Wednesday, August 15, 2018

Haiku for Day 574

Expanding seaglass sky
Wading in a prophetic dawn
Spice-breathed breeze remembers

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Taprobane Island, Sri Lanka, via Wikimedia Commons

Tuesday, August 14, 2018

Poolside in Satin (573)

plastered in turquoise 
where my grandmother sits 
dressed in red  
satin  arms submerged  
in a poolside 
cocktail  rippling 
like window glass  before 
I truly emerged  
even as I gasped for air  
she was there  
her neck a faded quilt 
maribou ruined 
by my mermaid persistence
resisting the pull 
of dripping feathers  no longer 
floating like blood

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Monday, August 13, 2018

Feverish (Day 572)

sere inland desert   
feverish depths of
moisture   condensing
at the accustomed hour
melting   patiently 
unravelling meandering 
mysteries in the wavering
violet of old-house windows  
hear: cicadas  crickets 
firing up   butterflies 
somersaulting  settling 
like eider-down 
on the heavy red aura
of an oddly-empty street

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: P.S. Krøyer, Summer Evening at Skagen. The Artist’s Wife 
and Dog by the Shore. (1892), oil on canvas, via Wikimedia Commons

Sunday, August 12, 2018

Running Barefoot (Day 571)

clover reminiscences   sun-honeyed sighs 
even as winter settles its hard skies 
and driftwood burning breeze   we feel 
morning stirring   wake to frost formed
like slides within the window frames 

beauty beyond weekends   lonely with 
horizon-watching   hidden   sodden   
watered by wide-open realms   cold sand 
dampening downstairs whispers   
running barefoot through forgotten grass 

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: PxHere

Saturday, August 11, 2018

Friday, August 10, 2018

Something Happened (569)

Forever ago,
a thin coldness
tempted the warmth 
from this room, 
where fires 
would blaze and spit  
on the hearth, heat 
spiraling outward, 
to scold and 
nip at heat-seekers 
who drew too close.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Martial Bacquet/Wikimedia Commons

Thursday, August 9, 2018

What Happened Here (Day 568)

Atop a tall piano, flowers age,
yellow-edged petals slipping 
silently onto the mirror-smooth
surface of the wood. A clock 
ticks, smudging the passing 
minutes with its musty sound.
Outside the window, birds, like 
perfumed pears, perch roundly 
in delicate trees barely misted 
by spring’s first exhalation.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Alfons Karpiński (1875–1961), Yellow Flowers on the Piano, oil on canvas