Thursday, July 19, 2018

Kintsukuroi (Day 547)


cherish the broken
edges            
vulnerable  dangerous   
stronger where 
   they have been repaired
scars and wrinkles
marks of a useful life


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Wikimedia Commons

Wednesday, July 18, 2018

Too Far Down (Day 546)


Simply broken  we are
  too far down the road 
to turn 
   back  toward 
the headwaters 
of a river so swift  
there’s no fighting 
   its currents  
no delighting 
   in the cool splash  
but merely a rapid 
  tumbling 
    against bruising  
 boulder-strewn banks



(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Charles Gill/WikimediaCommons

Tuesday, July 17, 2018

Subtle Butterflies (Day 545)

Two subtle butterflies
paper-white  wings 
fluttering  
rising   rising  
in a dance 
of helical delight
against a dappled world
of emerald green   
citrine  and golden
late-summer sunlight
bring to mind 
a wedding day   a cloudy 
bride in white 
and gray  sea of chairs  
billowing veil   and blue 
freesia bouquet
upward they twirl
circling  circling
wings alight   lighter than 
air  flowers and sky
and lace and leaves
they quickly disappeared
from view  lost 
in the blue  but I still 
see them there



(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Pexels

Monday, July 16, 2018

Listen (Day 544)

Why can’t
you can’t 
hear me talking 
across this
ocean of words  
words can’t  
can’t words
heal us
hear them crying
heal us
how 
will we know if
we don’t try
don’t we try
stopping 
a moment
we will know 
a moment
hear them 
crying
listen 


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Abandoned Border, MTSRS/Flickr (CC BY 2.0)

Sunday, July 15, 2018

The Third One (Day 543)


The third one  a surprise
it was those eyes  dark 
enough to drown the moon
brown as midnight violets 
we were heat lightning
quick  forbidden  captive
waves and arms like love  
whispery and graceful  
this one knew how to take 
a thing and break it like
a brittle stick  just let it fall 
around him  ground
littered with shiny trinkets 
that once caught his eye
maybe that’s unfair  he said 
he didn’t know  there: 
a bad idea from the start   
ablaze with August heat  
one quickly learns that 
some hearts need doors  
even  especially  secret 
sinning  starlight-swimming  
blueberry-pie-sweet  this 
time few regrets   see how you 
get back what you dish out?


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: publicdomainpictures.net

Saturday, July 14, 2018

The Second One (Day 242)

The second one was waiting
in the wings, with sweet words
and shiny things to coax 
you from the burrow where 
you hid—what he didn’t tell you 
yet unsaid. His blue eyes and 
warm hands would have been 
enough. The rest was barely 
icing on a cake too sweet, 
too light to be believed. 
And there it was: The truth 
will out, they said, and then 
you’ll see. (What they said 
behind your back you never 
learned.) But her unrehearsed 
kindness made it clear she 
understood how he’d behaved. 
Would you have been so 
warm, were roles reversed? 


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: PxHere



Friday, July 13, 2018

The First One (Day 541)

The first one happened 
when you weren’t 
looking  just sitting there
on the bench 
in your tan suede cowboy boots
idly crunching chunks of ice 
under your heels  snow melting
under the gaze of a February sun
seeping in around the edges 
like a rusty nail digging 
its metallic coldness into 
your warm toes  remember how
you held an open book 
in your hand  pretending to study  
but really just waiting for 
his class to let out
in hopes that he might walk by
and notice you  not looking
and how  even when that happened
it would never feel like enough


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Wikimedia Commons


Thursday, July 12, 2018

Sweetness of Softness (Day 540)


again  the dream  before 
my eyes open  still dark  
my hand  seeking  silky  finds 
you  sweetness of softness  
all-ways  comforting  subtle 
sounds  curling in my ear  
back into sleep  we slide  
different yet identical  each 
imprinted on 
the fine forgiving surface of 
the other’s heart 



(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: PxHere

Wednesday, July 11, 2018

The Heart’s Cave (Day 539)


at the threshold of the heart’s 
cave   fern-fringed  
carpeted with intricate violet 
shadows  ancient trickling 
songs of emerald stalactites 
cool summer’s dry fever 
quell primordial fears 
calm the yearning clutter 
seeping in around the edges   
subtle poisons   that metastasize
like darkness   like ice   
obscuring the heart’s deepest 
secrets   dreams   thoughts   
everything that is   
a surging cycling ocean 
whose mysterious depths remain
forever  unnamed


