Gingko (Day 249)

Xanthous gingko quilt

Fetid swathe of silken fans

Unfurled overnight

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: TeamGrayDuck

Hibiscus Evening (Day 190)

Like the ruby hibiscus, 

hoarding sunlight, 

the evening sky furls. 

Petals laden with rain, 

it curls in on itself, 

and the birds fall silent. 

We wait for that first drop, 

the burst that follows, 

sending spray through our 

window screens and 

faithful fans, always running. 

An almost-August storm, 

borne in on a southern wind 

from down the valley, 

not mountain-split this time. 

We’ll witness the full brunt 

of its clamor and crashing 

downpours, feet up 

on the porch railing, leaning 

into each other, knowing 

only in our bones how it was 

when February paused here, 

shook herself, and filled 

our narrow street with snow.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: Andrew Dunn

How Summer Wanders (Day 188)

Evening sank, then, 

when we understood 

how summer wanders. 

Then, when the world 

seemed to flutter 

like plum blossoms 

under April’s spell. 

I thought as much—

I remember, too, 

when the shards 

of frozen days 

pierced our hearts; 

you, silently dismayed. 

Soon, in a different light, 

when summer has been 

well-staged, we may amble 

along the sleeping shore, 

mid-day tide rushing in. 

This will happen. 

And we’ll feast on 

the orchards’ spoils, when 

all is sweet-dripping nectar, 

and dozy, humming bees. 

The size of that night sky, 

laced so finely with stars, 

delicate as lichen patterns 

on an ancient stone wall.

You can take me now, 

if you like, into this sinking 

evening, before it is gone. 

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Inspired by "Ich Denke Dein" by JW von Goethe (Untranslated version)

Photo: North of Slaidburn, Donald Judge

A moment, driving (Day 155)

 

The hills stand, black, 

against a silver sky,

Dust rides hot wind

where combines cut 

the grass 

beside the highway. 

The air takes on 

a ripe and leathery 

scent, rich patina on

the maturing day. 

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: Matt Duncan via Pexels.com

Between (Day 152)

Between light and dark

As fireflies are rising

We fall together

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

And Yet... (Day 141)

Washington, DC (Image courtesy NASA GSFC, MITI, ERSDAC, JAROS, and U.S./Japan ASTER Science Team)

And yet, the world 

is lush with summer promises, 

is emerald grass and flowering trees, 

and rustlings amidst the leaves. 

And yet, the sky 

is vast, a polished tourmaline,

with gentle puffs of unshed rain, 

and cottontails nibbling new growth.

And yet, the morning,

filled with song, is fresh and new, 

is sunrise gold that winds along

to fireflies and starry nights. 

And yet, the days still pass, 

and languid rivers melt their shores, 

and jagged peaks grow soft and old, 

nothing lasts forever—

And yet, the world.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Stillness (Day 140)

Photo: Jason Hollinger

Thick layers of stillness drape 

the cornfield's winter stubble,

midnight sky pearly and pale,

her face concealed behind

a veil of crystals dropping

like petals onto the drifts' 

unmarred shoulders with 

barely more than a sigh.

Hushed, the world rests. 

Hushed, we walk, slowly, 

each step ending with

a creak, until we stand 

in the great wide open,

faces turned toward 

the flakes that cling 

like tiny feathers 

to our eyelashes.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Two Haiku, Two Senryu (Day 124)

Photo: Marabuchi

Birds versus squirrels 

Locked in eternal battle 

Sharing the same tree

***

Rabbit stretches tall

Craning his neck to nibble

Sweet, young poppy leaves

***

Friday: hot humid

Saturday: sweater weather

Mid-Atlantic May

***

Chic woman with scarf

Insouciantly knotted

matches her flowers

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six