I write poetry for the soul of the poet and the scientist. I also read many books and paint many things.

Avatar the Last Airbender 2004-2008



Wish you could love me
As you loved the sunsets
In California.
I never trust in anyone
But for some reason
I trust you.
And if you fly to the other side
Know, one day, I’ll follow you.

I wish you cared enough about me
To watch the sun rise in the East
We’re New Yorkers, it’s in our blood
Staying out and running the streets before the dawn.
I’m always on the run
And you should be too.
There’s a place out there for us to grab
I am waiting for you
To lace up your shoes

But you, you’ll sleep all fucking day.
I don’t care, I can wait
Trust, I have the patience of a saint.
I’ll always love you, somehow
anyway -six pm

Paige Six | April 2018

The Simpsons 1989-2020

for fifty days i fasted,

knowing no-thing,

save the retching of my own flesh,

save the pit of my own stomach.

*

for your arrival safely we sold

our cattle, fashioned a festival

our first kiss –a first sip of wine

on the day break of Pentecost,

at last my fast was over.

*

we fashioned circles of precious metals

and strung them around each other’s

vena amori, declared forever in a vacuum

proclaimed endurance upon the coming

event horizon of time itself.

*

space swells with the ancient ruins

of men and women who shed tears

tracing the constellation trails

from one end of an ocean to another

filling the void of voiceless oceans

with metaphoric rapture and appetite

for adventure.

*

Charles, the smell of desert sand swims

firmly between your pores,

your body warm as the land

cut like mountains

between your biceps

where my head lays

basking in the moments

you are here.

*

how i adore you so.

*

proclaim eternity

enter matrimony – eyes wide open

place his heart upon a pedestal

let no slanderous word nor malicious canticle

seduce his woefully mortal heart.

*

roots and petals of calendula

poultice to quell the spasms

you take me in my blood

and i take you in my arms

when the nightmares hurt

worse than the back pain.

*

you remind me that even in the winter

the carmine-colored cardinal coos

and whistles, awakens the trees and fills

the cold world with sweet song.

*

i’m unraveled in your high collar,

blue and burned in a freak fire,

raptured by the desert

nothing is forever, we know,

yet everything is possible.

*

there is no going back.

*

on this river of time

except maybe we’ll escape

the event horizon burn

as radiation about

the black hole’s radio halo.

*

dying light is a subjective notion

when you limit every poetic persuasion

to the limits of the human eye.

*

we weave honey, orange citrus, & marmalade

into spacetime tapestry,

devote each second

as the present is our own reward

the art of being in love,

the pleasure of being alive.

*

the future is a metaphor –

as in calling the ocean endless

naming riptides undertow

we: new and other molecules

blur into water, two bodies

one brackish soul.

*

six pm *after easter

Messier 71:  a globular cluster in the northern constellation Sagitta that spans 13 light years.

I became in a family way when I was 17. My foster mother started to accuse me of sleeping with her jobless boyfriend and changed the locks, leaving me to sleep outside many nights when they went out to clubs. I reported it to services, my teachers, and my nurses. I told my health teacher that I felt the stress affecting my child. I trusted him, I had no one. He told me not to worry.

At 30 I began to explore epigenetics and the research suggesting that trauma can be passed down through generations. Epigenetics translates literally to “above genetics”, referring to external modifications to a person’s programming. I say programming because that’s how it makes sense to me. If you’re familiar with binary, how the 1’s and 0’s turn lines of code on or off, outside forces can do this to traits within us, turn them on and off.

If you’ve created a child at any time, the 1’s and 0’s within you get passed down as they exist in that moment. In short: these modifications do not change the DNA sequence, but rather, they affect how cells “read” genes. I think about the shared trauma in the world and how it’s sinister nature infects the future; contaminates quite literally the gene pool. Ignorance is certainly not bliss.

Paige Six | 2021

Avatar the Last Airbender 2005-2008

i.
Since mankind’s dawn, man has

gotten many things wrong.

Maybe there was an Adam,

and from his rib an Eve.

Perhaps the serpent

bestowed a gift,

the morning knowledge

was conceived.


