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

maybe

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


Thursday, May 16, 2019

You can't argue with these things (Day 848)


you can't argue with these things   

hot afternoons   streaming   delicate 

incense   baked dust   pine resin 

and always always the lighthouse 

just out of view   terrible 

in its towering Olympian certainty   

a wandering heart   dreaming of prairies   

before and after  distant rumbling 

breakers teasing pristine sand then 

melting out of view   urging   beckoning 

a restless mind far as the eye can see


(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Danjocross/Pixabay



Wednesday, May 15, 2019

That Song (Day 847)

It was not the first time she heard him 

sing that song, and it would not be 

the last. Without knowing what he was 

doing, he would hum the tune—a little 

off-key—to himself, as if he was singing 

along with a top-40 hit on a portable radio 

propped in the sand near a faded blue

beach towel, 20 years in the past. 


(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Oleg Magni/Pexels

Tuesday, May 14, 2019

The Knowing (Day 846)

I saw it   a waning 

crescent   subtle 

against the tarnished sky

diplomatic   yet unable 

to answer for 

its untimely demise

consequence bent into 

a rich reward

(that’s what it feels like) 

when turbid water 

clears   and disturbing 

visions rise   rending 

a surface flawed as glass   

only the knowing 

will be left   

alone   in their gardens 

beneath the moon

tending bitter regrets


(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: PxHere

 


Monday, May 13, 2019

Haiku for Day 845

Fluid clouds paint the sky.

In moonlit circles, saplings dance.

Lanterns cast long shadows.


(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Sandeep Pawar (CC BY 2.0)

via Flickr

Sunday, May 12, 2019

First swim (Day 844)


Dipping our toes   again   
   into that cold gray pool
A cleft between rocks where rain 
   and melted snow collect
Where   in January   implacable 
   ice imposes its will
Further dividing what was 
   once one 
Where   soon  we will take respite 
   from a searing July sun

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: PxHere

Saturday, May 11, 2019

A little romance (Day 843)

Fingers entwined, they walked the steep, curving road, the town like a magic carpet at their feet; beyond it, a blue-diamond sea unfurled to the sky’s edge. Twenty years ago, and he could not imagine where that time had gone. Twenty years, and his love had only grown richer, more nuanced, layer upon layer—strata of joy, grief, frustration, contentment—accumulating beneath their feet, lifting them, ever-so-gradually toward this moment. He knew the hand in his, so strong and loyal and firm, as if he had painted it, in minute detail, every day of his life. Each line on that face, engraved by harsh darkness and fierce light, by time itself, was a road that, no matter where he turned, led him home again. Sure-footed, they descended, neither hurrying nor lingering, in perfect step, toward tomorrow and the next day, toward the magic-carpet town and the blue-diamond sea where, nearly two decades ago, they had watched the sun rise in each others’ eyes, and had known.

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: Mantas Hesthaven, Pexels

Friday, May 10, 2019

Cento 86: When you come in (Day 842)

Like when you come in 
from the wind   transported 
through tumbling clouds 
because you needed 
a sense of dread   you 
took a tiny dream   sweet 
and warm   that fell 
to the empty streets 
and sidewalks   chastising   
those small dark possibilities 
like opening your door
like when you come in

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: Pixabay

Thursday, May 9, 2019

He is not (Day 841)


he is not 

he is not 

here

this boy 

she loves  

anywhere  except 

in the image 

she holds 

sharp corners  

lodged 

so delicately 

in her heart


(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: PxHere


Wednesday, May 8, 2019

A world aglow (Day 840)

pears strung like garden lights
in a world aglow  
fragrance heavy   ripe as autumn 
branches shed their treasures 
at the violet-blue edge 
of summer’s lengthening shadow

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Tuesday, May 7, 2019

Embossed (Day 839)

bright clues passing 
like a song 
through torn pages
between embossed covers
toward illumination
and the light-tinged
eastern sky

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Monday, May 6, 2019

Connect the dots (Day 838)





(Note: Text is Madame Bovary, by Gustave Flaubert [public domain]. As for the visual “connect-the-dots” poem, I have neither answers nor explanations... HS)

Image (c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Sunday, May 5, 2019

Saturday, May 4, 2019

Undeterred (Day 836)

Feasting on a smoke-embroidered breeze

beneath the pleated silver sky

undeterred by drizzle  waves of voices 

ebb and flow  loose-limbed 

children roll  laughing  down a hill

landing in heaps among 

their parents  lolling damply on the lawn


(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Henri Labasque, M├Ądchen in einer Mittelmeerlandschaft

(1907), oil on canvas, via Wikimedia Commons


Friday, May 3, 2019

Some nights (Day 835)


some nights   when sweet fields 

of grass sway beneath the shadow 

of the moon   she finds herself 

alone 

her own 

voice a perfect crystal  

ringing like 

a bell in her ears   burning trails 

across the low-hanging 

wine-washed sky 

like sunlight slicing through 

green water   and she knows   

this is what it feels like 

to choose and be chosen in return


(c) 2019, by Hannah Six


Thursday, May 2, 2019

Sequestered (Day 834)


Months crumble under 

days  toppling 

like boulders onto the road 

and  further down 

the path  no one notices 

soundless  coiled

the snakes  

sequestered among them  


(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Dan9124 via Wikimedia Commons


Wednesday, May 1, 2019

A Fall (Day 833)


unaware of sharp-edged hours waiting 
in their midst   rough dreams break   crumpling   
stars dive   sparkling tails tracing elliptical patterns 
on a smoke-black midnight sky   their ashes paint 
broad strokes across concentric rings of roses   
full-blown as June   fragrance rending the cooling air 
all eyes fall groundward fearing the impending wave
and dark and light collide (though no one sees)
and the sympathetic wind grows still 
and clocks unwind   
    hands like windblown leaves   
    scattering before a storm   
and   in the undergrowth   a chorus of tiny frogs 
pauses    testing the silence   searching the shoreline 
for answers to questions scrawled like inspiration 
across once-white marble walls 

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: Abbie Rowe, US NARA via Wikimedia Commons