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: US National Park Service

Tuesday, July 10, 2018

Haiku for Day 538


Intricate river of glass
Broken edges capture light
Sharp shining prisms


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Onur Kurtic/Pexels

Monday, July 9, 2018

Up the Coast (Day 537)

for the most part
we hugged 
the scalloped shoreline
tenderly   slowly
winding our way 
up the coast 

at low tide
the lurid scent of 
seaweed was tempered 
by a withering 
sand-sharpened wind  

and sounds and sights 
were muffled 
and obscured
by richly draped fog 
and the folded incline
of golden hills 

so that sometimes it was 
hard to tell 
the bark 
of a disgruntled sea lion 
from that 
of an excitable dog 


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Abhinaba Basu (CC-BY-2.0)

Sunday, July 8, 2018

A Very Opinionated Lady, Part 2 (Day 536)


II. Macaroons

“When Francis and I went to Paris 
everybody told us you have to 
go to this fancy French bakery 
and try their macaroons—except they 
all said it that funny French way. 
Well, the first day we found the bakery, 
and the macaroons were pretty, even if 
they were probably full of toxic food 
coloring. But, oh! The price! And they 
didn’t even taste like real macaroons!
Not like those good old-fashioned 
ones we have here, you know, the round 
ones, with coconut? My grandmother
absolutely loved those! Well, I don’t know 
what everyone was raving about. 
But far be it from me to complain when 
I’m in a foreign country. So. I just said, 
‘Francis (because I never did like to call 
him Frank, you know), there’s just 
no accounting for taste!’ Funny, though... 
He didn’t seem to mind. He finished 
every one of those cookies.”


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Macarons via Pixabay
Macaroons via Wikimedia Commons


Saturday, July 7, 2018

A Very Opinionated Lady, Part 1 (Day 535)


I. Push Presents

“All the other gems 
are good, 
but not emeralds. 
Emeralds, to meare 
bad luck. Every time 
my mother had a baby, 
my father gave her 
a gemstone—what you call 
‘push presents,’ meant 
to be passed on, as 
engagement rings. 
The brother who got 
the emerald? He was 
married five times. 
I don’t know... 
He may be dead now.” 


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: MaxPixel

Friday, July 6, 2018

Delicious Summer (Day 534)

Nostalgia links all 
summers   sifted stars   
   they dash    
celebration iced   
   gold painted weekends    
twilight tinted 
   mixed drink patios   
only staying inside
   long enough to make 
slow wet essential
art   like time   delicious 
summer outwaits 
   everything 



(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Summer night by the beach, Edvard Munch
(Via wikimedia commons)

Thursday, July 5, 2018

Spectacular Birds (Day 533)


road tunnel adorned village forested mountainous archipelago shoots people crashing waterfalls brilliant birds through green mountain face plummeting vertical destination surf below holy grail blasted white red remains spectacular birds nest canyons cliff home



Note: There was a method to my madness... In the end, I just liked how the language 
settled into its own odd little tale, so chose not to insert line breaks.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six
Image: Ricardo Sánchez/Wikimedia Commons

Wednesday, July 4, 2018

A Southern Spring (Day 532)

we were fond of lazing 
in the simmering breath 
  of a southern spring’s long tail   
floating   drifting 
  in slow spirals   then jumping 
from sleep  
  flawless   piscine   

returning baubles   the kind 
that caress women   the kind
  who—chests ornamented—
  gather over lunch
  and later   laugh at each other   

surprising baubles   completely 
lacking in imperfections   
  like those women
  like cherries   
nestled among their pointed 
droplets of foliage

hanging from the endless rows 
of trees   the kind 
  we used to see 
  from the rear window 
of the Rambler station wagon 
on long trips 
through featureless farmland


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Photo credit: Curbsideclassic.com

Tuesday, July 3, 2018

Cooling Haiku (Day 531)


Wavering kelp-green light
Woods exhaling sweet, cool ripples 
Peering in, poised to dive


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: sheral wood / Spring time in Shining Cliff Woods / CC BY-SA 2.0

Monday, July 2, 2018

July Afternoon (Day 530)


Simmering sun-breath.
Fruit trees exhaling 
scents of boiling jam
and baking pies.
Under a coating of
cinnamon-colored dust,
golden hills gently percolate.


(c) Hannah Six

Image: Jeff Kubina/Flickr

Sunday, July 1, 2018

A single word (Day 529)

With a driftwood pen,
in wave-flattened,
damp sand, she 
wrote a single word,
newly excavated, 
edges still ragged.
It pulsed there, between 
them, for a moment, 
until the water rushed in
to shush her, and quickly 
erased the damning 
evidence.


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: neshom/Pixabay