Thursday, December 31, 2020

A faint radiance (Day 1442)


Even as the year ends

doors continue to close


Another beloved is missing

— all the unshared memories 


aching like bruises — lost 

now to those who remain


Far above  a faint radiance:

crystal and self-congratulation


It is finally over  they say

Next time will be different


And we step carefully around

the empty yearning spaces 


This silent New Year’s Eve 

we have created


a moonlit snowfield 

barren and remarkable



© 2020 by Hannah Six


Image: Pixabay

Wednesday, December 30, 2020

A brief examination of the turtle (Day 1441)


Punishing misfortune,

he champions the affluent

and large corporations.


Petrified by lack and loss, 

he withholds and dismisses.


Aghast at his vacuity,

he brandishes heartlessness.


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six


Tuesday, December 29, 2020

Some days are like this (Day 1440)



Heads bent together, industriously

glueing blossoms back together 

they rebuild the arrangement 

petal by petal,

communing gently, lips parted

just enough to shape whispered

plans and promises. 

And the house-cat rises like a moon,

offering mystical counsel, though, 

to his dismay, it is seldom heeded.

And, in her fireside bed, the dog grins 

because, despite the feline element, 

her pack is together once again.



© 2020 by Hannah Six


Image: Pixabay


Monday, December 28, 2020

Cold Moon (Day 1439)


The Cold Moon ascends

shouldering night’s canopy

aloof, nurturing




(c) 2020 by Hannah Six


Image: Pixabay

Sunday, December 27, 2020

They left (Day 1438)



Astounded by a tsunami of disdain  who can look 

away  who can comprehend the fact 

that they left   they left to celebrate 

    in luxury  while millions of souls falter 

to tee off in the sun while children go without 

    breakfast  lunch  dinner  

to sip champagne while people prepare to lose 

    their homes  cars  freedom  lives

to consider  discuss  and argue the finer points

    while we try to carry on   to soften our anger 

    despite trauma so carelessly inflicted

do you ever wonder 

    how many endings a winter can hold  

and how many more   and how many more again

before spring  overwhelmed  struggles to arrive


© 2020 by Hannah Six



Image: Pixabay

Saturday, December 26, 2020

It’s been said... (Day 1437)


the well-tended candle 

on a windowsill

in a blinding storm


the little white ball

that rims the cup

and refuses to drop in


the strong hand

reaching  grasping yours

pulling you to safety


the upstairs neighbor

who runs 14 miles a day

indoors


the woodpecker

braving bitter cold

showing off his red touque


the painted billboard

on an old brick building

barely legible


the stamped postcard

discovered  

in a yellowing used book


the hours spent

in company with those

who are no longer




© 2020 by Hannah Six



Image: Pixabay

Friday, December 25, 2020

Last glimpse (Day 1436)


last glimpse  lights

reflect   tinny  untuned   

tomorrow we find our way 

back   abundant   again   

flame ribbons   and overhead   

branches arabesque   

dream   it will not be 

for nothing   tangled tinsel     

green   as paper   as grass

and finally   but now   rest


© 2020 by Hannah Six



Thursday, December 24, 2020

About Christmas (Day 1435)



Is there something to say 

about Christmas?

It eludes me   and has

ever since.


All the gifts we have 

not wrapped   gifts 

we will never give

a place remains beneath 

the tree we did not buy  

or trim   because.


And all the memories

we shared   together   apart   

are best left   carefully packed 

and stored   undisturbed  

until.  

if ever.



