Tuesday, August 15, 2017

Monday, August 14, 2017

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

Sunday, August 13, 2017

Mars Fires (Day 207)


Mars fires paper lies.
Clearly, glacial summer sleeps.
Cedars stand their guard.

Storms erase low-hanging fruit:
Empty secrets cowards sell.

Grief awaits late spring.
Rain falls, men sit together.
Deserts spit their fire.

Later, waves of steam ascend.
Prose laps at the shore.


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: tpsdave

Saturday, August 12, 2017

Blue Fish Fly (Day 206)

Blue fish fly and catfish 
cry, on fence-posts 
beneath an apricot moon.
It’s June, and the world 
is beautiful—in bloom, 
our world is beautiful—
rising from peace, 
like a distant choir, listen 
when the wind shrugs 
her shoulders, the notes 
draped like lace on the trees. 
It’s Monday, the world is 
welcoming us, arms open, 
with a grandmother’s love, 
and maybe the worst is over, 
or almost, and maybe 
you know all the answers, 
things are already better, 
and maybe it’s not so 
frightening, watching 
the shining blue fish fly, and 
hearing the thoughtful catfish 
cry out their poems, 
high on their fence-posts 
beneath the apricot moon.



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Kolisberg via Wikimedia

Friday, August 11, 2017

A Single Source (Day 205)



Delight, divorce, devotion,
a cup’s a cup, no matter 
who finally pours the tea
fright, remorse, a common
notion, from a single source,
infinitude, a dream, a lie
resounding between your 
aspirations and my own, 
a treasure, found: a kiss 
goodbye, a shell, perhaps 
it simply seems full-blown, 
because your eyes are green, 
my own, the darkest brown



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Free-Photos via Pixabay

Thursday, August 10, 2017

But, Still (Day 204)

Their souls cry: Of course,         we are

You may never see that              far

Or dance among cascading       stars

But, still, you should 
                         know better





(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: skeeze, via Pixabay

Wednesday, August 9, 2017

Up Late (Day 203)

Last night, we stayed up
late, my companions and I,
lulled into insomnia by
some stark-raving guy. 
Drawn like moths to 
the flickering blue screens
we held, lights on, tethered 
to the world by a handful of
characters, all chattering
away, every line rippling
with anxiety. Journalists,
artists, hucksters and me,
a smattering of fear-mongers 
among us, a meeting 
of minds like and unlike. 
Nonsensical rantings had 
scared us, but by midnight, 
it took effort to care. And that
saturation is the strange stuff 
of nightmares, the creep of 
ambivalence more dangerous
than words.


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: by 809499, via Pixabay