Who Chooses the Music (Day 481)

My cat is a tiger lily, 

wild and bright.

Vivaldi is his kryptonite.

To get him into bed at night,

I turn on The Four Seasons.

My dog is innocent 

as a daisy.

Bach settles her 

when she feels crazy. 

Sheep safely grazing 

make her lazy.

She finds sonatas pleasing. 

Sweet music soothes

the savage beast,

so I’ve collelcted quite a feast

of Beethoven, Hydn, and Liszt,

for pets who need appeasing. 

Who needs another reason?

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

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

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

Searching (Day 358)

searching 

   for safe passage

on a map 

of the gray 

   and rainy space 

   in your heart

no clear route 

   between 

   here and there

   just trailing words

dotted where towns were 

with small 

   black 

      holes

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Black Sunday dust storm, April 14, 1935 (US NOAA Public Library). You can see some truly incredible photos here: http://www.crh.noaa.gov/oun/?n=blacksunday-maps

Serengeti Love Song (Day 357)

Girraffes can be

terribly romantic, 

intimate with 

the nuances of love. 

Until I met you,

eyelashes melting 

in the sub-Saharan rain,

I lived for years  

doubting whether 

this was true.

Yet there you were,

velvet nose

buried in sweet acacia,

ossicones gold with pollen,

the mighty thrumming

of your powerful heart 

like a distant drum,

luring me.

I longed to nuzzle 

your pale neck, 

to count the hot brown 

patches strewn across 

your hide, and sighed,

Alas.

But at this humble sound, 

your ears pricked up, 

your brown eyes softened, 

and time seemed

to trip and stumble. 

Later—with the taste

of your hot urine mingling 

with rain upon my 

bruise-tinged tongue—

we wondered at a love 

so vast that it could 

barely be contained within 

the rippling boundaries of 

our sweeping Serengeti Plain.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: 12019/Pixabay

• Giraffe FAQs: https://giraffeconservation.org/faqs/ 
• Types of giraffes: https://giraffeconservation.org/giraffe-species/
• “Fun facts about giraffe sex...” (which involves a mouthful of urine): https://www.popsci.com/giraffe-reproduction-birth-live-stream

Responsibility (Day 355)

Did you say yes, 

that day? 

Or did you say no?

Did you guess? 

Or did you go under-

ground, where, 

in the dark, you sought 

an answer from among 

yesterday’s ill-begotten 

remembrances? 

Then again, perhaps

you simply looked 

the other way?

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: gladatony/Pixabay

Blue (Day 351)

blue 

blew through me

I knew the underside

of a frozen stream 

seeping through the sky

where its seams were 

still unfinished

new

I knew the rhythm 

of your blood 

inside the landscape 

of your veins

a pattern barely realized

yet recognizing my disguise

left you somehow

diminished

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Mt Rainier at Sunset, NOAA Library

Hygge Tanka (Day 344)

On windows, frost blooms

Steam unravels from damp wool

Fire sighs and settles

Melting daylight drips like gold

Silent as cats, drafts slink in

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

A cloud, a wave (Day 336)

A cloud   a wave

           an inhalation   supported 

by turbulent uprisings 

  roiling   

        amassing   

drawing the horizon 

    up 

in its grand designs   

strength 

   lending strength   fury 

feeding fury

unfolding

unbending

              poised 

on the breathless   edge

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Peter Gill/UK

Roy G. Biv, Pt. 1: Red (Day 319)

“I’m gonna turn back the clock,” Roy said,

“Or those Liberals’ll paint us Commie red!

Let’s go back to the days of old

When men wore guns, and coal was gold!”

“I’ll build a wall from sea to sea!

They’ll pay the bill, for us it’s free.

It’ll keep us in, and keep them out!”

The crowd cheered so, he had to shout.

“Those nasty women should be banned.

They dare presume to take a stand?

While, we’re at it, Muslims, too—

‘Cause we know what they plan to do!”

Soon, chants arose, of: “Lock her up!”

Rebel flags flew from pick-up trucks.

At racist rallies, all seats were filled.

In Charlottesville, a girl was killed.

Unbelievably, voters believed his lies,

And democracy, in darkness, dies.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: “To begin with, I’ll paint the town red” 

A political cartoon by Grant E Hamilton, 1885

US Library of Congress via Wikimedia

Hot Air (Day 318)

Reclaimed by that hot air

Our cool rain enriches the clouds

Fertile land grows arid

Their vast dams newly reinforced 

Water will not trickle down again

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image via Pixabay

Conscious Planet (Day 306)

raw and ugly   sawed blankly through 

the black green hillside of tumbledown 

trees presaging landslides to come   

slipping and slumming down on every 

gambler who packs his ivory-colored heart 

on the back of a public flirtation or 

a private-jet barter for a smallish blue planet 

careening through emptiness without 

a driver   its liquid center sloshing and 

splashing like a fringe-festival flask in 

the governor’s pocket   tender and aquatic   

fragile and pliant   she will rise to her full 

height one day and exact her molten revenge

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Jim D Griggs, US Geological Survey 

On a Bench (Day 297)

On a gray bench she rests 

with faded hands  

eyes half open to the forest 

at her feet  a blanket 

of pink sand delights her 

senses  rinsed clean by 

pure turquoise 

dreams of Saturdays and 

lazy afternoons floating 

in circles beneath 

a gliding hawk while 

dogs barked and 

distant mowers groomed 

the knotted fringe of day

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: MabelAmber

Commuter (Day 295)

I remember when entire conversations, like trees, grew 

and bloomed, while you lit one cigarette after another, 

and I admired the fine, vulnerable bones of your bare feet.

I remember how, having plundered a seaside town, we 

collapsed, laughing, on a damp wooden bench, near 

a fountain glazed by the morning’s fog. 

I remember a hint of blue seeping in around the edges 

of the mini-blinds (softened with sheer curtains) while you 

got ready for work, and I for the empty hours without you.

I remember the 5 a.m. train, purring and spitting oily grit 

at the silent pack of commuters who waited, clutching 

travel mugs, shifting from foot to foot in the tepid rain.

And I remember sitting in the idling car, in the lightening 

parking lot, watching your train pull away.

(c)  2017, by Hannah Six

Image: WikimediaCommons

Dark-eyed boys (Day 277)

two dark-eyed boys

their father 

at the window parting 

red curtains  kick a ball 

where the greenest grass 

grows  watered by tears 

she cried when she kissed them 

goodbye  there  then

all she could hope for was 

a warm day  lamenting that  

during the rain  they had 

not been able to play outdoors

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image:sasint

Jump high the stairs (Day 274)

jump high the bleached and splintered stairs

today was so many no’s and don’ts

and now the children are poison darts

and now she come here and just give me a hug

no really that’s what she said

the parents know that water’s good

and beating on the window 

set the crickets down with heavy sun

squeaks and whistles rattling every tree

i won’t back up ‘til the battle’s won 

and here I sit

come on let’s go out front ‘cause she’s only five 

or ten minutes away

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: KRiemer

Half the Battle (Day 272)

When prepared     You’ve fought half the battle

Don’t you             Worry about me, while you’re away

Make your own    Luck, fate, or invention, they’re your’s, this

Day                       Break, these good intentions, the shiny gold trophy.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image of Puerto Rico: The Brandsmen

Haiku for Day 267

Downpour of darkness  

Inviting elk to forage

Antlers pale as smoke

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: skeeze via Pixabay