Monday, December 10, 2018

Over their morning coffee (Day 691)

over their morning coffee

his milky and sweet, hers dark and bitter

he chose not to tell her


on their afternoon walk 

under a fluttering canopy of emerald and gold

he chose not to tell her


while doing the dishes

she scraped and washed, he dried and stacked

he chose not to tell her


when they paused the movie

to make popcorn and her favorite hot chocolate

he chose not to tell her




(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Sunday, December 9, 2018

A Harbor (Day 690)

A dense breeze sifts pale waves of fog, 
bringing the distant closer, larger

fringed by trees, a harbor—forested 
with masts that lean against the gale 
like the creaking tips of blue-green firs 

—boats anchored, like us, to mark 
their place among these giant redwoods 
slowly, silently soaring 
toward the sun

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six
Image: JJensen/Pexels


Saturday, December 8, 2018

We grasp the waves (Day 689)


but swimming   we grasp the waves 

to stay aloft  

legs softly blurred   dangling  

in the singing mist below   

we close our minds to gravity’s pull   

allow ourselves 

to roll and sway with the arcane 

rhythms of the planet’s respiration   

like seasoned travelers 

who read their morning papers  

standing   astride 

the aisles of rattling rambling trains


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Spencer Watson (@thebrownspy)

via Unsplash




Friday, December 7, 2018

Completely at Gray (Day 688)


Sharp morning broke 

where we felt utterly 

and completely at gray

returning winter froze 

our shoes scuffed the 

hard earth rising up 

to meet us sleepwalking 

unknowingly on cloud 

nine for kittenish play 

and we encountered no 

dearth of opportunity 


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six


Image: Guillaume Speurt/Flickr 

(CC BY 2.0)


Thursday, December 6, 2018

Haiku for Day 687

Silver flakes of moonlight

Confetti leaves form windblown mounds

Every road a promise



(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Wednesday, December 5, 2018

Untethered (Day 686)


You often felt you owned it: 

your brilliance

toes tickling a dance floor 

or a scuffed and rosined stage

making art so you never felt 

what was better left 

alone except for 

those small dark possibilities   

you danced untethered 

to your almost-home 


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: PxHere


Tuesday, December 4, 2018

Let’s Jump (Day 685)


Let’s jump 
off the other side 
of the wall 
that keeps us where 
they say 
we should stay
because we know 
in our bones 
we are almost 
home now 

Let’s allow 
our hearts 
to swim among 
lingering stars and
to find 
the remembered 
spaces where 
our fingers 
used to fit 

Let’s dive 
so the deep 
green water closes 
over our heads 
as we sink 
hair snaking 
Medusa-like toward 
the undulating surface 
secret weeds tickling  
our ankles 
sending us shrieking 
toward the light 


(c) 2018 by Hannah Six
Image: PxHere