Friday, July 31, 2020

Even in darkness (Day 1289)

So quietly, the desert 

smoothes all wrinkles 

from the night

Only a rustle, a hiss, 

as ignorance steals away.

Even in darkness, 

truth sustains trust.


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Thursday, July 30, 2020

Flooded skies (Day 1288)

Flooded skies   sweet 

and serious as tonic


empty as no response  

bulbs flash   some remain 

unfulfilled   flat  


regretful   the new arrivals 

depart   balancing their


blades of  yellowed grass 

like nesting wasps   


leaving certain promises 

untended  to hatch alone


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Wednesday, July 29, 2020

More closely (Day 1287)

we knew all as equal

misunderstanding what would come

every heartbreak  devastation

each joy  beyond compare

until we learned to see more 

closely  to take a wider view —  

miraculous forests underfoot  

where stands of mosses soared 

vast planes of river stones  

safeguarding the secrets of ages  

and  astounding  the kindness of 

strangers  sustaining us  more reliably 

than even our greatest passions


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Tuesday, July 28, 2020

Ridges (Day 1286)

Swimming   dusk coffee-dark 

air like silver sparrows   

we breathed 

rain   morning puddles   

mountainsides   blue 

as a noon sky   pine-serrated 

ridges   looming   

blocking the last rays 

of red dust sunset   

on our tongues

the taste of iron & midnight

   

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six


Monday, July 27, 2020

Drought year (Day 1285)

we drove northwest

toward a distant

dark smudge of granite

 

through low oak-studded 

folds   resting   golden 

as fallen pears


in the full midday sun

katydids rasped messages 

in complex code


urgent answers

to the problem of rain 

which would pass  


to the south or slide

down the eastern slopes

if it fell at all


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Sunday, July 26, 2020

Night Sky Tanka (Day 1284)

behind rippling hills
dividing the salmon sky
miracle, unseen


belief thwarts disappointment 
— eternity requires trust

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Saturday, July 25, 2020

Background music (Day 1283)

A little bit uncomfortable.

A tiny bit of darkness around the edges.

A missing. A yearning. 

A grief that nibbles from time to time 

at your insides like a mouse —

not mean spirited, not intending harm. 

That’s just what grief does.

It plays in the background, like cicadas 

in summer. Like a radio on low volume.

Every now and then, the music surges, 

an advertisement blares, 

catching your attention. You notice it,

slightly puzzled, and then it fades,  

gradually, into the background again.


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six


Friday, July 24, 2020

Of masks & dogs (Day 1282; Pandemic series #11)

The day came when dogs 

grew so accustomed to face masks 

that they no longer growled 

suspiciously at friendly neighbors 


we  too  stopped seeing them

though they were worn   mostly

& learned to speak more clearly   

to smile with our eyes


grocers   once devoted to 

brand-name goods   now stocked 

oddly-labeled  off-brand soaps 

& imported hand sanitizers 


& finding a few boxes of our favorite 

pasta on a store’s shelves

was cause for sotto voce cheers

and an unobtrusive victory dance


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Thursday, July 23, 2020

The inescapable hum (Day 1281)

The world drifts past 
like time   slow   unpredictable 
voices mingling with traffic 
and the inescapable hum 
of human existence 

Silence has been banished 

Even the farthest reaches 
of unrelieved ice and cloud 
are prey to the distant rumble 
trailing jumbo jets 
on their way around the globe 

How funny we are   yearning 
always   for that 
which we have destroyed 

We are the authors 
of our own discontent 

Spoiled children   we break 
the toys we love most   
surprised when we learn 
they are irreplaceable as time
which drifts past 
like the unpredictable world

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Wednesday, July 22, 2020

Old-fashioned storm (Day 1280)

In unison, the treetops 
sway — a graceful, verdant 
wind ballet. 

Fast approaching, 
west to east, the storm 
roars, fierce as any beast. 

Below black clouds, the grass 
glows green, reflecting 
light for now unseen. 

Then, quickly as it came 
it’s gone, the sun rolls out 
the squall moves on.