(c) 2020 by Hannah Six


Image: Pixabay


Wednesday, December 23, 2020

Tiny castles (Day 1434)


Disappear into your own 

brand of luxe Hell   celebrate 

as you do   without delight 


While countless tiny castles 

built on sand   are swept 

into your sea of no regret  


At sunrise when no trace 

is left behind   a distant song 

of dread and waiting fades 


to its familiar final chord

rending  dissonant   and still

you remark only on 

the smoothness of the shore 



(c) 2020 by Hannah Six



Image: Pixabay

Tuesday, December 22, 2020

Rain-lover (Day 1433)

 


Reclining in a violet haze 

she awaits her rain lover   


Whose liquid fingers trace her 

deepest curves in the half-light  


Softening at his insistent touch 

she silently blesses him


Even as she is diminished   even 

as she melts into the warming sea



© 2020 by Hannah Six



Image: Pixabay

Monday, December 21, 2020

Stumbling, but still (Day 1432)



Late into the night   he walked

and could not stop   compelled

stumbling   but still he walked  

hallway   bedroom   unobserved

noticing   tobacco  wool  soap

kitchen   hints of bitter   walking 

his glass carelessly held   

his narrow smile   greeting changes 

he sensed   even the silent walls

like attenuated laughter   voices 

raised in disarray   long after 

the truth of it   of mind and home 

dawned   how can they not 

know   we can hear everything


© 2020 by Hannah Six

Sunday, December 20, 2020

She says (Day 1431)

She says a mountain rose beyond 

which she could climb in solitude

though she seldom did

she says she was 

astounded by a wave deep and blue 

as an August afternoon   she traversed 

a battlefield of upturned trees   

their roots   clutching tremendous 

earth-packed sockets   

tangled as lovers’ limbs   she says 

a narrow pathway runs along the cliffs

above an ocean   where one might sit 

for hours in rustling grasses   counting 

the plumes of whales coming up for air   

she says her orange tree is in bloom 

once more   hundreds 

of hopeful faces glowing beneath 

a full moon   undeterred by prospects 

of drought or marauding racoons


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six



Saturday, December 19, 2020

White-sky days (Day 1430)


One of those  white-sky

days  subtly altered  reined

in   longing to be out

the blank ground  marred

by footprints  and iridescent 

shadows trailing visitors

long gone  is summer

memory or dream  only 

time  drifting lazily  will tell


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Friday, December 18, 2020

Unbidden (Day 1429)


divine enemy

invisible beloved

unbidden guest


obsessive, breathtaking —

how closely fear mirrors love


© 2020 by Hannah Six

Thursday, December 17, 2020

Bit by bit (Day 1428)


the day fizzed 

orange and unripe 

blinding us 


an unsuspected wealth 

of murmuring paths 

and silver rivers 


bit by bit 

its corners unfolded 

revealing little wonders


in the manner

of a lie

hinting at truth


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Wednesday, December 16, 2020

We visited (Day 1427)


Vacant  stainless  we visited

every page erased  pure

surfaces without reflection

as if no one had ever been

home  there  we slept apart

he honored

the utile  the disposable

every white shade  separated

measuring the wide margins

around and within  like petals

while he speaks  like goodnight 

a familiar language  he is not 

indigenous to affection 


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Tuesday, December 15, 2020

Haiku for Day 1426



From indigo clouds

snow falls like minor angels

— ephemeral host


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Monday, December 14, 2020

Clearer water (Day 1425)


On the far shore  where clearer water fades 

to glass  gilded lovers lounge on a coral beach 

with fewer stones  lips pursed around thin straws  

sipping fanciful drinks that seem never to melt


How can you forget

What you never remembered?

A sigh. A promise. 



(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Sunday, December 13, 2020

One by one (Day 1424)


Lake-blue  his eyes sparkle in the sun

pale hair blown wild by the wind


One by one  shops and cafes close 

their customers  stranded in the cold


on an afternoon made for playing 

catch  He runs the length of the lawn


peering through darkened windows as if 

someone might be playing a terrible joke


deftly avoiding three lethal land mines

strewn about like so many plastic trucks 


and might open the door at any moment

Down the road  an elderly man cries 


and tags all the low-hanging branches  

buoyed by visions of olympic glory 


for his daughter  who had been afraid 

to go to a hospital for help  And a woman


Fading quickly to twilight  the day grows  

cold  His mother calls him inside where 


surrounded by dead and dying friends 

knows she should stay home  and yet


there will be hot chocolate  because 

it is winter  and there always is  



(c) 2020 by Hannah Six   


Saturday, December 12, 2020

Haiku for Day 1423



On grief’s crowded shoreline

undulations of numbness

wash footprints from the sand


© 2020 by Hannah Six

Friday, December 11, 2020

Haiku for Day 1422


moon-muted garden

flourishing imperceptibly

secret pleasures bloom


© 2020 by Hannah Six


Thursday, December 10, 2020

Yellow roses (Day 1421)


