Tuesday, April 30, 2019

Uninspired (Day 832)

like ice   words 

tumble  hard 

edges meet sharp 

corners cracking 

a blue sky 

into a million 

tiny cubes

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Miguel Acosta via Pexels

Monday, April 29, 2019

Hope (Day 831)

Hope cannot be caged
it cannot be 
swept from the sky 
in a net, 
it would die, disconsolate, 
if it were 
not allowed to be free.

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: Alex Proimos (CC BY 2.0)
via Wikimedia Commons

Sunday, April 28, 2019

An ending (Day 830)

An ending is beginning

its dolorous embrace  

comforting   protecting   

draped shoulder to shoulder

like a sun-warmed blanket  

stronger where 

measures were taken 

to repair a barely audible 

hiss   just a touch 

too loud   it has been silenced 

and we have 

no need   now   no interest 

in keeping the whole 

world awake 

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Maxpixel

Friday, April 26, 2019

Otherwise (Day 828)

You wait for the mist 

to lift   for the rain to clear 

you don’t know why it is 

so often raining 

here where the sky burns 

blue as candle flame 

blue as the sea 

whipped to a froth 

by cold winds 

on a Wednesday afternoon 

you wait and when the waiting 

seems too much to bear

you make room 

on your blanket for the day 

to sprawl beside you 

and together you watch 

clouds sail overhead 

and dream of a time 

when it might be otherwise

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Maxpixel

Thursday, April 25, 2019

Unanswered (Day 827)

Stillness falls on anxious ears 

these days   reverberating 

below the frequency of 

so many unanswered questions 

Each quiet moment 

a vertical glance of daylight 

wrapped in test-tube clarity

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Wednesday, April 24, 2019

The best words (Day 826)

then desert me   they taunt 

and tease in these needful 

hours   like rain clouds   

blown away   the best words 

do is say   there are things 

I must tell you but   no matter   

they will wait for a rainy day

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Tuesday, April 23, 2019

Toward evening (Day 825)

nervous world unwinds
slumps along   faint
   mauve smoke  toward 
heady evening  swift 
fluttering light 
pure  real  promises that  
indoors  quiet 
  of a different kind comes  
  unfurls  satin-petalled 
in full bloom  at last

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: Pexels

Monday, April 22, 2019

Things men told me (Day 824)

Again, the ornamental cherries bloom
fruitlessly fake   empty calories   
dripping great gobs of frosting flowers   
tempting    things men told me
   there’s a glow about you tonight 
   you are beautiful in the morning light 
   how wild and free you are   
      like a lion   untamed  
that last was the oddest   heartfelt and 
   almost touching in the awkward way 
   of an eight-year-old who shuffles 
   and looks down as he hands 
   his mother the gift of his heart   
artless and abundant   the things 
   you hear when they want or don't want    
how the petals drift and hurry on 
   the sharp breeze stripping spring 
   from cherry trees that will 
never offer ripe flesh to summer’s heat

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: MaxPixel

Sunday, April 21, 2019

Cento 76 (Day 823)

like maple syrup  a sapling 
like him might have been 
a little sweeter  
lingering over a trophy 
goodbye  trees set against 
a buttery dawn 
know how to bend 
the nature of things  some ask 
to be released from the pinnacle 
of power  and to sway is to change 
finally resting among a crowd 
(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: Pixabay

Saturday, April 20, 2019

Haiku for Day 822

sunlight foreshadows
bare limbs sprayed green, yellow, pink
nature’s graffiti 

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Perpignan, graffiti rue Guillaume Dauder de Selvavia Wikimedia Commons

Friday, April 19, 2019

An unusual silence (Day 821)

Rain taps nervously on the window, 

reminding me of an unusual silence

another listless day, tasting of ozone 

and buttered toast, slightly burnt,

slumps toward night, breathing tepid 

promises of billowing May, heady 

with flutterings, and afternoon storms 

bending these gold-tipped trees

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Embroidery sampler (1840s), Mexico,

via Wikimedia Commons

Wednesday, April 17, 2019

Beside me (Day 819)

When you see me 
sitting here, the sun 
bright in my eyes 
and warm 
on my arms, 
you may think I am 
alone. But that 
chair beside me 
is not empty. 
When the world 
seems too fierce 
and burdens 
too heavy to bear, 
I offer them a seat—
and, there, they wait
patiently, for me 
to rise again.

