May

night time musical habit  

on Attica road

A bad heart can choke 

you   high on a totem

or color coordinated 

pool bar hotel

fearless magical naked

job left back standing

out in a bay 

on Attica Road

His empty tomorrow

a kiss a bow sing

to her   know for

a year or 

more   merry 

pair wrapped 

in a blanket 

on Attica Road 

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

Banshee (Poem 311)

In northern realms 

grim woman keens 

and cries   lamenting 

twilight souls through 

whose lips murmurings 

of last hopes 

and lost loves 

passed in a whispering 

sigh   how dreadful 

to round the muddy

pathway's bend

and find her 

kneeling over the run

--dark and cold as 

the North Sea--

draped in mist   hands

raw and flaming red

scrubbing blood 

from the clothes 

of your dead

even as they grow cold

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

Photo: Shaun Ferguson 

(via Wikimedia Commons)

Who? (Poem 310)

Who 

can I say 

goodbye to 

after 

the barrel 

bursts? When 

my mouth is empty 

of names, whose 

pain should I 

lament? 

When the dull ache 

of iron flattens 

the wind-creased 

February night, 

who 

can I cry for, whose 

shattered fragments 

should I gather in 

my thin nylon skirt, whose 

shards glue together 

in my vain efforts 

to reconstruct 

a hard-lost life? 

When galaxies weep, 

and the very stars, 

like shimmering shrapnel, 

rain down 

on peaceful dreams, 

on furtive love, 

on heated words 

that cannot be 

recalled, 

who

tell me

who

can I say 

goodbye to?

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

Azaz, Syria 

(Photo: Scott Bob, VoA News, via Wiki Commons)

Winter White (Poem 309)

Like piped icing, swirls

of snow edge all the eaves

in town, the trees, and each 

wrought iron fence. The swing 

sets sparkle now; the trails,

the slopes are fresh, the

very streets pristine; and

the sacred mountain, always

she wears winter

white, like swathes of sweet

angora brushed to a fizz 

of mist by gales, winds,

each breeze, belying the 

bone-deep freeze that sears 

within her hardened heart, 

where she wears winter

white, September, 

March, and May--no slave 

to fashion, she 

prefers the shade 

of innocence year-round. 

Meringue, whipped cream, 

the color of a prairie storm, 

a pristine pearl, a sun-soaked 

beach where warm, clear 

water kisses sand aglow 

under a brilliant moon--

so round, so full of midnight 

dreams, and she 

wears winter white.

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

Bonfire (Poem 308)

Broken spires and 

shards of flames 

crack open the door 

to dreaming worlds

All around, woods 

are stained with inky 

swathes, whisper 

     their prayers

as night unfurls

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

Hummingbird (Poem 307)

Floating in the sky, hovering 

in the water, blinded by 

veil upon veil of iridescent 

azure, cerulean, indigo;

Earth's steady breath tilts 

the elements, and I sink

into the rhythm, the soothing 

rise and sway, so that, 

when a thrumming current 

unzips the silence, my heart

dives deep and I rise,

ears prickling, expecting 

something dangerous, 

something swarming, or 

stinging--not this 

sun-struck gem buoyed by 

the strata of afternoon heat,

hurrying from honeysuckle 

to pine on a mission 

of utmost importance.

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

First Crocus (Poem 306)

Before the advancing army,

a single scout crouches

under the gaunt maple

and tests the air

surreptitiously, 

wary of dangers and

inclement weather, 

carrying the mystery of

the ages, heart silently 

opening to the possibility 

of grace.

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six