Relief (Day 893)

Autumn runs through 

my fingers   and winter

a hidden spring   fringed 

lush with lichen and 

fronds nodding in 

the watery exhalation 

where cool rises from 

the earth   blue and deep

enough to dive   to sink

into when September is yet 

distant   the faintest 

suggestion of relief around 

the day’s persistent edges 

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Halcyoon (CC BY-SA 4.0)

Freshet (Day 892)

Fountains of stone   each 

mounted on another’s 

hunched shoulders   rough 

edges burnished 

by trickles and floods  

precious as time 

to the willing and the wise

(Did you know? Stacking stones in wilderness areas is bad for the environment: https://www.newyorker.com/culture/rabbit-holes/people-are-stacking-too-many-stones)

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: MaxPixel

A voice unheard (Day 891)

She is the same as me  

I could be her  and so 

could you  the edges blur

so far away  a voice 

unheard  so close  

comfort grows cold and 

wonder turns to fear   

she could  without a right

be next  or you  or me

to speak  a truth unearned   

allow the door to open  

the light to tumble in

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: US Library of Congress

Evening Stroll (Day 890)

Televisions tuned   like sharks  

to blood and mayhem   leaking 

Caribbean light into the once-dark 

world through windows 

like stages   on which   each night 

neighbors’ family dramas are 

presented for our viewing pleasure  

though we abstain   preferring 

the well-worn company of our own 

quiet breathing   hands loosely 

entwined   as we amble 

beneath a spinning diamond sky

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Dominika Roseclay/Pexels

In waves (Day 889)

Ochre ribbon   decked with 

curling skeins of grass 

and kelp   unraveling 

in waves   dissolving 

amidst a passionate embrace

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Ian Caldwell (CC BY-SA 2.5)

(Learn about North Ronaldsay sheep)

A Rare Day (Day 888)

It’s a rare day 

when I fail to think of you

in grief   your memory still comforts

in faded cotton  trailing barefoot 

   on a path beside railroad tracks 

      in July’s sere heat

in joy   your light shines through 

my eyes   moonwhite   dreams 

   of romance bursting in a heart

      too large for your too-small town   

it’s a rare day 

when I do not see you   standing 

   by a window   one hand cradling 

      the opposite elbow

in something diaphanous   

   enjoying the admiration 

      of your remembered beaux

those darling boys   cigarette akimbo   

eyes on the distance   and yet  

   in red   twirling   

      laughing as you danced away

In memory of my grandmother, LaVaughn Louise (Edwards) Baker, 

shown on the right, next to her twin sister, LaNore. 

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image of Carmel, CA: vtsr/Flickr (CC BY 2.0)

No idea (Day 887)

Even when silence paints his walls gray, 

his door opens inward, toward drenching 

rain, and sleet, and snow three feet deep 

or more. Among this surging crowd he did 

not think he’d last so long, resting on his 

deep green, but looking at that man makes 

him feel something or other. Is anyone here 

real? Waitress tells him she has no idea.

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Kenneth C Zirkel

(CC BY-SA 4.0)

Summer Porch (Day 886)

Surprise! A guest poet for Day 886! Today’s poem 

was submitted by Denise Wyant, a dear friend 

and multi-talented writer. 

Lazy summer breeze

Squirrels frolicking to and fro

Sinking into my wicker chair

Sweet iced tea, nearly empty glass

Simple pleasures are the best memories

Words and image (c) 2019, by Denise Wyant

Follow Denise, and see more of her gorgeous 

photography, on Instagram at @cwrg65

(PS. But I just couldn’t ignore my #poemaday streak. Oh, the self-imposed pressure! 😉 

So I jotted down a quick poem, which you may see one day. hs)

In a Crowd (Day 885)

I was not lonely

    alone   it took two

to make me so   sometimes

more   whole cities

    synchronized   crowds

        choreographed   precise

            clockwork movements

highlighting the quiet

in which I moved   

    enfolded   silent   

in their midst   alone I was 

not lonely   usually   it took 

    you to make me so

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Public Domain Pictures

Gallimaufry (Day 884)

Utterly transient, this wind-scoured day, 

lunching in your car, in the parking lot 

of a three-star restaurant, windows open 

to the sound of high heels tapping asphalt, 

of helium laughter, deliberately timed

Home, curtains wafting, another coffee, 

another walk-the-dog, neighbors creaking 

on hollow, hardwood floors, and phone 

silent as Sleeping Beauty, who waltzes in 

from a close-knit, southern town, muddy 

landscape of politics, religion, ignorance

We might all like to be someone someday, 

but luck is just a bundle of noise, hammers 

pound on a roof halfway down the block, 

vociferous robin holds forth in a cherry tree 

near the door, solo cricket tests the pale

afternoon air, waits, but no one answers

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Michael Jastremski/Open Photo

Aphorism (Day 883)

Spend your 

hunger wisely.

