A Promise (557)

In the wee hours, 

somewhere along the way, 

I lost them. Just ran out. 

A tiny fish 

   in an endless ocean,

a poet, 

entirely off her words. 

They may never return,

   to comfort me 

when the world feels ugly. 

Or maybe,

   just maybe, 

like a pet bird who tired 

of its cage, they flew 

   out my window, and 

might be lured home with 

   a soft voice, 

   an aromatic treat, and 

   a promise 

of greater freedom.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Public Domain Pictures

Words Hit the Paper (Day 429)

The words hit the page differently when 

the light enters my room from the east   

letters tumble and scatter  landing as they 

may in heaps and clusters  later in the day 

I will find an hour or two  when I can linger 

and hold them  gaze fixed softly on an image 

in the middle distance  fingers folding and 

coaxing the rambunctious disarray until 

a gentle thrill of recognition wakes me to a 

poem  now revealed in its inevitable form

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Unknown miniaturist, The Monk Eadwine (c 1150),

 illustration on parchment, Trinity College, University of Cambridge

Almost Always True (Day 366)

The only things are bitter 

words and politics and cold 

blue sky aching tired and 

purring under a warm river of 

chocolate and chamber music 

reading and resting warmly 

wrapped in the things we used 

to love how they lifted and 

lightened our troubles until 

they merely floated away like 

feverish dreams and poetry 

winter and absinthe inspire 

and so that’s all I able to give 

to you but at least you knew

it was always almost true 

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Advertising poster for "Absinthe Rosinette",

 published by Imprimerie Camis, Paris, circa 1900; 

via Wikimedia Commons

Making art (Day 342)

Making lingering art

a public dream 

of dark bars and 

coffeeshops

sleeping ghosts and 

mystical gifts. 

The fine raw 

humming energy 

arising from 

the work itself 

rewarding 

the fatal selfishness 

of creating  

of giving  

and the unexpectedly 

selfless grace 

of taking 

time and energy 

to receive 

the finished work. 

Without the one

the other would fail.

Without the other

the one would 

never have been.  

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Pot Pourri, 1897 (oil on canvas) 

by Herbert James Draper; private collection

via Wikimedia Commons