Simmering (Day 1076)

serendipitous in Starbucks 

and my story tastes sweet 

humming with life   lingering

over the almost-new

extra hot   and sweet 

as that simmering feeling 

of waiting   alone   for the one 

you love on a golden day 

in June   knowing he is 

only moments away

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

A girl who turned your head (Day 1075)

where a row of oak trees

intertwined above a broken

sidewalk you saw a girl 

who turned your head 

in the background a chorus

of cares—that gallery 

of wavy mirrors—laughed 

and danced 

and you strayed 

into a field of wildflowers 

unexpected as poetry 

on that transparent morning 

you skipped stones 

and taunted peacocks until 

evening quivered and 

she told you how joy skips 

everyone now and then 

in the end a westerly wind 

lured you like a lullabye

into a sleep pale as petals

and you dreamed of a girl

who turned your head

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Find a penny (Day 1074)

Despite the rain

and the clouds

he held out hope 

and found what 

he yearned for 

the third time around 

shining with luck 

and promise like

a new penny

on the sidewalk

at his feet

and he wondered 

if maybe it had been 

there all along

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: PxHere

21 Ways to Turn Down the Volume (Day 1073)

1. Avoid drinking your calories.
2. Don’t wait for inspiration.
3. Turn it off, and then on again.
4. Be anything but busy.
5. What if we just tried to use less?
6. A shoe is only as good as the sole in it.
7. Choose subtitles over dubbing.
8. It’s OK to feel hungry sometimes.
9. Say something
10. Know the moon is not a transistor.
11. Nor is it made of cheese.
12. Get off your ass now and then.
13. Lip balm is always a good idea.
14. In truth, there is no grand conspiracy.
15. Avoid doing whatever needs to stay in Vegas.
16. Yes.
17. 
    
18. 
    
19. 
    
20. I am so very tired, of all of this.
21. 
    

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Cricket (Day 1072)

A cricket perched 

         on a pet store shelf,

as if it were a tree. 

I picked him up, 

             took him outside, 

and there I set him free. 

Oh, little cricket, 

                 winter’s here—

I fear you won’t live long. 

But, while you do, 

                 I hope you will

remember me in song.

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Sukenobu, A woman holding a cricket cage (1739),

via Wikimedia Commons (CC BY 4.0)

A poem slipped in (Day 1071)

I left the door open, and a poem 

slipped in. Starved for attention, thin 

as paper, crumpled and rattling, it hid 

in a corner of my room and waited, 

patiently, for me to slow down, or 

perhaps I would drift into a reverie, 

where it might find me, and lead me 

down a winding path. Soon enough, 

I paused near a window, to watch 

the afternoon sunlight falling, just so, 

through a curtain of leaves, and the poem 

pounced. Is it any wonder, that I found 

myself, pen in hand, scribbling furiously 

to capture the fleeting creature before 

it flew away? Is it any wonder that, ever 

since, I find myself lingering 

near a certain window, 

at a certain time of day? 

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Konstantin Somov, Open door on a garden (1934),

oil on canvas, via Wikimedia Commons

As it would ever be (Day 1070)

And he went for a walk alone in the park, strolling past families and couples, older folk holding hands or, with a nod of recognition, on their own. Through stands of trees and around half-frozen ponds he meandered, a pleasant greeting ready, hands clasped behind his back.

In the semi-dark recesses of his memories, candles scented the air and Handel hallelujahed on the stereo. The kitchen emitted comforting clanging and chopping sounds, while, from upstairs, children’s voices rose, arguing over the rules of some new game or another. The structure was sound, the icing fresh as it would ever be. 

Chilled now, and hungry, he drove to his favorite Chinese restaurant, where the waitress with a kind smile would wait patiently as he perused the menu. They both knew he would order the usual, but she never hurried him. Fingers wrapped around a tea cup for warmth, he settled back to wait for his food. 

In the booth behind him, a woman complained about the lack of American food on the menu. What about the chicken strips? Are they cooked American style? Their faces were long as the day, which ended in a lingering rose-gold sunset before fading into a pearl gray mist. 