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: PxHere

Tuesday, April 16, 2019

Tanka for Day 818


Doors open to spring

All things sing and bud and bloom.

Pale blue breeze lingers.

Drifts of snow, now merely dreams.

Rising mist glows, whispers: Yes

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Monday, April 15, 2019

Dark now (Day 817)

Like thunder   the world’s 
sorrow lands on my heart   
beating me into near 
submission   but for 
a mere glimmer of light
dark now for millions 
of years   luring me toward 
a sweeter time than now
a warmer place than here

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Statue of Joan of Arc in Notre-Dame de Paris cathedral interior, Paris
taken spring 2001. Copyright © 2001 by Steven G. Johnson.
 via Wikimedia Commons

Sunday, April 14, 2019

Saturday, April 13, 2019

On a scale (Day 815)

with the careful measured 
movements of a thief   he places 
pretty baskets on a scale 

baskets of tiny skeletons  one by one  
birdlike and frail  piled high 
against his crumbling castle walls

woven by knotted hands too sore 
to lift a bowl to hungry lips  no matter  
seldom paid enough to eat

he weighs and counts with glee
each batch of small bleached bones 
a victory  a testament to his wasting 

sun whose hate trumps love  and there  
beneath his gaze  they grow  
stunted with despair and fail to thrive

worthless alive  he craves the click 
of little clavicles and ribs in baskets 
he can weigh against his greed

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: Pixabay

Friday, April 12, 2019

Gilded Cages (Day 814)

in what gilded cages 

they live out their lot of rosé days 

and bourbon nights  

cheeks prickling  eyes glowing 

with the satisfaction 

of another’s job 

well done

how do they silence  when they 

creep between their chambers 

late at night  all those doors 

squealing with disuse

how   in portraits  

do their artists capture the lurid 

shade of self-inflated fury

or   for sympathy  do they display 

jagged edges and disappear 

again  eyes glazed 

with fear and longing  to shelter 

in those jangling cells of luxury  

drawing close their velvet drapes 

against an inner darkness 

teeming with the fervent desires 

and untested truths 

of a feverish equatorial night

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Evelyn De Morgan, The Gilded Cage (ca 1900 – 1919), 

oil on canvas, via Wikimedia Commons

Thursday, April 11, 2019

Comfort, upended (Day 813)

fairy tale maidens are 

no more  and comfort 

has been upended  

kindness turned on its side



vertical  with only 

a small speck of compassion 

lingering  like a knife  

hovering above 

an undefiled snowfield

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: La Dame à la licorne: À mon seul désir (15th cent.),

wool and silk tapestry, via Wikimedia Commons

Wednesday, April 10, 2019

Silence scattered (Day 812)

Is it enough  that
I told you
how I feel (maybe not 
how much  
not how little
nor even what  
but  at least  how)

Is it enough  that
you trampled 
and smashed the fragile 
silence  scattered 
shards of eggshell 
strewn carelessly
in your wake

Or  perhaps  you prefer 
the power 
of not knowing  
the way 
it allows you to take 
what you want  
without the sting 
of conscience you might 
feel  if  for an hour 
or two
you simply listened

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: MaxPixel

Tuesday, April 9, 2019

Monday, April 8, 2019

Haiku for Day 810

Darkness diminished.
Twisted vines, indifferent.
New, fragrant life burns.

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: Frederick Carl Frieseke, Cherry Blossoms (1913), 
oil on canvas, via Wikimedia Commons