Cast from the garden,

the two faithfully grew.

When Eve grew cold,

Adam grew brave,

slaying beasts to give Eve

clothes.


When they grew old

Adam grew ill, they

both laid still; and

died in one another’s

arms.

ii.
Many, since times considered

ancient by most, believe

their love story to be

the greatest ever told.


But, I love the one

we’re in the most.

It goes back quite

an extraordinary distance…


(Four Hundred Ten Years ago, to be exact)

iii.
When Galileo Galilei

polished the first telescope…

On a (crystal) starry evening,

from pin pricks within

casting of vanta black,

stars wobbled

into shapes.


Jupiter dances with dots

of doting moons about

his waist. And rings cuff

Saturn as perfectly as

our wedding bands

complete our wedded

hands.


Oh! And (of course)

as we both already knew,

at the center of the

universe, Galileo found

you.

iv.
You inspire greatness!

I hope you understand this.

Michelangelo crafted colors

inspired by (just) the gleam

in your eyes. Magellan circled

the globe uncharted,

guided by the lateral lines

of your smile.

v.
Albert Einstein’s brilliance

knew no boundaries!

He alone unlocked countless

mysteries. With accuracy he

hypothesized that magnetism

married electricity. Scholars

(of course) lacked his vision,

however. They all believed

Einstein spoke purely scientifically…

But we know better, don’t we?

Einstein prophesized our matrimony.

vi.
Strung by silver threads,

stitched into the flowing quilt of time.

(I know) All become one at

your desire. (And I know)

The entire dimensional world

will collapse, the eve you expire.

As you alone command every star to die;


demand they collapse into fiery fractals,

facing blazing extinction, eons away

(and so so long ago)…


So we may dance tonight beneath their    light. -six pm

Source: The New Yorker

Picture this: 

It’s a rainy Spring morning in New England and you’ve got both an oversized mug and time to kill. Your mug is porcelain white, but pained a bit at the lip (from accidentally dipping a paintbrush in it a few too many times). You think the paint blends in with the coffee splotter, anyway, and tell yourself that perhaps it gives the cup some personality (happy accidents).If you hold the handle with your left hand the World might read a tiny type-face script in Peace Lily Green that says “𝙱𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚖”. But you’re a righty and you’ve purchased the mug for yourself, anyway, so the little green letters greet you happily with every fleetingly warm sip.

You are a bookworm, so you read a book. It’s the best way to spend a grey morning. You like to save the sunny days for tidying and cleaning, they don’t have the proper blue hue to offset the warm beige of a book page, and you like any excuse to fire up the heated mattress! But you never read very far, do you? How many lines do you fight down before the urge to pen a note turns into a whole notebook page of poetic expressions?

After hours of what feels like total procrastination you say to yourself, “I’m not a bookworm at all, I’m a fraud!”—The day gets away from you and you shelve that book feeling defeated, and prepare to edit that poem for your Poetizer.

You’re a slithering writer who finds relevance to yourself in every line you read that mirrors something extra-terrestrial, or ultra-cosmological, or incredibly mundane… Doesn’t matter, you’re in it, you’re there! But that’s alright!

Lately I’ve been reading a wonderful book on writing, it’s called Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg, and for the first time I feel the permission to write without the guilt of finishing, and of order. Sometimes (most of the time) I’m too analytical and I forget that sometimes taking divergent paths is a way to grow. 

The irony that I find these things in structured books could be a peculiarity to me but I don’t think it is. What’s most appealing to me about Goldberg’s book, so far, is that as opposed to other great books on the writing process (On Writing by Stephen King is a favorite of mine), is that Natalie speaks to the poetic process frequently.

highly recommend. (*sips cold coffee*)

Links:

I’m not an accomplished food photographer—lol

This is a New York City Punch, be careful because these delicious cocktails will have you swinging till you K.O. We call this one the Mayweather. The name was coined by my friend Melissa and I as we were enjoying a private Paint-and-Sip. The drink itself my husband invented for me on the fly at Houston’s at my 30th birthday party.

