A Rather Angry Rant (Day 189)

Fair warning: This poem is neither lovely nor politically correct. Because today, I am giving myself permission to speak bluntly. That's one of the benefits of—for now—not being held to the standard of objectivity.

A Rather Angry Rant

And we sit, 

and we watch

while they take,

and expect us

to give them 

so much 

for the sake

of a law 

that doesn’t

protect us all.

Build a wall?

Ban those souls

over there?

You don’t care.

It’s not freedom

or justice

it’s the same 

old prejudice, 

and we, 

the majority, care 

for democracy.

Your wall is 

just smoke,

and your ban 

is a joke, like 

your klannish

reactions to

progressive actions.

We’ll win 

in the end

and rather 

than bend, 

you’ll break, and 

we’ll sweep up 

the shards of 

your sorry ass,

and dump you in

the compost heap

with the rest 

of the trash 

you keep company 

with. Then we—

the brave 

and the free— 

will get back 

to the task 

of erasing 

your legacy 

of cruelty, 

besmirching 

your name for 

all history.

You’re rotten

to the bone,

and you will

end alone and

forgotten.

We’ll see to it

you steaming

clumps of...

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Brocken Inaglory

Underwater Refuge (Day 187)

Underwater refuge

Afternoon light filtered by shades

Slow fan ripples the air

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Afternoon Tea, Charles Bittinger, 1912

Spoons (Day 186)

Be careful how you spend them:

Too many in the morning will 

upend your day. Summer’s 

brilliant sunlight will come 

streaming through your 

windows, find you 

where you hide, 

and set your pale skin 

aglow, inside, there in your

bed. Your plans all scattered 

to the wind, because you needed 

rest instead. Once again, you gave 

them all away, far too early In the day.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six 

(The Spoon Theory is a way to describe myalgic encephalomyelitis [ME], fibromyalgia [FMS], multiple sclerosis [MS] and other ‘fatiguing’ [major understatement, there] autoimmune diseases. Read about it here.)

Image: FaceGuard via Pixabay

He Will Take It (Day 178)

You smile and then 

you sulk and then 

you are hungry and then

you resent me and then 

your mood swings 

wild and I 

try to manage this 

and worry 

and think

yes actually it is 

your fault 

i have too much 

right now

now here i am 

in fucking bed again

and what should 

i have been doing

taking care of myself?

and the shame 

i feel is pitch black dark

deep black so 

no one else will see it
then he will take it

then he will lay it out 

on me and

no one else will see it

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Two Lassa With Doctors, 

US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC)

Let Them Eat Cake (Day 177)

Subtly, they slice and serve

Each morsel on a china plate,

Never more than they 

               think we deserve.

So disdainful of us,

               yet they’re sealing our fate.

A few voted them in, 

               we all fund their pay—

In most cases a dire mistake.

Now they collect our money 

               and say:

“Our constituents? Let them eat cake!”

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: Cake at Madonna Inn (CA), by Daderot

Ormolu (Day 176)

More than half 

a century 

but it’s ok this way 

to the nostalgia 

show where all the leaves 

are still fresh and new  

money drips from every 

gold-plated faucet 

like maple syrup 

from a jug you hoped 

contained magical 

moonshine 

over the shimmering South

Atlantic where 

an iceberg the size of 

Brunei just broke 

free to dissolve 

slowly in privacy 

and enjoy a bit of sight-

seeing along the road 

to purgatory 

which I always imagined as 

a sort of dark-gray Hell 

but now realize 

is an emerald- and 

sapphire-colored world 

veiled in swathes 

of ice-vapor lace

our bride 

whom we abandoned 

at the altar 

of instant gratification

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: "Midnight in Moscow" by Emilio Labrador

I thought the photo's description was interesting: 

"Elegant lady in suggestive evening attire and without a partner, wanders among the well dressed attendies during the pre-gala cocktail reception held at Mar-A-Lago intended to raise funds for the newly built local clinic and hospital. These year's party theme was a Russian Czar 'Winter Palace'. Mar-A-Lago, Palm Beach, Fl, USA"

Know Why? (Day 175)

know why 

you cant hear 

me 

when i say i am 

   in pain? 

because

you 

   want me 

in your 

   goddamn business 

i have tumbled

   before 

into your red hot 

   resentment

and found myself 

bruised purple 

by the sharp edges

   of your 

discontent

well that

   believe me

is one fire escape

i will never

   fall down again

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: Derek Jensen (Tysto)

A Painful Two-fer (Day 171)

The Goose-Egg Blues

Oh, you're a long narrow staircase,

And I ain't playin' with you no more.

Yeah, you're a long steep staircase, 

And I ain't playin' with you no more,

'Specially since you threw me 

Headfirst into that door.

After the Fall

Bumps, bruises and a few contusions

Have robbed me of my grand illusions

About using crutches to go downstairs;

So, for now, I'll just embrace seclusion

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Notes:

- I have no idea what's gonng on with the spacing

- Photo of Iowa Capitol Law Library by Jason Mrachina

Four Hours Later (Day 168)

More than four hours later, we emerge, 

squinting into a July afternoon, absorbing 

its heat into blood, fingers, and toes. 

More than four hours and yet we know 

—is this even possible?—less than 

when we arrived. Did they hear what I said? 

No, the thick summary tells me. What I sensed, 

was true. 

While you read your book and simmered in 

a stew of frustration, boredom, helplessness; 

while the aides arranged their upcoming vacation 

days; while I stared at the walls in a haze 

of pain and killers of pain, a few people 

worked, very slowly, at 

not finding answers, not offering a single comfort, 

not understanding the meaning of “cannot stand 

or walk on it”, not making accurate notations.

When all was said and done, we walked away with 

an assurance that a bone I never suspected was 

broken or dislocated is, in fact, intact.

They told me I needed to lose weight—I am a woman, 

after all—then politely, but soundly, dismissed me. 

And that—believe me—was a skill 

at which they were very practiced, indeed.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: A Souvenir, John William Godward, 1920

Little Scissors (Day 158)

 

Little scissors

round-tipped, red 

handles made 

for tiny hands 

to hold

(snip)

make changes 

(snip)

replace 

the small, the weak

the old, the face 

of history,

(snip)

the plan 

     regarding pregnancy

the rules 

     of rape or incest

(snip, snip) 

tiny hands 

make cuts

regardless 

of income 

of need

of age

because

at any stage of life

(snip)

change is value  

(snip)

value is change 

and the unimaginable 

sin of caring: dangerous

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six