say hello  to the stars

when you look up 

one hour after dark


or to the furious wind 

urging you forward 

on a familiar dare


when you lay 

on those old tattered quilts 

count the yellow roses

for me   


how many nestle amid 

faded pink gingham 

and blue ticking stripes


and if you find yourself 

enfolded by morning   

allow yourself 

to be


© 2020 by Hannah Six

Wednesday, December 9, 2020

Afloat (Day 1420)


Neither novel nor new

days grown faded as 

sunbleached cotton on 

a backyard line

Some gray as February 

snow scraped from grim 

city sidewalks   

Just a little longer  we say    

Next year will be different  

knowing it may be 

much the same  And so

eyes scanning the horizon

we keep one another 

afloat


© 2020 by Hannah Six


Tuesday, December 8, 2020

A poem (Day 1419)


The pines   the cold

A lemon morning sky


We were   briefly 

a poem: you & I


No wild-wandering 

epic — a haiku


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Monday, December 7, 2020

For a dreamer (Day 1418)


do  your sleep-flushed cheeks 

rest on a blue silk sea   


when you rise   as you will

above time’s roughest tides 


do you long for fields of 

softly-pleated clouds   or perhaps 


the dancing stars distract you 

from the distance  


you have sailed   

how far you are from the shore


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Sunday, December 6, 2020

A few things they don’t tell you (Day 1417)



You may find comfort in your things, 

    but they will not comfort you. 

The dictionary is merely an open door.

Sadness recognizes itself, and 

    in so doing, is diminished.

Your car, in a crowded parking lot, 

    is a nautilus shell. 

Those you miss most may not

    have been your own.

Some secrets can only be whispered

    at three o’clock in the morning.

Music is a wildfire of generosity, 

    each song a candle’s flame. 

Grief is not a medal to be displayed; 

    neither is joy. 

Hello marks a beginning, but

    goodbye is a journey without end. 


© 2020 by Hannah Six


Saturday, December 5, 2020

Of silence and beneath (Day 1416)

Today   I am tired

of my words

tired

of silence and beneath

of sky and bird

forest and leaves

golden  twilight   you

whisper  tired

of unknowing   rippling

awash   in pale 

adjectives and nouns 

tired   and I am curious   

wasn’t an ending expected   

sometime before 

the exhausted words

fell away



(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Friday, December 4, 2020

276 Thousand (Day 1415)


Utter disregard.

Sporadic, ill-chosen words.

Exorbitant silence.


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Thursday, December 3, 2020

Never will you (Day 1414)



Never will you be

disincluded   elided 

an awkward silence 

in a conversation 

overheard in a library 

or a crowded cafe


Never will you be

an empty page in 

a quiet little memoir

much lauded but

seldom read  a song 

no one requests  or 

a box of photgraphs

left by the roadside

because you will 


Never be a source of 

concern or more than 

a little regret  & if I do 

forget you  it will be 

because my mind has 

betrayed me in that 

way you had of leaving 

me  with everything  

except air to breathe 

& my happiest years



© 2020 by Hannah Six

Wednesday, December 2, 2020

Haiku for Day 1413


Once swept by sheer currents

this stone bridge waits   anchored in ice

each arch a rising sun


 (c) 2020 by Hannah Six



Tuesday, December 1, 2020

Vague promise (Day 1412)


These moments 

before midnight  

transformation

a vague promise

tucked away in

a jewelry chest  

and  now  they 

say no  now  

they disagree  how 

will we ever recall  

this shallow eve 

of liberation  how 

will we explain our 

unforgiven debts 

 

