This Desert (Day 512)

We have seen this

desert where 

you would send

the innocent.

We have seen this

desert where

their lives will grow

hard and barren.

We have seen this

desert where 

you will nurture

their nightmares.

It is empty.

Nearly as empty

as your hearts. 

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Final Fitting (Day 409)

During the final fitting 

she let the gown slip 

to the floor, revealing 

somewhat more than 

the freckles on her 

broad swimmer’s back.

So typically bold of her, 

whispered the women 

behind the door—

seldom practical and 

not very controlled, 

always seems to be 

missing an essential 

part of the general idea.

Later, she told me she 

agreed, until I reminded 

her of the-dinner-party-

of-the-bare-shoulders,

where that late-summer 

evening cast a watery 

glow, the perfect backdrop 

for her peridot-green silk, 

the exact shade of greed, 

mossy and golden as 

drafty castle ruins on 

a rumpled Irish cliff.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Cleaning Party: A poem and a prompt for Day 398

After writing and posting nearly 400 poems in as many days, I’m not afraid to admit to the occasional lack of inspiration—or energy. When that happens, I fall back on an ever-evolving collection of favorite prompts/games/tools. 

Today, for instance, I took a trip to a random word generator, where I collected 28 words (24 the first time, plus an additional four later on). Sometimes I only use six or eight words; it just depends on my mood. I cut and paste the words into a document, and after shuffling, sorting, and adding a word here and there, inspiration (usually) strikes. 

I came up with the following poem this afternoon... I left it quite “raw” to illustrate the process. Ordinarily, I’d build a longer, or more polished, piece on this intriguing (to me) skeleton.

Cleaning Party

arms uncovered to 

their elbows

swanky visitors performed 

lively wingstrokes 

with their hands, revealing 

fabulous details, 

like vintage grates, that render 

the current, homely place 

almost likeable

outdoors, in the winter 

garden, fallacious discussion 

absorbed the bitter jobless, 

sprawled like 

recent memories amongst 

the faded begonias 

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Original image: The Preservation Station 

Those Unfrightened of the Dark (Day 394)

Blue buffeting those old wet bricks,

cars rumble over cobblestones 

too slippery for walking 

when the chestnuts shed their leaves. 

Night falls, burdens lighten for some, 

the daytime world is squirreled away, 

protected until sunrise. 

Those unfrightened of the dark may

wander, read, dance, play, fight, drink, 

and hope their eyes adjust, or risk 

the quicksand of nostalgia.

If the song’s not right, the perfume 

floating on a summer breath—jasmine, 

sweat, a baby-soft trainwreck of scent

—might lure the unfortunate into their 

own sweet mysteries, tangled as kudzu 

in the trees that line the roads back home.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Skeeze/Pixabay

Distress (Day 365)

I did not think 

we’d come

to this

I did not think 

we’d last 

so long

as a first kiss or 

a sparrow’s song

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image via Pexels

Searching (Day 358)

searching 

   for safe passage

on a map 

of the gray 

   and rainy space 

   in your heart

no clear route 

   between 

   here and there

   just trailing words

dotted where towns were 

with small 

   black 

      holes

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Black Sunday dust storm, April 14, 1935 (US NOAA Public Library). You can see some truly incredible photos here: http://www.crh.noaa.gov/oun/?n=blacksunday-maps

Responsibility (Day 355)

Did you say yes, 

that day? 

Or did you say no?

Did you guess? 

Or did you go under-

ground, where, 

in the dark, you sought 

an answer from among 

yesterday’s ill-begotten 

remembrances? 

Then again, perhaps

you simply looked 

the other way?

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: gladatony/Pixabay

Golden Fortune (Day 331)

Make your own golden fortune,

blessed fate, or good intentions.

Let them flood, spill, saturate this 

disgruntled world. Let them clothe, 

feed, cool and cure. Let them choose 

the food you eat, the clothes you wear, 

let them be the only air you breathe, 

the stars that wait patiently in place, 

while you sleep and dream about your 

golden fortune, blessed fate and good 

intentions. They are the lingering 

bouquet of your bittersweet perfume.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Inside Kremlin, via Wallpapers13

Roy G. Biv, Pt. 1: Red (Day 319)

“I’m gonna turn back the clock,” Roy said,

“Or those Liberals’ll paint us Commie red!

Let’s go back to the days of old

When men wore guns, and coal was gold!”

“I’ll build a wall from sea to sea!

They’ll pay the bill, for us it’s free.