Although his gingerbread house had crumbled two years earlier, he was not unhappy, exactly. Honestly, what was there to do but go on? And so, at nine o’clock, he banked the fire and turned off the stereo. Ciao, Messiah—until Easter, anyway. Then, cat at heel, book in hand, he climbed the stairs and went to bed.

© 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: PxHere

Holiday hustle (Day 1069)

Hustle rush shopping and wrapping

Twinkle flash no time for napping

Deck the halls in gold and green

Take a break to cook and clean

Gifts and garland candy canes

TV shows and football games

Laughing running yelling sleeping

Telling stories cuddling weeping

Sliding slipping snowball fights

A bulb’s out on the front porch lights

Uncork the wine make Tom & Jerrys

The ghosts in that book are too scary

Dinner brunch dinner again

Family neighbors strangers friends

This one won’t fit I’ll take it back

They had more sizes on the rack

Cookies and milk just one brief pause

Not those, mom they’re for Santa Claus

I can’t sleep is it morning yet

Defrost the turkey don’t forget

Next day half price back to the mall...

Happy holidays to one and all 

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Brimming with stars (Day 1068)

Hands outstretched   brimming 

with stars   he tossed them   

one by one

into the foaming waves

   just to watch them melt

   just for fun   

Overhead   the moon   smug and dry   

smiled 

   to see her competitors 

   treated with such disrespect   

leaving her 

to rule the night alone

But the sea   wanting no part

in this frivolous show   

   hurled herself against the rocks   

   until her salt-spray plumes

   scattered those slowly-sinking lights 

like glitter

across the hesitant sky

© 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixnio

Snow Angel (Day 1067)

shy snow angel   peaceful 

and pale   sleeping child

    sinking  drifting 

        into bright depths

             unknowable   pierced 

by streaks of brilliance 

    sweet as wine

        tap  tap  tap

in each a cloud   complete

taut surface   

    beckoning

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Unfinished (Day 1066)

Between the coral hour 

and the blue 

you are only as happy 

as the song you sing

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Night Garden (Day 1065)

the warm garden faded to dark

away from the newly-mown center

two children sprawled   possibly 

in silence   two feet or less 

from where his gold was buried

recklessly they tempted the dawn 

blowing in like four geese 

on a northern wind   swift 

and pitiless as a forest fire 

or a flashing shoal of silver fish

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Weary (Day 1064)

They closed their eyes and ears, 

turned up the volume of their lives,

drowning out the chorus 

that foreshadowed his demise. 

A shame, that.

Two years ago, this would have been 

their heart’s desire. Like children 

on Christmas Eve, they yearned 

for the gift of his absence, 

and might have savored every word

But the dénouement was too long 

in coming, and they have grown 

weary of the show.

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Who (Day 1063)

In the sunpierced barn

in the darkened corner 

deep with dust

a door ajar   the stairs

broken  tack scattered

on hay-strewn ground

I am the breath 

you held   

the pinpoint of light  

who woke you from 

your soundest sleep

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Cento 15 (Day 1062)

like pen on paper 

there were no books 

on the shelves

daybreak came  like winter

to rescue us

to quell the flames  leaving 

only a persistent scent 

of absence 

lingering on the air

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Night Sky Tanka (Day 1061)

Snowlit winter night.

Fine stars slide by, unchanging.

Silence greets each step.

An orchestra once played here—

Or was that merely a dream?

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

If you go now (Day 1060)

At the edge of the precipice,

Copper leaves in her windblown hair,

Suitcase packed, folded map in hand,

Goodbye trembling on her lips.

If you go now

Will you take me, too?

If I can’t find it,

Will you show me how?

I don’t know yet, 

but I think you do,

So, please take me,

When you go.

Engine idling in the morning light,

Breathing steam, his cold feet bare.

All the words have been said before. 

Nobody’s wrong, goodbye’s not right.

If you go now

Will you take me, too?

If I can’t find it,

Will you show me how?

I don’t know yet, 

but I think you do,

So, please take me,

When you go.

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Nothing better (Day 1059)

Do they have nothing 

better to do than stand, 

sated and belching, 

twiddling hands 

in their pockets, coins 

in their hands, lounging 

in hushed chambers, 

while they wait for the last 

scraps of freedom 

to fall at their feet? 

