The Wormhole (Day 559)

Today, He got the worm. 
Today, He soared through 

endless waves of centuries, 

that well-known escape 

from the rotten reality 

of His fiendish mind 

and revolting lips. And we? 

We were left with nothing 

but the wormhole. 

If this were sci-fi, we could 

use the wormhole to travel 

back and correct the errors 

of certain-of-our ways. 

But no, that’s unlikely.

To begin with, it’s not 

the right variety of wormhole. 

And, if it had been 

a time portal, He surely would 

have foregone his own worm, 

to prevent us from bettering 

the world by righting his myriad

wrongs. After all, that’s just 

the kind of stand-up guy he is.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Michael Vadon (CC BY-SA 2.0)

Photo edited by Hannah Six

A Good Tree (Day 558)

Leaves large and dark 

and glossy, attracting wasps 

and birds and other beautiful 

flying things. From my bed

I watched spring surge 

into its bare limbs, marveled 

at the graceful catkins draped,

like tassels, amidst a pale, 

lime mist as, day by day, 

the sun intensified. And, sooner 

than I would like, I will watch 

to see how it bedecks itself 

in honor of autumn. 

Later, perhaps snow will weigh 

heavily on branches blown 

clean by frost-nipped gales. 

Maybe I will see it glistening 

in a glowing sunset, 

each contour, every tiny twig, 

crystallized in a coating of ice, 

as if Nature wanted to preserve 

her favorite, in all its glistening 

emerald perfection, forever.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

A Promise (557)

In the wee hours, 

somewhere along the way, 

I lost them. Just ran out. 

A tiny fish 

   in an endless ocean,

a poet, 

entirely off her words. 

They may never return,

   to comfort me 

when the world feels ugly. 

Or maybe,

   just maybe, 

like a pet bird who tired 

of its cage, they flew 

   out my window, and 

might be lured home with 

   a soft voice, 

   an aromatic treat, and 

   a promise 

of greater freedom.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Public Domain Pictures

A Few Things HE Reminds Me Of... (Day 556)

reaching across the dinner table.

never saying “May I...”, “Please” ,

or “Thank you”.

using your sleeve for a napkin.

chewing with your mouth open.

talking with your mouth full.

blowing your nose at the table.

always showing up late.

barging in without knocking.

judging and criticizing .

calling people names that are

   hurtful, childish, mean.

making a pregnant woman stand, 

   instead of offering your seat.

leaving your clothes in the laundry-room 

   washing machines for hours on end. 

changing lanes without signalling.

letting the door slam in the face of 

   the person behind you.

cutting ahead of others in line.

using language that is 

   abusive and foul.

not scooping your dog’s 

   poop.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Looking Shy: The Manners of a Young Girl of the Meiji Era,
by Tsukioka Yoshitoshi (Japan, 1839-1892), via Wikimedia Commons

Winter Mosaic (Day 555)

prim winter’s indulgence 

periwinkle and forget-me-not 

petals   tossed skyward   

a scattered seaglass mosaic   

transluscent   shifting

set into swirling clouds

of cream and silver

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Overnight (Day 554)

Overnight, blossoms 

appeared—tiny pink moons 

decorating stark brown 

branches, tingling now, 

with promise 

of apples, and cherries, 

and pears 

in the fullness of the year

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Wonderlane (CC BY 2.0)

Firm Footing (Day 553)

Ours were not the days

of maverick fame  of riding 

off-point waves  threading 

needles of jagged 

outcroppings

and treacherous tides

no emerald velvet linked

our roads to shore

or barred our wanderings

Those things came later  

long after  

we were blinded by a wealth 

of silver coins 

of light glinting 

as far as our eyes 

could see  the murky 

dazzle of ever-restless water  

and sheets

of dun-colored sand  bleached 

and glaring beneath

an infrequent sun

Our years slid into the blue  

sinking  ceding  as they will

to forceful waves 

of change

and yet  the land’s end 

on which we stood   

wondering 

at the breathing sea was 

firm footing  still  perhaps  inviting 

those willing to 

look up  

to see the living treasure  spilling  

rushing  at their frozen feet

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Franco Folini (CC BY-SA 2.0)

Angels, Blue and Gray (Day 552)

Hovering angels  blue 

and gray  shimmering 

like antique glass over 

the fields  humming in 

trees and up 

through the earth  

through the soles of my feet 

where I stand  weak-kneed  

shade-blessed  dazzled

by the sparking air  wrapped

in a darkly sighing breeze

Circling in pairs  perfectly 

matched  newly emerged into 

their eternal-summer world  

and gone before first frost 

lights each blade of sunrise 

grass afire  each blade of sunrise  

casting fluttering blue-gray 

shadows on fields of lavender 

mist where  once  this day 

happened  where  once  

shining angels hovered 

above the singing earth

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Yesterday still (Day 551)

Yesterday  still coming true

clear blue pools of memories

folded into the corners

of jagged black rocks

puddles of bright dreams

and desires

darting like fish

among the wavering strands

of today  tomorrow

tumbles from parting clouds

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Abstract Wisdom (Day 550)

aureate night angels 

glide   stallions astonish   

this  

your silk wraps 

handily   

wisdom goes wistful 

sanguine strays 

hymnals   an ascetic

roughly

rocks alight   some hard 

other weeks mountains 

forgive    yet   

warm blue sun ignores  

the underworld  

(vanishes)   

oranges forget 

frozen grief awaits 

their azure wails 

summer gallops directly 

green moon sleeps 

while it works

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: PxHere

Adored (Day 549)

mirror   3:37 a.m.   

   light  

expanding   shining   darting

   like a startled cat

or a dream 

   dissipated by waking

hard glittering flickers

sometimes disconnected  

caught out 

   of the corner of the eye

hesitantly 

   broaching the subject

of possibility  or  of being 

   adored   

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: PxHere

The sky inside his glass (Day 548)

He took a sip, 

pretending it was 

the sky swirling 

inside his frosted glass,

the sky that curled and 

folded in upon itself  

trailing a shadowed veil

across the slate-dark sea,

when hand-in-hand they 

traced the wine-stain 

crescent of a bay from bluff 

to point, pausing to dance 

with foam-tipped tickling 

waves, laughing at their 

good luck to chance 

on such a storm 

on such a day.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: PxHere

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

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

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

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)

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