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Monday, November 30, 2020

Then (Day 1411)


From a promontory of tumbled rocks   

an infinite view of timeless trees  

vast white wings cutting a rising mist  

weather-softened hills reclining   one 

against the other — like rotund bathers 

in a Belle Epoque painting 


Alone in the wind  she climbed

out onto the rocks   and in his hand 

a camera   Be careful   he said   and

because they were together she only 

laughed as he snapped her picture 


She has it   still    the photo of a girl   

her back to the world   turning 

toward the camera  looking directly 

into the lens   behind which   obviously   


are the eyes of her lover   whose image 

she captured just moments later   against 

that fathomless green backdrop   he stands   

facing the edge and the endless beyond   


She gazes now   at the curve of his shoulder   

at the angle of his back   and tells herself 

Then   I should have known   then


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Sunday, November 29, 2020

Through the night (Day 1410)


you   with a shrug

unfamiliar until now

thin as kite tails

a wink   say never

straining to hear 

centuries of paradise   

ears trained on every hour   

wondering at the music 

of rain falling 

through the night

like stars    

like a scattering — 

half-remembered notes

from a nearly-forgotten song


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Saturday, November 28, 2020

Fleeting (Day 1409)


One white butterfly

flickering among bare branches


no, it is merely a half-leaf

catching the sun as it falls   


for a fleeting moment, though,

spring was more than a promise


and the green-gold world

seemed to have come alive again


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Friday, November 27, 2020

How close (Day 1408)



they are               so tired

every couple of weeks

of months            of do not 

he warmed up the Rambler

go   do not   see   do not 

drove us to the new drug store

and they are       afraid of 

bought us ice cream cones

change   understanding     

then let us wander the aisles

         how close           

we could be 

and imagine   for half an hour 

         how close 

we are      


© 2020 by Hannah Six

Thursday, November 26, 2020

(Far Less) Ominous, Pt. 6 (Day 1407)

 

Something, in the woods, will change.

The leaves will soon be rearranged.

Vultures will yield to chickadees — 

nature endures, in times like these.


© 2020 by Hannah Six

Wednesday, November 25, 2020

(Not) Ominous, Pt. 5 (Day 1406)


Sometimes, missing yesterday

steals the delight of now away.

Contentment, gratitude and peace

sustain hope in times like these.


© 2020 by Hannah Six


Tuesday, November 24, 2020

Ominous, Pt. 4 (Day 1405)


Somehow, he must understand

he’s out — we spoke, and our votes stand

— whether or not he disagrees.

Ominous in times like these. 


© 2020 by Hannah Six


Monday, November 23, 2020

Ominous, Pt. 3 (Day 1404)


Someone wore a Biden hat

A man in bright red knocked him flat.

Lifelong friends — now enemies.

Ominous in times like these.


© 2020 by Hannah Six


Sunday, November 22, 2020

Ominous, Pt. 2 (Day 1403)


Someplace magical has burned,

And Washington is unconcerned.

Sequoia snow floats on the breeze —

Ominous in times like these.


© 2020 by Hannah Six


Saturday, November 21, 2020

Ominous, Pt. 1 (Day 1402)

Something, in the woods, has died.

I knew it by the vultures’ cries,

Their dark shapes swooping 

through the trees.

Ominous, in times like these.


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Friday, November 20, 2020

What isn’t confusing (Day 1401)


Flock of robins singing 

into a November landscape 

as if it were spring


Translucent trail of sepia 

ink flowing through 

a gold-nibbed pen 


Once-green hills glowing violet 

in winter’s shifting light


Understanding 

they are no longer


Loose-limbed weight 

of a purring cat kneading 

a woolly blanket 


Single candle flame flickering 

through colored glass


Sounds of children playing

outdoors late 

into a summer evening


Knowing you always will


How a song leaves you

reeling with the sense

of a time and place long past


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six