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Maja Kostka (CC BY-SA 3.0)

via Wikimedia Commons

Cento 62 (Day 1058)

intent on inksplash 

waves and your 

dismay each stroke

resembles the unfallen 

rain or blooms 

broken yet diffused

lost hopes replaced 

and dreams sweet 

and bitter afternoon 

neither listening for 

hours passing from 

her to him

feel it brewing 

your turn may 

be up next

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

In yellow roses (Day 1057)

In yellow roses

In a well-worn suitcase

In all the many words

In the way

   she turned her face 

     toward

In the middle 

    of saying nothing

In too deep

In the neverending 

    springtime of hello

In slow close dancing

In hands still held

In long years

    which seemed to fly

In the wake

    of that first glance

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Théo van Rysselberghe, Yellow roses, 

persimmons, and mimosas (1911), oil on canvas,

via Wikimedia

Haiku for Day 1056

Preoccupied moon

Scrawls her stories across the sky.

The stars listen, rapt.

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Inevitable (Day 1055)

It was your blues   in the beginning

that made me love you   

and your resilience   the way you seemed 

to bounce back from tugging tensions

never perfect   always warm   colorful

looking at you  I smiled   knowing you 

would be there whenever blizzards blew

or heavy clouds gathered on our horizons

a cushion against life’s cold surfaces

I relied on   looked for   used you

long and through-the-wringer hard   

never noticing how the years wore on you

how frail you became   growing thin   almost 

ephemeral   in hidden places   until

one day you gave way   unraveling

and how can I fill your empty space   can I 

reclaim the part of me that made you

the part of you that was me   transforming

what was into something that will be

wondering   all the while   what might have

happened  had I looked at you   and been

able to see the unexpected   inevitable   end 

All content (c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Like snowflakes (Day 1054)

Night drifts closer 

still   but not the one 

you hoped for

waiting all along 

for you to meet it 

face to face

these thorns of graceless 

words catch at 

your fingertips  your tongue

the ones that fell 

like snowflakes have 

all melted away  remember 

where the lilacs grew

you left him there  maybe 

their drowsy scent

is what you miss

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Necessary to the season (Day 1053)

Sunday morning  winter announced 

its arrival in a rush of people and golden 

sunbeams recently fallen and fresh 

all around   music and laughter condensed 

on windows sparkling with windex and 

those strings of colored lights deemed

necessary to the season  temperatures 

dropped out loud as we strolled  listening 

to a chorus of tiny bells  or perhaps

they were birds  perched like symbols

in the barest high branch tops  fearlessly

gracious  we accepted our portion

plunging ever deeper into the crowd

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: State Archives of North Carolina

Second Chances (Day 1052)

In lieu of flowers 

please send second chances

to help us allay 

our deepest regrets

send us more time 

to read and rewind hours 

we wasted on guilt and 

resisting the truth in our lives

please send us a way 

to unsay our unkind words 

and to treasure the everyday 

more than special somedays 

that seldom arrived 

or failed to last if they did

please send love that remembers 

and pain that forgets  

let our sweet days seem long

and the long longer yet 

let us write the unwritten

dance dances undanced 

please  no flowers  instead 

send second chances

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: PxFuel

Clear as the day (Day 1051)

the irony was that her life had seldom 

felt new and fresh  however often 

the world around her crumbled and 

was rebuilt  a static ennui worsened by 

the recent cessation of all her bodily 

complaints  she lingered  eyes fixed 

somewhere above her prayer-book  

in which dwelled a secret that left her 

smiling  satisfied as a cat cleaning 

droplets of cream from his whiskers  

a secret she never shared  the cramped 

letters fading now  though clear in her 

mind as the day  it proved she had 

been who she knew herself to be  made 

to show  to attract  to deliver  and for 

a slim moment  while her famous lashes 

drooped  the present became electric 

as the glow in her eyes until  hungry 

and aware of the damp chill creeping 

through her soles  she allowed the book 

to fall closed and stood to leave 

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: MaxPixel