Monday, May 21, 2018

Senryu for Day 488

never suddenly 
meeting the turn in the road
never knowing how

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Turn in the Road (~1881) by Paul Cezanne,
oil on canvas, via Wikimedia Commons

Sunday, May 20, 2018

Mammoth (Day 487)

Imagined transparent 
against eons of ice  awakened 
without a by-your-leave
awakened without a choice
bold conqueror 
of the frozen old   a foreigner 
in this subtler new New World
Mammoth whispered   
a trace of sadness 
tuned his ancient voice
Sundry seasons entranced 
ere darkness rose   
Sundry sunsets danced 
across virgin skies
where only flying creatures
had yet flown
No pitiless fears will come again 
to tired spirits below  
But pitiless mornings will rise
above considering all you know
Eyes closed   he melted 
into the blue crevasse
what would come 
to pass still echoed 
on frozen air 
a trace of sadness 
tuned his ancient voice   
we have a choice   for now   
we have a choice

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Simon Migaj/Pexels

Saturday, May 19, 2018

All Transpires, Dream-like (Day 486)

All transpires   dream-like   
beneath the land   sleeping 
spirits   seeds planted 
by tired hands   or thrust 
into the dark cocooning soil 
by cold machines   and weeds   
perhaps plucked by beaks 
or bills   transported 
through tumbling clouds 
and rushing winds   dropped 
into luminous air   falling   finding 
purchase there on willing earth   
waiting   artlessly scattered 
on hand-turned beds   arranged 
in mile-long rows and warmed 
by an incubating sun   fed by rain 
and thick inspiring fog   
never knowing under what skies 
they grow or wither   but sleeping 
silently now beneath the land   
where all dream-like transpires  

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: 12019/Pixabay

Friday, May 18, 2018

Remnant (Day 485)

one silver bead
at the bottom 
of a shining sidewalk
mirror  sky-blue 
penant on buff 
concrete remnant 
of receding storms  

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: LenaLindell20/Pixabay

Thursday, May 17, 2018

Angry Enough (Day 484)

Like an itch 
makes you   angry
enough to scratch

until tiny gems of blood 
emerge  shining 
on your tender skin

this tingling   cramping 
in your hands   
your lips tighten  

and your fists 
long for contact with
the magnificent world

to reverse wrongs
to elide injustices
to make an indentation

of your own
an irritable anxiety rises 
in your throat   wont go 

tomorrow   or the next
day   go to bed
your dreams nag 

nag nag at the back 
of your mind   there is no 
escape  it will still be there 

when you wake
choking   teeth clenched 
against stupidity 

and ignorance that
swirl like smoke   now
secondhand in your lungs

vicarious vertigo  narrowing 
around your neck   
nooselike   under watery

streetlights   helplessness—
thats the real problem 
isn’t it   you  

enraged   you 
small   and alone
what can you do? 

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: US Dept of Agriculture

Wednesday, May 16, 2018

Sidewalk Cafe, Hot (Day 483)

sun-baked   muted   air   
inert  voices
water   coleus   treble static
on speakers   heat echoes
off pavement   train
whistle blows
someone is coming
warm   soft   easy
to adjust   as well
depending on
sea breezes or
cool summer evenings

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: PxHere

Tuesday, May 15, 2018

Ordinary fortune (Day 482)

Fortune will return 
to ordinary men.
We’ll wear pure white 
after Labor Day, then. 

And women (well, those 
d’un certain ├óge) will bare 
their arms 
and grow their hair. 

Cars will lengthen,
children strengthen,
even dogs will evidence 
their freshly gilded lines. 

They say: “Your priorities 
appear mixed up. 
But, merely winning 
the game is not enough. 

Real joy lies in amplifying 
each well-earned victory. 
Our success is far more 
satisfying when those 
less fortunate can see.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six