Ingredients:

  • Chambord Liqueur 1 oz.
  • Disaronno Originale 2 oz.
  • 100% Cranberry Juice 2 oz.
  • Lime wedge
  • Ice

Directions:

-In a Rocks Glass, pour over ice your Disoronno, your Chambord, and then your Cranberry Juice (cocktail works just fine and makes it even sweeter).

-Stir or Shake and add a splash of lime juice. The result is a sweet New York City punch that is a staple at every game night and party in our home.

**For an extra kick you, (or if you find this too sweet,) you can add an ounce of your favorite whiskey. We love our whiskey. Chambord is a vodka if you’d like to not mix too many liquors.

Coming Soon:

In the Summer we make a similar concoction we call the Hurricane Floyd. Because I want to get the measurements right for a recipe I’m going to do some extremely taxing experiments during these upcoming spring days.

About the Ingredients:

  • Disaronno Originale is a type of amaretto—is 28% abv—an amber-colored liqueur with a characteristic almond taste, although it does not actually contain almonds.
  • Chambord Liqueur is a 16.5% abv raspberry liqueur modelled after a liqueur produced in the Loire Valley of France during the late 17th century.



Last night I had a dream I was sitting at a potter’s wheel. Each time, when I would drift with the feeling into thoughts my pot would crack and it repeated again and again. I think it meant that attention is our strength—where you direct it is where you’ll grow and flourish.

*3.27.21


Yesterday we had friends over and we shared food, drinks, and smoke. Some of us played DnD and some of us were painting. All of us were in a state of communion, the weather was on our side and the night was perpetually young.

We ended the day with Scrabble. Everyone decided that they’d be best suited to face me in teams. I was not allowed to use a dictionary and they all got bonus points. I still won. 🙂

Paige Six | 2021

Aladdin 1992

i.
i had a dream
there were polaroids of us.
developing sunken
and strewn across
my pink comforter.

(a soft cosmos.)

i saw how happy we were,
you tall and in your glasses,
arms around me and hunched
to envelope your frame
around mine.

behold; my real smile.
not where my controlled lips
stiff; cover my gum line,
to feign the sort of “elationship”
i experienced only when
we would speak…


ii.
shut the curtains.
i don’t even want
the sun to filter in
through the fabric
& change the tone
of my pale skin.

i want to stay the same,
i want to be exactly as i was
the day you reached across,
felt me, and i touched you.
 

iii.
i hope to hold our whole world
and hand it to you in my palm.

(even if mine crumbles.)

Atlas bent & crippled
i am devoted to
holding you up.
i will not shrug.

(oh, i must move on)


iv.
(no.) cleanse my home
w. white sage & string
along my bedpost
bewitched apples cored.
finally biting into you
was like biting into
an apple that hid a star.


and *omitted,
how i adore stars.
i lose sleep
surrounded by them,
counting them, staring
into mirror telescopes
until my eyes burn
and my vision blurs.


i will hold you
in my mind’s eye
forever. i will dedicate
and devote every motion
onward towards the path
which leads back to you.
 

(even if it feels eerily, like eights.)


(infinity.) behold infinity
within the iris of your
half-m∞n eyes smiling
back in a beam.


v.
i’ll race time to the future,
at the far end of our solar system.
first steps cracking untouched
crust of Pluto’s nitrogen snow, 
at the  center of her heart-
shaped crater. look back into
space as the glim of Earth
is licked (–flickers)

(the moment of our first kiss.)

like these memories, no more
than a spectacle, a twinkle, in the
otherwise steady shine of Earth
bathed in our Sun’s overcast light.
filtered and shrunk by distance and
gravity as a star–finally, a star
i had never gleaned before. (oh!)
how fortune smiles upon all…


(who behold you, *omitted.) six pm

*revised 2021

Paige Six | 2019

There is strength in our power, power in our pain. Not everyone can be touched, struck, and survive. Energy is worth the same; passion or pain. Those who have been through the most have the most to let go.

Make music, not excuses. Chase art, not fame. Build something lasting, the empire’s collapsing. Made of paper, and we harness fire. Don’t be afraid to ask the stars for what you desire.

{*rant inspired by good vibes and Guante, because lightning struck twice.