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Tuesday, July 21, 2020

Every passing day (Day 1279)


To the south   rain threatens

looming darkly   and when 

the clouds finally break 

the drops tap   urgent fingers   


on our windows   dissolving 

into liquid gray twilight   

depleted by the storm   

the mind falters   wears thin   


longs to turn to the west 

bronzed and mellow in the sun 

and still   the days arrive   

one after another   


each revealing answers 

to questions best posed 

only in sleep   and those 

indecipherable messages   


even were we willing to admit 

to their truth   ask more   

and more   of us

with every passing day 


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six


Monday, July 20, 2020

Tanka for Day 1278

intimate petals 

freshly exposed  paper-white

faces uptilted


testing the dried-daffodil 

scent of impending August


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Sunday, July 19, 2020

Patiently the page (Day 1277)

Patiently   the page 

waits   and the pen

while I wash bowls

fold towels

and walk the dog


house in order   then

and out of chores

I wander to my desk

where aqua lines

lay   tranquil

and undisturbed


providing structure for 

my struggling words

a landing place 

for stories   notes 

and poems   until 

the day they find

their proper homes


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six



Saturday, July 18, 2020

Settling (Day 1276)

noon’s harsh glare 

softens  cooling 

into welcome dusk

the world falls away


how many restless 

hours we spend 

settling  becoming 

ourselves again


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Friday, July 17, 2020

Wednesday, July 15, 2020

In the house, alone (Day 1273)

he found himself in the house

alone   reading yesterday’s news

at the breakfast-littered kitchen table 


taking one last sip   he glanced up

at the pale walls   dotted with 

those small   delicate things 


women seemed obliged to own

tiny portraits in ornate silver frames

his grandmother’s sampler 


slightly unravelled   the dream had faded 

into sleep   once it was 

miraculous   an effulgent vision 


plucked on impulse from 

an overhanging branch   a stolen rose   

clutched   thorns and all   in trembling hands   


with all the promise of spring   it began

then summer   and autumn  nothing

lasts forever   he thought   but perhaps


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six


Tuesday, July 14, 2020

In landing (Day 1272)

deciding what to do 

with missing 

wings


when I think of  

when I flew 

away   


years ago   clouding 

my eyes   peace 

rushing in my ears


the danger is 

in landing  

mistakenly 


among hours 

extravagant 

with music


when silence 

would be 

the wiser choice


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Monday, July 13, 2020

Doubt (Day 1271)

with life ebbing and flowing 
below the fracturing walls 
of grandeur — a ghost town 
devoid of thoughtful composure 
and informed conversation 
— sweet sea breezes temper 
rapidly-spreading flames 
sparkling and simmering like love   
whose siren songs cast doubt 
on opposition   waiting patiently 
for the last of twilight to fade 
into a welcoming darkness

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Sunday, July 12, 2020

Meanwhile, the world... (Day 1270)

the desert floor is strewn 

with splinters 

of broken sky   reflecting 

an unwonted haze


& this day 

persists   sundrenched   stinging

we shield our eyes

gaze upward   concerned 


who among us failed to listen 

who was spared fear & regret


while a smudge   low 

on the horizon   bloomed 

and spread   vivid as a consuming 

grief   inbibing clouds & stars 

& this day   


persists   immeasurable

an unwelcome guest   a heaviness 

in the heart   so shameful 

we dare not look

we dare not look 

away


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Saturday, July 11, 2020

Curious struggle (Day 1269)


another immobile evening 

brightens and obscures 

while we wander 

the curious struggle   as ever   

overshadowing uninformed 

dreams   piercing the fog   

a staccato confusion falling 

like footsteps on the pavement

when did we first 

    glimpse a ripple

how to listen 

    so others may hear

where will it settle   

all this   when we are gone   

and sleep   long-anticipated   

seizes and drifts to a standstill 


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six


Friday, July 10, 2020

That McDonald’s... (Day 1268)


then there was the dark one

most familiar by moonlight

long after the blessed 

and the good drifted off

to a favorite song   words

familiar as a nettle’s sting

sustenance with a secret

worth keeping   

waiting for   waiting   

on midnight’s hushed shore 

for an uninvited guest

who never failed to disappoint


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Thursday, July 9, 2020

Submerged (Day 1267)