It’ll keep us in, and keep them out!”

The crowd cheered so, he had to shout.

“Those nasty women should be banned.

They dare presume to take a stand?

While, we’re at it, Muslims, too—

‘Cause we know what they plan to do!”

Soon, chants arose, of: “Lock her up!”

Rebel flags flew from pick-up trucks.

At racist rallies, all seats were filled.

In Charlottesville, a girl was killed.

Unbelievably, voters believed his lies,

And democracy, in darkness, dies.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: “To begin with, I’ll paint the town red” 

A political cartoon by Grant E Hamilton, 1885

US Library of Congress via Wikimedia

Greed (Day 294)

Everything some people have 

is not enough.

Insatiable, merciless, their hunger 

prowls without respite.

Mouths agape, squawking for 

more, they devour

the world whole, spitting 

out the bones. 

Afterward, when it’s obvious

there’s nothing left, 

they suckle and gnaw 

at the emptiness, 

until it turns them 

inside-out.

(c) by Hannah Six

Photo: Per Harald Olsen

Note: I wrote today’s poem in response to the following prompt from poet Kelli Russell Agodon:
“Write a seven-line poem about one of the 7 Sins that only contains seven words in each of the lines.”

Solace of Trees (Day 275)

We long to open 

doors, and breathe 

a freshening breeze, 

to leave 

our gates unlocked, 

accept the solace

of trees whose 

constellation of greens 

shimmer overhead, 

to step into the middle, 

soft as sleep, 

and forage among 

the refuse of our day, 

to sigh, to laugh, 

to weep outright 

for what we had 

to leave along the road, 

with so little time to choose, 

voices raised in protest: 

Let us stay! And yet, 

both sides refuse, 

both sides refuse

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Toward Los Angeles, CA 1937, by Dorothea Lange 

via US Library of Congress

Jump high the stairs (Day 274)

jump high the bleached and splintered stairs

today was so many no’s and don’ts

and now the children are poison darts

and now she come here and just give me a hug

no really that’s what she said

the parents know that water’s good

and beating on the window 

set the crickets down with heavy sun

squeaks and whistles rattling every tree

i won’t back up ‘til the battle’s won 

and here I sit

come on let’s go out front ‘cause she’s only five 

or ten minutes away

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: KRiemer

Hope hitched a ride (Day 255)

Looking back  laughing

hope hitched a ride 

with you  when I 

flew away  meaning 

to stay  a missing piece 

of the puzzle  

we played alone  instead 

of side by side

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Charly_7777

Gingko (Day 249)

Xanthous gingko quilt

Fetid swathe of silken fans

Unfurled overnight

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: TeamGrayDuck

One Shakes (Day 243)

one shakes off 

the droplets of pewter sky and

the dog-damp air settling in cracks and

the iridescent fairy dust of adolescent longing

because now 

powder puff snowbanks have given way

to faded crevasses   shade-flooded and 

rimmed with quicksilver

how is one to live 

when golden lines of poison goose-step 

down boulevards of half-remembered dreams?

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Public Domain

Summer's Song (Day 225)

Dry, sharp grasses bend.

Summer whispers, familiar heaven waits.

Stolid ponds gaze skyward.

Tiny blue-bellies do pushups on warm rocks.

Banal toads sigh among singing frogs.

(c) by Hannah Six

I Am Cold Weather (Day 223)

Today I am cold weather   damp 

and wind-chimes   after that picturesque 

and uninteresting summer

     What can I say

     Outside cars read the street like Braille 

     running wet fingertips

     over the night she was buried 

and I climbed into my mother's lap 

and she held me 

and I cried

and then she dipped my fingers 

and toes in warm honey

and brought me upstairs 

and tucked me in to bed again

     Gone now   like summer 

and I am wearing thick woolen sweaters 

and socks to warm  

and I'm in bed

     —warm cat cool sheets—

and I miss the days when everything 

     seemed like it would be all right 

     for a while

and we were so happy 

and wet 

and windblown 

     into that narrow restaurant

     in a gust of leaves

and umbrellas insufficient for 

     an oncoming hurricane

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: Roman Boed

What You Saw (Day 218)

What you saw

through the glass

that night

eyes blazing

with bitter fear

What you heard 

that growl

white knuckles

hair flying howling 

with rage pacing 

and prowling like 

a caged tiger

What you saw

tore you apart

and engulfed you

engulfed your heart

but it could not 

will never 

take it 

away 

from us

(c) 2017 by Hannah Six

Image: StockSnap