Showing posts with label #home. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #home. Show all posts

Monday, April 30, 2018

Cleaning (Day 467)

You name it, it hurts.
Cleaned my old home ‘til it shone.
Now, for the new one.


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: ArtsyBee/Pixabay

Sunday, April 1, 2018

Books Suit Me (Day 438)

books suit me like navy blue
I am told   choosing is simple 

akin to buying this small house
remember when you looked 

inside all those hollow sugar 
Easter eggs   too small or large

too hot or too cold  too close or
too far away   you were afraid 

no one would come to admire 
your lush garden on Sundays 

or read my favorite novel    after 
I’m gone you’ll find it falls open 

to the passage that inspires and
comforts me   like those photos 

of the old you   the fragrance of
libraries   this small hollow house


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Liz West/Flickr

Wednesday, December 6, 2017

First Frost (Day 322)

The saga of Roy G. Biv, unpresidential president, will continue tomorrow. He needed a mental-health day. Meanwhile...Winter.


Yesterday evening, a front blew 
through, stealing the last warm 
days, leaving our corner of 
the world shivering and serious. 
This morning, we are hunting 
spare blankets in unused closets, 
pulling on thick wool socks, 
and seeking the slippers 
mysteriously missing since May.
Now is a heavenly time to 
sit back and consider the spring. 
These long nights are sublime 
for leafing through gardening 
catalogs, planning vacations, 
and pondering roads that 
diverge in the woods up ahead. 


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Note: Source of the final two lines is The Road Not Taken, by Robert Frost, whose poetry I have always loved. 

Image: Kellepics 


Monday, October 23, 2017

Saturday, October 21, 2017

Against a Buttery Sky (Day 276)


Above the orchard, tall 
trees against a buttery
sky, sating my spirit’s
deep hunger, portending 
umber flanks 
of gourd-round hills,
a pasture dotted 
Heaven, northern dusk 
fog-sheltered need, 
won as we cried for more, 
but by dawn, still and
you should see 
where, small and fragile, 
it lives on in me.


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: racorvese