Suburban Ambiance (Day 955)

In response to a challenge to write a poem containing 

the words: rancher, destination, and ambiance

Never again will we take a chance 

on so-called suburban ambiance.

Detached ranch or bungalow,

It matters not—let’s just say no!

Town beats country by a country mile,

And warehouse lofts are more our style,

With exposed brick walls, circular stairs,

And modern fittings with historic flair.

We long for culture every night and day—

Museums, jazz, sidewalk cafés.

And when nature extends her sweet temptations,

B&Bs make lovely destinations.  

So, let’s ditch this drivable suburban sprawl

For a walkable city, where traffic crawls.

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: David Shankbone (CC BY-SA 3.0)

Initiation (Day 954)

Last of all   she painted 

her lips   scarlet or coral

thoughtlessly   carefully 

following each 

tender curve and dip   

Then she pressed a tissue 

between them   

embossing either side 

with half a kiss 

Entranced   eyes tracing 

the glossy progress   

he asked how she could 

be so precise while 

never   ever   looking 

in a mirror 

Gracing him with a weary 

hazel gaze   she said   

after a beat 

of silence   voice tinged 

with the merest 

hint of disdain

I know where my lips are

Yes   he thought  yes

and so do I

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: US Library of Congress

Love undisguised (Day 953)

Last time I saw you

did I help you move on

I touched your face

already gone

Unwise decision

the cards advised

but it was too late

love undisguised

Years peeled away

leaves from a tree

I couldn’t be there

you’re not with me

No invitation

you just arrived

but it was too late

love undisguised

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Rafeejewell  (CC BY-ND 2.0)

Nautilus (Day 952)

Sometimes 

I wonder what 

a chambered nautilus 

hears when 

she presses her ear 

to the opening 

of her shell

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Chris Martino (CC BY-NC 2.0)

Weeks & months (Day 951)

Against hard silence

the calendar 

falls  weeks & months

like broken wings

flapping helplessly

from wall to tiled floor 

where  in a folded heap

it rests a while  

waiting to find out 

what happens next

(c) 2019 by Hannah Six

Image: Hobvias Sudoneighm (CC BY 2.0)

After the fireworks (Day 950)

like fish swimming upstream 

amidst a torrent 

of colored lights   

they crossed the painted bridge 

sapphire eyes  (his)

remembered dark as 3 a.m.  

eloquent hips  (hers)  bearing 

the dizzying impression 

of his hands

where he had held her  

so she would not fall

and yet she did

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Chuck Homler (CC BY-SA 4.0)

Cloud Haiku (Day 949)

Pulvinate clouds laze  

Staining hillsides with twilight 

Perfect imperfection

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Nicholas A Tonelli (CC BY 2.0)

Soon Enough (Day 948)

People like to tell you

change is the only constant

but please  don’t wish me away

my warmth is radiant 

my beauty lush  voluptuous

and I offer only abundance 

and freedom  to meander  

to dream  to stride into 

the world with nothing but 

your own true self  

for you  my hands are always 

willing to create  

my arms to comfort  

my lips to sing lullabies so sweet

you will yearn for them 

before you even begin 

to forget the words  I know 

people are fond of saying  

variety is the spice of life  

but I am afraid 

you might hate what comes next

the one who takes my place 

may chill you to the bone  

so please  allow me the honor 

of a lingering death  and

don’t wish me away just yet

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Marie Egner, Late Summer on the Salzburger Moor

near Untersberg (by 1940), oil on canvas, via Wikimedia

Summer falls (Day 947)

Summer falls to the floor

verdant  puddling  a silk slip

trimmed with fragile flowers

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: MaxPixel

A door opens (Day 946)

A door opens, gently,

on darkness. At first, 

only the thinnest blade 

of light threads across 

patient floorboards. 

Broadening, the spotlight 

strikes a vase playing 

the leading role on an 

otherwise-empty mantle 

dusted with fragrant time. 

Suddenly, a deluge 

of warmth, a footstep, 

a homecoming (of sorts), 

rooms unfolding, 

one upon the other 

with mirror-like clarity—

a lifetime reemerging, 

hours, days, and years 

fading back into view.

