Peacock (Day 102)

Peacock

Blue flame

Bedecking summer gardens

Outblooming each blowsy rose

Shamelessly

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Mystical Creatures (Day 101)

 
there is much to be said 

for awaiting in our own 

death a return to the hidden 

past  

for how the fine dust 

of remembrance 

coats the innumerable images

of our decades   

preventing us from making out 

the fine brushwork and exquisite 

filigree embellishing the souls 

of the departed 

and those we hold 

captive in our memories

imprisoning them in our dreams

in vain we attempt 

to recapture the unsuspecting 

reminiscence hidden 

beyond the realm  

the reach of intellect

tapestries spread on the forest 

floor cushioned by centuries 

of leaves   paper-thin layers 

of sun and shade 

buoying us as we wait   

quietly yearning 

for that mystical creature 

whose appearance   we hope   

will endow us 

with the objects of our desire

only chance determines

whether we discover 

and tame the beast before 

we ourselves must die

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Impervious (Day 100)

Photo: elbpresse

before before  

before I could turn 

it off   but I 

miss the morning 

all day now  and listen  

to the radio  

letting it 

cycle between 

news and music and 

holding each other 

in contempt 

feeling like we were 

living in an all-new 

better-than-before 

world   one where 

we had covens

of rich white men telling 

our bodies not to have 

ovaries or uteri

and we 

were oddly hopeful

hating  losing  fighting for 

a scant handful 

of freedoms

instead of shrinking 

from them 

and our country 

is impervious 

to our pain

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Coral Sands (Day 99)

 

Photo: Bermuda Ministry of Tourism & Transport

A gold boat returns.

Fluttering lovers cavort

On coral sands

Of powdered love

Happiness swells,

A turquoise ocean

Dancing with tiny

Yellow fish.

(c) Hannah Six

Doors Open (Day 98)

 

Photo by CEphoto, Uwe Aranas

The city warms 

with honeyed sun, 

lazy 

afternoons they like 

to call say, 

when doors 

and windows 

open, letting out 

winter 

hostages, grown 

restive and tense

Families 

picnic and take 

aqua plunges,

vacations

for all and none, 

outdoor eating

being less fun 

without food 

And their mother's 

blind fear 

—impenetrable—

jails her children 

while their friends 

run 

free 

two blocks from here

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Resilience (Day 97)

 

Photo: Neaco

Resilience is a robin's wing,

a footprint in the sand,

a charcoal sketch drawn loosely,

with a deft touch, 

lace-curtain-patterned sunlight 

on the floor, 

The front porch swing, 

a sky of blowsy clouds, 

the hand you reach for 

in a surging crowd, 

the weight of a tomato 

on its vine. 

Resilience is a garden plot, 

footsteps on a gravel path, 

live music at a party, 

heard from outside,

a cloud of luminescent butterflies.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Salt on Velvet (Day 96)

 

salt on velvet

a desperate spilling

of diamonds 

a melancholy

dance 

of crystal tippling 

this way and

that   

difference 

between 

interrupted crying

silent

shining 

joy depends 

on the shimmering 

unexpected appearance of 

wandering possibility

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Belle Dame (Day 95)

 

Delicate jasmine settles 

evening 

calls wearing his silk 

turban    a pale metal weight 

above her 

head

Taking measured steps 

she   among the phlox   keenly

accepts how it is not 

to diminish but 

to leave

to take

Pay or play Belle Dame

before the blazing 

tulip moat 

fluttering at your castle walls

melts your name 

like dog-day ice cream 

dripping 

through a cone

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image above created from original photo, of Sissinghurst Castle gardens, by Elisa Rolle

Earth Day, 2017 (Day 94)

Earth Day, 2017 (Day 94)

heavy tilting planet

senses the shift    coming 

    of concrete 

and day    thick and shadeless 

concave sidewalk 

    knows 

ramrod feet from breathing 

tree   kind    houses retract

bleached neighborhood    sky white 

    beneath 

the world    thus 

causing    one lean   imagined 

dimension of pretty 

    spinning flatness

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Note: Photo is an edited version of one taken by Philip Grimshaw

One Word (Day 93)

 

week of one 

     word

floods us    you 

can't argue with  
these    things 

     spiral out 

of control 

     and love

filters out expertise 

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Private Ballet (Day 92)

Streaming rivers of silk,

We performed a private ballet,

Seeing ourselves on stage, 

Inhabiting our own glory.