Submerged 

stories   swimming 

toward the surface


holding their breath 

stubbornly 

refusing to emerge


all you can do is 

sit on the banks 

and wait


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Wednesday, July 8, 2020

My ocean (Day 1266)

The blue sky is my ocean
wind-filled trees 
                stand in for sails
and the swifts dive
               sleek as dolphins
while plump white clouds
          swim by like whales

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Tuesday, July 7, 2020

Quickly, slow (Day 1265)

Quickly, slow hours pass

Orange cat dreams of forests

We wonder: How soon? 


Prowling among lost pages

Night descends like yesterday


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six


Monday, July 6, 2020

Beneath the canopy (Day 1264)

we were sitting in the heat   
in the shade   beneath the canopy 
and rain came 
   dense as thunder   we remained outside 
and thunder vibrated 
   beneath our feet
and the wind blew out the sun 
   until we began to cool
and the rain on pavement 
   so hot it burned our eyes
that delicious summer when 
   we tolerated one another  
before there was lightning   and heat 
   stole our breath until we laughed 
at the absurdity of rain   
   pummeling the sidewalk 
like waves   splintering into spray
   slick on our faces   
and the rain started 
lightly   growing heavier   and we stood 
there   laughing until we cried

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Sunday, July 5, 2020

If I could tell you just one thing (Day 1263)

If I could tell you just one thing, I would 

tell you about the light before a storm, glittering 

with suppressed energy, colors heightened,

shapes defined, as clouds collapse over one another 

on the western rim — the birds’ bacchanalian chorus,

the crickets’ and katydids’ and cicadas’ 

frenzied whir and buzz — then


silence.


A far-off wind rumbles low, growing ever louder, 

rolling over the fields, and breaking over the trees, 

just moments before the first drop falls, 

soon a torrent. How air becomes liquid, drowning 

the dessicated world, until you wonder 

how breathing is even possible. 

Surely nothing can survive this falling flood.

And, for a moment, some ancient animal 

deep inside panics — anxious, claustrophibic, 

desperate to flee — then  


silence.


In a blink, each droplet flashes its captured sunlight, 

and the renascent world blazes with incandescent steam.  

A single bird calls, and then another. 

One cricket tests his wings.

If I could tell you just one thing, I would tell you this.


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six


Saturday, July 4, 2020

Dreaming of liberty (Day 1262)

Dreaming of liberty? 

Remember, freedom looks 

nothing like a 250-year-old daydream. 

Real freedom evolves 

and the truly-free evolve with it, 

accepting and adapting to new ways 

of thinking and being, rather than clinging 

to faded myths and half-truths.  

That willingness to change may be

the essential nature of independence.

Or, on the other hand, perhaps 

it is simply essential.


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six


Friday, July 3, 2020

That’s OK (Day 1261)

Do you wonder how it feels

to be desired? 

That’s OK. 


Do you miss your family 

and the people 

you called friends?

That’s OK, too.

 

Missing is much easier

than comfort

or even love

which can be a bed of nails

or just a pebble in your shoe.


Because the end of a thing

always leaves 

a trace of itself 

behind — 


A handkerchief

hiding in a sock drawer.

A song suddenly missing

from a well-loved LP —

only crackling silence

filling the space

where music once was.


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six



Thursday, July 2, 2020

Safeway at Sunrise (Day 1260)

The first one shone   
bright as hope dawning 
on an autumn day   
and empty as I could have wished   
except for the man 
tending the flowers and trees
who   one morning   walked up    
bashfully   high-heeled sandals
dangling from thin leather straps
and asked what size shoes I wore
I bought these for my girl   
he said   but she left   
they’re brand new   
so   before I throw them away 
I thought I’d offer them to you

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Wednesday, July 1, 2020

Without warning (Day 1259)

Without warning

everything slumps 

toward night   except


he does not

swaying among these 

rocking masts  breath 

tepid   frail   complex 


as spring   truth 

fraying at the seams   

a needle of arctic wind 

piercing the skyline 


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six