Saturday, August 31, 2019

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)

Friday, August 30, 2019

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

Thursday, August 29, 2019

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)

Wednesday, August 28, 2019

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)

Tuesday, August 27, 2019

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)


Monday, August 26, 2019

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)

Sunday, August 25, 2019

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)

Saturday, August 24, 2019

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


Friday, August 23, 2019

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

Thursday, August 22, 2019

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)

Wednesday, August 21, 2019

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

Tuesday, August 20, 2019

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

Monday, August 19, 2019

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)

Sunday, August 18, 2019

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

Saturday, August 17, 2019

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

Friday, August 16, 2019

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

Thursday, August 15, 2019

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

Wednesday, August 14, 2019

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)

Tuesday, August 13, 2019

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


Monday, August 12, 2019

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)

Sunday, August 11, 2019

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)