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six 

Image: Jenna Post (CC BY SA 4.0)

August (Day 945)

stripped   hollow   redolent 

of 99 Barrels of Beer

first-day-of-school and 

summer’s-almost-here voices   

green vinyl cracked   coated 

with an uneven film 

of red dirt   and 

on the corrugated rubber floor   

under a seat five rows back   

a tiny square of yellowed paper 

conceals nervous letters   

scrawled in dissolving blue 

ink spelling out the beginning 

of the end of innocence 

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Pablo Garcia Saldaña/Wikimedia Commons

So Quiet (Day 944)

so quiet

you can hear 

a cat 

cross the carpet

a snowflake 

kiss the sidewalk 

a breath 

bloom and fade 

petals fluttering

in the breeze

a moment

last a lifetime

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Cento 53 (Day 943)

Peering in   poised to dive 

into streaming silver   the day 

well and truly tired 

somewhere   unsuspected   

broken language spins in and out 

of a murky dazzle   a labyrinth 

path of filthy rich opposing 

views entrenched as 

lasting truth and change

still midnight overflows blue 

columned corners   

where are the shadows 

that crept away   keeping 

their distance until restless 

water and sweat-tangled 

sheets   unfolding bit by bit   

revealed hints of 

tiny wonders soon to come

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: SiefkinDR (CC BY-SA 3.0)

He does (not) [Day 942]

he does (not)

want her 

to succeed

like a man                    

he does (not)

want her 

to do it

like a lady

like a virgin

like a whore

like his mother

told him

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Edgar Degas, Intérieur (1868-69), oil on canvas

Sea Glass (Day 941)

More than 24 hours

of solitude washed up 

on your shore

sea-glass petals glowing 

in sunlight 

faint as lemonade

In gathering stooped over 

nose to sand

a dun and dusty landscape 

filled your eyes 

while rose 

a day shatteringly clear

brilliant blue and fine

And to whom will you run  

when your treasures brown 

and wither

will you thrash 

those senseless waves 

and grind your teeth 

bemoaning 

the unfairness of uncertainty

Or attend the foam-rimmed 

strands speckled with hours 

once sharp enough 

to wound

jagged edges blurry 

now damp 

dreams filling your pockets 

as you go

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

image: PxHere

Barbed words (Day 940)

he sways to his own

rhythm

of barbed words 

serrated edges

clenched in

pursed wet lips 

 

blades growing

duller with

successive use  

until

one frightful day

they seem harmless 

as butter knives

hopeless

if we believe 

his razor

words do not

draw blood at all

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Unrelieved (Day 939)

Unrelieved darkness 

twists his malevolent heart 

into thorns 

and spikes

his mind a spiral staircase 

of rusted iron   descending 

toward the inevitable 

Above him   a field of stars

no longer 

dancing   

no longer  

reflected 

in the smooth veneer

of an elliptical pool

and all around him   time 

is wearing 

the surface thin   

its gentle breath stirring 

and lifting silken 

strands of otherwise  

weaving them 

with never may

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Longing (Day 938)

Longing settles like dew

Cool and green, lake without ripples

Stars flicker from its depths

Waiting in dark dappled shade

From far away, you call my name

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Joel Bedford (CC BY-ND 2.0)

Swirling World (Day 937)

tumbling under a wave   

cat’s tongue of coarse sand 

licks your back   were you 

planning on leaving?   maybe 

you wanted something else?

(we are out of cranberries)

somewhere the air is 

breathable   but   subsumed 

in a swirling world 

of gray grit and foam   

you are unable to imagine this   

sanguine   yet puzzled   

you wonder   if you decide to 

stay   how will they know?

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Simply Awash (Day 936)

remember 100 degrees    

no A/C    highway 5 

all the way 

to the dam    

flushed from a nap 

in the back of a jeep   

sweet and sticky 

as blackberry jam   

simply awash 

in a 17-year glow 

from dreaming of living

to living a dream

nothing mattered 

but freedom 
and the road 

we called home   

no one answered 

so we let it ring

no one answered 

so we kept on driving

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Don Graham (CC BY-SA 2.0)

Figment (Day 935)

She said you don’t belong 

here   this city 

is not yours   but you 

are not 

a ghost

a figment 

of her imagination

how do you argue with 

someone who cannot see 

you   

who are so tired 

of disappearing   

of fading 

into welcome back 

ground    into weedy sidewalk 

cracks & garden gates

she threw you down   

not waiting for an answer   

but only you 

decide 

if she can call you out 

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Photo: Art Anderson (CC BY-SA 3.0)