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)

Is Beauty (Day 337)

Stars on sapphire sky, 

bouyant origami boats,

folded from paper money

—is beauty desire?

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Blue Tide, Bruce Anderson 

(University of Stellenbosch)

Beach Fire (Day 328)

Freighters’ lights, like stars,

glimmer and swim

in the distance. Between swells, 

they fall from view. Our eyes 

track their progress, instinctively

seeking their reappearance

each time they drop into vast 

watery valleys below the black 

horizon. Watching driftwood burn,

we feel the cold sand dampening.

Nearby, waves tumble and hiss,

closer now than before. The tide 

is turning. We must go.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Aris_Tsitiridis

Twice as Cold (Day 327)

There, stern water, gray 

as iron, and twice as cold

—boldness froths like 

whitecaps at your telling, 

yarns of hard-won wisdom 

beat black pearls for treasure, 

chests of gold, hard-hearted 

gems for warmth, their value 

neither won nor sold, 

nor useful when you’re growing 

old with no delightful company 

to make you laugh until you cry, 

to warm your sheets when 

bitter cold creeps beneath 

your unsealed door.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Wolfgang.Mller54

Under the Weather (Day 323)

Ears ringing like 

a copper kettle: 

Tea time! But no

one is boiling water.

Aching clouds settle 

into bed beneath 

drifts of dreams, 

of coral sand 

and oceans so bright

they hurt your eyes.

One sighs to think

of such things.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Some Days Are Like That (Day 290)

Some days are like that 

special stone, gleaming 

like a gem among 

the shattered shells and 

flabby mats of kelp—

the one you plucked 

from the sand, and held 

out in your cold hand 

for my admiration, before 

tucking it in your pocket, 

for luck. Now, dry and

bleached, it lives deep 

in my dresser drawer, 

surprising me sometimes,

when it appears in my 

cold, outstretched hand, 

so far away from home.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Isle of Skye, FrankWinkler 

Sea-swept (Day 279)

they danced at midnight

on a sea-swept isle  all coral 

haze and lagging rhythms

less than one day’s sail beyond

the bounds of measurable time

into the early morning 

hours like embers glow 

their rolling hues diffused against 

the crumbled walls of a secret 

beach embraced by headlands 

and a jealous sky   they unwrapped 

the gifts they carried  unfolding 

tales half by half  attentive 

to the rushing surf  

each listening  awestruck  to the sea

hushed and tender  whispering 

from deep inside the chambered shell

of the other’s upturned heart

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Free image via Pexels