Thursday, May 23, 2019

May Evening (Day 855)

All full bright flutter  spring 

melts into summer   heightens

each sweet whistle  flash of orange 

in the woods  flowers 

riding the soft wind  and soon  

twilight will shimmer  

siren darkness sing 

through open windows  veiled 

with strands of half-spun dreams

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Melissa McMasters (CC BY 2.0)
via Wikimedia Commons

Wednesday, May 22, 2019

Carousel (Day 854)

veils of sky   clouds 

of delight    

we danced with the radio

softly into night 

before drifting off 

to sleep where we spun round 

and round 

making a liar of the honest blood 

shouting in my veins

and you its truth 

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: James Daisa (CC BY-SA 2.0)

via Flickr

Tuesday, May 21, 2019

Saturday morning story (Day 853)

Saturday morning story

long dirt road   dairy farms

buzz of airplanes overhead

and we had no place else to go

so we walked    farther 

than we’d ever gone before

and the world opened just 

a little   unexpected   delightful

corners unfolding bit by bit

revealing hints of wonders

we might uncover if we learned 

where to look   someday 

soon   but not that day  

when we wandered laughing   

up the road in the sun   because   

we were still children then

blessed with time and each other

and we had nowhere else to be

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Jan Aredtsz (CC BY-ND 2.0)

Monday, May 20, 2019

Room for more (Day 852)

so much room for more
welcoming   allowing all
we cannot be like these
unique   making every other
blending   merging
and overhead a symphony
stretches then narrows
ahead the path
gray and gold and brown
until it turns   beckoning
forest of a thousand greens
never competing   each one
more so   and I wonder why
trees   like the sky   generous
as beauty   because there is

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: NOAA/Sheri Phillips

Sunday, May 19, 2019

The kind that vanishes (Day 851)

Maybe I forgot 

about him   maybe 

I forgot 

about his eyes

burning   how I felt

them on the naked

nape of my neck


I forgot   how 

he touched 

my bare shoulder 

as he passed   

soft and fleeting

as a dream   the kind

that vanishes

when morning comes

and you

open your eyes

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: JanserMaciel (CC BY-SA 4.0)

via Wikimedia Commons

Friday, May 17, 2019

Afternoon storm (Day 849)

The day grows dark 

blusters & chafes 

against a gray din 

of air conditioning 

& childrens’ voices

leaves toss swirling 

like laundry pinned

out to dry framed 

by windows waiting 

for the first burst of 

rain a thunderous 

release & by the time 

the storm passes night 

will have fallen again

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Ronald Plett/Pixabay