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