Savor well.

(c) 2019 by Hannah Six

Image: Maxpixel

Autumn’s restless heart (Day 882)

Autumn’s restless heart 

stirs beneath this August 

day   fine and green 

as emeralds  dream-strewn 

cicadas wake and climb

toward water-laden air

where trees   exhausted   rest

safeguarding next year’s buds

against the failing light

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: jplenio/Pixabay

Not far to walk (in the rain) [Day 881]

It’s not far to walk 

in the rain

warm concrete 

steam and ozone 

perfume

It’s not far to walk

in the rain

tires hissing and 

buckled sidewalks 

darkening

If you know where

you come from

you’ll know

where to go

If you know where

you’re going 

you’ll get there

in time

It’s not far to walk

In the rain

remembering how 

your world shone 

in the sun

The road’s hardest 

when you feel alone

but it’s not far

not too far to walk

in the rain

on your own

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Pexels

Shadow Chaser (Day 880)

Summer catches midday

returns smoothly  hands full 

of honey-bursting plums

azalea-shaded gray cat  

awash with insouciance  

extends  belly firmly pressed 

in cool gray dirt  

one slitted amber eye follows 

a duo of cavorting kittens  

a third rests apart  mesmerized 

by the changeable cast 

of shadows  trailing a sky-full 

of plump apricot clouds

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Oliver Schwarz/Pexels

Haiku for Day 879

Snow-swathed fields glisten

Bells peal, shatter brittle air

Steam wraiths rise and stretch

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Cento 27 (Day 878)

Since that day  a door closed 

gray as iron  and twice as cold

The mirror of tragedy suddenly 

burst into garlands of sparkling 

spring   and the deep sighing 

sky seeps in around the edges

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Mark Fasse (CC BY-SA 3.0)

Impulsive Earth (Day 877)

impulsive earth

living and dying and living 

   again   allowing 

for mysteries

for hillsides of sunflowers tracking 

   the slow progress of hours 

for swathes of ancient evergreens 

   obsured by pearl-tinged showers

for the echo of spiraling galaxies

   in even the smallest nautilus shell

our handful of minor comforts 

a destination worth defending 

this dream 

   from which we never want to wake

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: NASA/ESA

Pianoforte (Day 876)

Centuries have unfolded

since he 

last reached out   

   caressed 

dark weighted keys

his hand   

               warm   graceful

and they   aligned 

in stark formation  have been 

kind to him   to we

who knew 

                him

who sang 

                him 

like a woodlark’s song

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Edgar Degas, Four Dancers (1899), 

oil on canvas, via Wikimedia Commons

Grave words (Day 875)

This cavorting   careless 

as March 

   winds  indigo-stained  

grave words 

      barbed   serrated

   trickling across the page 

      or splayed   arcane

secrets exposed   apricots 

   split   kernels 

      revealed   received

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: PxHere

Indifference (Day 874)

looking away, shadows 

stand out in stark contrast

indifference, like smoke, 

softens bitter edges

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Neal Herbert/US NPS

Prairie (Day 873)

The sun pricked diamonds 

in the air   we sat 

so still   barely moving 

under the leaden afternoon heat

in a berry-drenched murmur   

kind carmine Os scattered gemlike 

in the grass at our feet   

dreaming of the future   ancient 

and withered   almost quieter than 

the vivid lichen-scarred prairie  

persuasive as summer 

definite as January 

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Jakob Koganowsky, Farmhouse in the Summer 

Light (1927), oil on canvas, via Wikimedia Commons

Fluttering (Day 872)

dusk-speckled wings 

whirl   buffeting window 

screens   eclipsing 

porch lights   fluttering 

after immortality

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: PxHere

Debut (Day 871)

where silvery clouds 

sway and waltz   swirling 

across the pristine 

cinnamon floor   blooming 

generous kisses melt 

a damask night 

averting innocence and

quenching vigorous thirsts

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Wilhelm Gause, Court Ball at 

the Hofburg (1900), via Wikimedia Commons