Hands clasped, toes turned out,

We bowed to wild applause,

Lingering in the dream,

Reluctant to give up the story.

(c) by Hannah Six




*Photo: Tatiana Riabouchinska, one of the leading ballerinas of the 1930's, darns a ballet slipper (via Wikimedia Commons)

Seven Days (Day 91)

 

More than seven days have passed— 

Turned to dandelion fluff and floated, 

Wafted on the April wind—since

This silence bloomed and filled my head. 

From dawn to dark, I waver in a dream, 

Safe from words and whispers, I imagine, 

Surely, in another week will fade.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Children's Stories (Day 90)

In children's stories,
golden peacocks splashed
where quaking aspens swayed.

Nap-time plundered
long summer afternoons,
but fluttering midday rustled,
tickling her knees.

She felt her heart bloom, once,
in autumn—under pillow fortresses
where vaults and cloisters hid
their secret oaths and treasure
chest of awakened stars.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Pear Tree (Day 89)

Brave pear tree blooms early

Tossing white petals to the wind

Embracing emptiness

(c) by Hannah Six

Yellowjackets (Day 88)

 

Image: Sankyaku

Yellowjacket

             circling, 

always three 

     times, 

before 

     moving on 

             to more 

    manageable prey:

a succulent beetle 

     or a crumb 

dropped by 

some long-ago hiker 

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Fifty Years (Day 87)

 

Fifty years
            of cruel 

sun
   rain
      like tears 

failed
to bleach

the obstinate stain
on that tousled shore

A beach
of coral sand
     beyond 

            the distant 

rumbling breakers 

reach for    pick up

cool pale shell

spirals
      into
secret 

     depths

hold it
to your ear 

Listen 

to the resonant
     song
          welling up
from midnight

     long centuries
abound

     with swelling
summer waves

     the future
is the sound of
children's laughter

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Brief Encounter, 1986 (Day 86)

The beginning
was a seed
of attraction
planted in possibility
watered, soon sprouted

we kissed, changed,
and washed
some serious deep feelings

his face surprised me—
that even, light
displeasure,
brutally honest

instinctively,
I disguised
hope with a mask
of bored disregard
and looked
toward
the television's electric
blue radiance


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Trio (Day 85)

Lofty metals clash.
Waltz of sparks spiral skyward.
Searing swarms duel.

Sweet old melody.
Sheets of lullabies beckon.
Sleep deep as a well.

An old welder talks.
Their last child grown, leaving home.
He takes his wife's hand.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Backpacking with Madame Bovary (Day 84)

I am stretched out on
the floor of an unzipped tent,
reading Madame Bovary,
while the nylon sides
breathe in
and out,
each inhalation
and exhalation ending with
a muffled pop,
like distant sails on a blue bay.
A hot afternoon stretches
ahead of and behind me,
baking dust and melting
pine resin a delicate incense
gently teasing the dry breeze.
I, however, am
a century away, in a country
where no one speaks
my mother tongue,
flirting and curtseying
and yearning and knowing
each character's heart
as well
as I know my own.
But, the pleasure
of my company is requested,
on a foray in search of wild
trout for dinner,
and I realize my hair is damp
against my neck,
so I roll over, stretch,
unfurl myself from the floor
with the effortlessness
of nineteen years,
and bid Flaubert adieu
until nightfall, when
my flashlight and I will answer
the siren call of Madame Bovary—
and the tragedy of her
unfulfilled heart—once more.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Finch (Day 83)

 

US Fish & Wildlife Service via WikiMedia

Today, as I was sipping

a dripping glass 

of iced green tea 

a sudden resonating 

song gave me a start.

As bright and crisp, 

as sparkling wine, fizzing
in a crystal flute,

a finch had found 

an old light housing

built his nest, and now

was boasting to any

bird who'd listen. 

