truth and justice demanded
voice again again starved
for a language of our own
we nevertheless offered all
we had frozen with fear
no means to measure this
sweet-bitter story these
languid shattered years
dissolving in despair in joy
the world we knew
a single thread of pale sand
rippling glistening end to end
on which we trying
to chart a new way home
imagine forgotten tapestries
and trace unwritten poems
© 2021 by Hannah Six
Even now bound and blinded
as we are now tired as we are
even now dark-winged demands
and duty too backlit against the sky
cry harshly for their share and now
I see you flushed as apricots
furtive as a fox crossing a paved road
in full autumn sun turning
at my call was that surprise
or dread each in their measure even
now silence begs reply though
you cannot how duty and demands
cleave and divide so grim your smile
for such a gentle child
others may long to fight to prove
to act but have no script save history
and we will not make war upon
those lonesome ghosts whose shadows
dim our woods rivers and fields
yet have we not been
these past four years (and more)
surviving just this enmity this dread
wings beating backlit against
a pure white sky we blink you vanish
once now and for all bound
and blinded in your own way alone
© 2021 by Hannah Six
we are not the elders of our past
nor the translucent children
of our tenuous future
eyeing the rock salt sky attending
to the ceaseless hum of duty
the pervasive chill of isolation
bearing our invitation arms
clutching questions more than
can be comfortably carried
to those ancestors so familiar
so alien whose savagery
is exceeded only by our own
whose surprise we cherish
whose flat gray disdain
we are incapable of imagining
© 2021 by Hannah Six
when you slipped
a feather a wish
from between the pages
with love hoping
for a long catch-up chat
sometime soon
17 years ago & longer
patient ordinary
your upturned face
delighting in the kindness
of falling snow the fragility
of a human heart
glowed a garden written
in smiles & only tears
could have dimmed this
powerful light & I
want to tell you how no one
ever has told me that
not since the first
the only time we met
© 2021 by Hannah Six
How many stories
you could have told
eight days after
they vanish because
you believe yourself
he left she awoke &
powerless to open
your doors & windows
began painting pears
(c) 2020 by Hannah Six
Image: Pixabay
the end result
being fruitless
days spent chasing
butterflies
through curtains
of dense gray fog
© 2021 by Hannah Six
Image: Pixabay
An ending is more
than a beginning
That was when we met
for the second time
turned backward.
Both may spring
& you bequeathed to me
your bewilderment
from the middle
but endings seldom
before disappearing
into cascading decades.
end there.
You were my beginning.
© 2021 by Hannah Six
Image: Pixabay
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
And there is morning
that immeasurable tranquility
poised on the edge
of a moment just before
you open your eyes
And there is night
when you caressed by
pale blue strands of moonlight
lay willing to be
subsumed by slumber
And there this
waiting place where
the near nearness of you
is more seductive by far
than the mere pressure
of a lover’s touch
© 2020 by Hannah Six
