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

After the Bookstore Closed (Day 230)

about an hour after 

our local bookstore closed

the sky darkened

to green   the wind came   sideways   

from nowhere   thunder 

racked my house and slam-banged 

around   an old man grumbling   

on a brittle winter day   so like 

human beings   their cultures gathered 

around clouds of voices   raising heat 

and ugliness   the sounds distress me   

my body reflecting   not just words but 

the humid heavy breath of the street   

blowsy   a little hot   they keep saying   

our bright star is exploding   our world 

set ablaze   eyes like deep pools 

of wisdom   and fascist fists are

pummeling my heart   if I can fight this 

I might stop falling into the jade sky   

and wake up warm and safe and dry 

but   on the other hand   we could be 

staring down the inscrutable

barrel of a millennial storm

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: terren

Remembering (Day 212)

Sing the robins  silver clouds 

dancing on the ceiling  there 

glancing through my window shrouds 

fairies spin in gentle prayer 

above the moaning  laughing throng

you arrive  fragile and sweet

played dolce  piercing a forte song

a clarinet weeps on a city street

memories dulled with exacting care

dreams worn soft as fine old lace

emboldened  wings beat at the air

sip teardrops  daintily  from my face

outside  a crowd  a protest  singing

inside  one soul  remembering

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: B W Townsend

I Can't Express (Day 208)

Your eyes   I can’t 

express  recall

myself another story 

it’s not always fair 

to see 

where were you

heading to shine 

let me light 

your path

through the forest

at night   how can 

we all exist 

in a world 

so full  so full

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: StockSnap