Haiku for Day 378

The vagrant light drifts.

A breeze slips through long grasses.

Stirring, wonder sighs.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

V. He is... (Day 377)

V

sad  he is a little cog in an eternal wheel 

of intrigue  a dime a dozen  he is 

being erased  the golden throne he plopped 

his assets on will be torn out  no damage visible 

to the naked eye  his end has come  celebrations last
the night  and still they fight  and they will still resist

because his handlers remain  and we all know that

even a melancholy dog can make a fair fascist

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image adapted from photo found on Pixabay

IV. He is... (Day 376)

IV

finished  celebrating 

his grandest achievement  

pinnacle of power  that trophy 

he stole from defeat’s slavering 

jaws  but it brings no joy to 

this man  only discontent 

stress-related illness  and  

a life in all ways diminished 

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image created from an original photo 

from the US Dept. of Defense

III. He is... (Day 375)

III

beet-faced grunting and 

straining  sweat raining 

onto the woman beneath 

him  who would not deign 

to disguise her disgust but 

for fear of losing her place 

at the foot of his table

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

II. He is... (Day 374)

II

wriggling his little pink 

piggies in specially-sifted sand 

stained coral by juicy steaks and 

the blood of the innocents 

with which it is washed at dawn

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

I. He is... (Day 373)

I

hosting gold that doesn’t 

glitter and unpublished literati 

in libraries lined with those 

pageless books beloved by 

furniture-store decorators 

and unusually shallow despots

(c) 2018 by Hannah Six

A Slice of Lime (Day 372)

Simple afternoon  blistering in lavender shadows 

book on the table  eyes drifting closed as you doze 

Your dreams flicker like bubbles rising in a glass 

and I cling to the side  a slice of lime my life preserver

It seems the ice melts more quickly as summers fly 

past those other people we used to be  though 

the woman who sells tomales from door to door in 

my neighborhood will tell you  it wasn’t always this way

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

*I took this photo in 2007, and always loved it. 

Check out my old cell phone! (“Phonie”—best phone ever.)

Experiment (Day 371)

Always Open (Day 370)

Door thrown wide slate step cold blank air of dawn

Dove-gray mist masks morning’s mood

Rings like engagements stack fingers and thumbs

Up to her knuckles diamonds in lacy antique golden

Blonde as the day is long though unnaturally so

They say but she doesn’t give a fig for their opinions

Of her one thing is certain she’s seen the world

Weary and bright as a wet watercolor

Pigments undiluted unfaded as spring daylight 

Fractured into a thousand rainbows by sparkling bay 

Windows are the eyes to a soul and hers are

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Henry G. Marquand House, trompe l’oeil Conservatory Window 1883-1884

 (photo: Pierre-Selim Huard via Wikimedia Commons)

Cat Haiku (Day 369)

Beloved bittersweet

Enchantingly velutinous 

This bewhiskered bundle

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Note to worrywarts (like me): Charley played Muse today. He is perfectly fine! 

Future No.1 (Day 368)

capturing  creating  

refracting 

possibilities 

no start  no end

depthless shoreless 

roiling 

intellgent  devoid 

(of limits)

incapable 

(of prejudice)

loving 

us

wanting 

us 

to be 

content

survive  succeed

be at peace

infinitely giddy 

with every 

fear  despair  tenderness

of any sentient creature 

throughout time continuous 

creating itself

birthing itself

sustaining itself 

and us 

and all life

unable to be barred

no matter what 

it will  

it will

it will

and show us 

precisely  undeniably 

what we are

no matter 

when we are 

unforseeable  unimaginable

shining 

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Steppinstars/Pixabay

Scattered (Day 367)

scattered like pebbles 

we don’t see

each other often 

enough

which translates to: 

you 

at your window 

watching a stream 

of stoop-shouldered 

students trickle 

along the sun-cracked 

sidewalk to and from 

the community 

college up the road

you like to say

we all have our own

lives but this

is not the one

I would have chosen 

for you

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Almost Always True (Day 366)

The only things are bitter 

words and politics and cold 

blue sky aching tired and 

purring under a warm river of 

chocolate and chamber music 

reading and resting warmly 

wrapped in the things we used 

to love how they lifted and 

lightened our troubles until 

they merely floated away like 

feverish dreams and poetry 

winter and absinthe inspire 

and so that’s all I able to give 

to you but at least you knew

it was always almost true 

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Advertising poster for "Absinthe Rosinette",

 published by Imprimerie Camis, Paris, circa 1900; 

via Wikimedia Commons

Distress (Day 365)

I did not think 

we’d come

to this

I did not think 

we’d last 

so long

as a first kiss or 

a sparrow’s song

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image via Pexels

Silken Grip (Day 364)

When the hand lets go   the fingers 

continue to meet   forming an O of 

conspiratorial approval   a manual 

wink   and the glass tumbles to 

the carpet   the clink of ice and 

slice of lime giving voice to 

otherwise-silent sin    the street 

outside fizzes with traffic and 

surely-fascinating conversation   

if only she could hear more clearly   

and she strains her ears to make out 

the words   When the mind lets go   

thoughts continue to seep out onto 

the page   into a world embraced by 

the jumble of thrice-used plastic 

bags favored by the divorced woman

d'un certain âge who abstains from 

the silken grips of costly leather 

satchels   and the need to sustain her 

well-heeled husband’s grim-lipped 

approval   for the freedom to let go

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Kelly bag

Wen-Cheng Liu/Wikimedia Commons

Longed for (Day 363)

night imploded 

into sleek weeks 

of longed-for lethargy 

a million stars became 

months of quiet musings 

yet in the end it was not 

my lover blackberry-ripe 

with unnewsworthy stories 

who constrained my heart 

it was my friend

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Naughty Child (Day 362)

Lingering over a clasp 

deciding wagging 

side-to-siding 

mouth awry

naughty-child-nearly-caught 

eyes twinkling 

in their nest 

of pale-mapped wrinkles 

fistlike clenched  

soapy and slick words 

slide from your lips  

puddling silken 

at your feet 

a pool of shame 

to your dismay 

they all look markedly 

away without a single smile

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: joon2079/Pixabay

The Unthinkable (Day 361)

How do you find 

language to describe 

what no longer exists?

Is it a vacuum?

An absence? A lack?

How will you

explain what it was like 

when morning came 

and you found yourself

unable to pronounce

the title with

<his name>?

Unable to link words,

one by one, into 

a chain strong enough 

to safely convey 

the unthinkable?

What is it like for you

to imagine that 

dwindling time 

when the acknowledged

remained unimaginable? 

When dead-eyed, vapid,

and vacant were animated, 

instead, by mercy, 

intelligence, and humanity? 

Will you help them, 

one day, understand 

how we allowed our 

pure freedom

to be smeared and sullied

by the sticky fingers 

of unheeded warnings?

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: djacoby/Pixabay

Sole Transformation (Day 360)

no longer is this 

our sole transformation

this agonizing feint 

so special so beautiful 

trusting in the lingering 

bands of shadows 

from stands of tulip trees

a story that may not be 

objectified 

best left in its natural state 

without humor 

or self-deprecation 

the vibrant location 

never required 

a single elaboration

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Vincent van Gogh, Farmhouse in Provence, 1888, 

oil on canvas, National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC

Angel (Day 359)

Hands flower heat expands

Mist annoints an oatmeal angel

One poised dewdrop succeeds

Sirens call joy children pout

Suddenly brown petals play

Torn committees flutter

Green shadows tax the humid wind

Nearby frogs are chiding

(c) 2018 by Hannah Six 

Image: pixel2013/Pixabay