Although the golden day 

is slipping into slow 

blue early evening, 

I'm certain
my finch is still singing,
if only in his heart.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Next Door (Day 82)

friendly voices next door
unravel
a perfect spring day  
moved by consent  
hushed
a deep violet story
emerged
as evidence that to speak
is a considered
constraint
we cannot allow
tomorrow
to affect you
in an intense fight
while three weeks
of late summer
languish in another city
the shoe is reversed
listen  
follow us home

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Snow in April: A book-spine poem (Day 81)

Snow in April, 

Within a Budding Grove,

Leaving a Trace,

Where Angels Fear to Tread

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Sunlight (Day 80)

 

Sunlight butterflies

Fluttering at my curtains

Sweetest just before twilight

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Red Delicious (Day 79)

Source: US Dept of Agriculture*

Red delicious, the color 

of fall, of the garnet ring 

I used to wear, dreaming 

myself into fathomless 

depths, where flashes 

of amber mingled with 

the sweetness 

of late summer 

cherries—the colors, 

I thought, of a midnight sky, 

viewed through a glass 

of Gamay. Or, perhaps, a Merlot...

No matter. 

I treasure the shawl, knit 

with my own grateful hands 

in a pattern of diamond lace. 

But the ring? One day 

a jeweler shattered the stone 

and replaced it with one 

dark as sin, and opaque 

as the heart of the long-ago man 

who presented it to me. 

So I pawned it. 

Now, by the fire, in my red 

woolen shawl, I consider 

the ring and the man

and I think:

Good riddance to all bad apples.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

*	Artist: Mary Daisy Arnold, ca. 1873-1955. In collection of USDA.

Floating (Day 78)

Photo: Jon Sullivan

She lay on her back, looking skyward

as the constellations passed overhead

and began their lazy descent.

Somnolent currents lifted and steered, 

rocking her so she drifted, 

embraced in a weightless waltz.

Oceans of ice slowly cooled her veins,

and numbness spread, transforming

confusion into a distant ache. 

And the tides sang in her blood, bestowing 

an ancient sense of belonging and knowing
the sea, which soothed her restless mind.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Every Single Parakeet (Day 77)

He flicked the tip of his cigarette 

into a crystal ashtray—a wry object, 

he thought—and continued: 

"People believe the most 

expensive sentences they read, 

wanting to know what's inside 

every single parakeet and canary,

what's happening in the past, 

in apricot nectar, and in Barbie's Dream 

Machine." The other guests nodded. 

One woman's steely bob swung 

forward and backward 

with each movement 

of her head, mesmerizing him. 

"Now, we turn to strategy instead 

of chopsticks," she said. "It's consistent,  

it's complicated, clean and direct, 

its everything to everyone." 

A moment of silence 

as twelve wineglasses were raised, 

as the scent of sophisticated 

pondering filled the room, like lilies 

on a hot day. A flushed, jovial man 

proposed a toast: "Do the right thing. 

Sign up—there's no reason not to!" 

The hostess sighed. Not for a moment 

had the gentle tapping 

of her fingernail on the table 

been interrupted.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

April Haiku (Day 76)

Morning rain dissolves
Sudden burst of sun, blue sky
Second dawn today



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Kestrel (Day 75)

Kestrel hovers, calling

Calling in a plaintive cry.

Rides the wind upward

Until, wings tucked, 

He's falling, spiraling 

Bullet-like across the sky.

Other birds sit up, take 

Notice, chickadees chatter

Mourning doves sigh. 

Not for them this

Unfettered acrobatic

Winged delight. They find

Their strength among

Their numbers, migrating

By the dark of night. 

Eyes all glittering, they

Stop chittering, envying

Kestrel's solo flight.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Splendid Truth (Day 74)

Remember those cool
whisperings,
when each trembling
breath
coaxed wonder
from our rippling
blood

And how we
then disappeared, under
cunning circumstances,
not inclined
to forget
the splendid truth

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

On Hand-Washing Dishes During a Flare-Up (Day 73)

 

Under the hot water my hands 

feel better   bubbles enfolding

fingers and the muscular
swell at the base
of my thumb   three plates
done   each progressively heavier

tugging my hands 

toward the wide enamel
sink   the soapwater
maelstrom will suck each joint
gently through 

the drain and into the dark 

which eventually   I am told   surges

into the Chesapeake   there a cast
of immature blue crabs 

and a shimmering, darting school
of silversides will kiss
tickle peck nibble 

until nothing 

remains but a puzzle 

of porcelain bones.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six