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

Spring Tanka (Day 462)

Slowly, seasons rise.

Cicadas dream of flying.

Snapping Tulip flags.

Violets keep their own counsel.

Consider the unfallen rain. 

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Cat Haiku (Day 369)

Beloved bittersweet

Enchantingly velutinous 

This bewhiskered bundle

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Note to worrywarts (like me): Charley played Muse today. He is perfectly fine! 

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

No Reason (Day 341)

When she feels unnecessary,

no reason for the oatmeal 

steaming in her bowl at breakfast, 

each plump blueberry, reclining 

in the gore of its own purple juices 

reminding her of the uselessness 

she senses under the thick cover 

of her life, the way her cat senses 

her feet beneath the quilts when

she climbs into bed, pouncing 

exactly where her unmoving toes 

are hidden, his sharp claws 

drawing tiny specks of blood that 

dry and darken on her pale skin. 

She knows it’s silly, allowing the cat 

to continue his nightly, slightly 

sadistic ritual, but when bedtime 

arrives, she does not chide him, 

because the game brings him joy, 

and this she feels, without actually 

thinking the words, makes her 

necessary, gives her reason enough 

to set her alarm for the next morning.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Cat (Day 326)

Awake?

Get up.

Asleep? 

Not now.

Come here 

and pet me—

no, not there!

Fill my food bowl.

Scoop my box.

Stop knitting socks

and play with me, 

but only if we 

play the game 

you don’t enjoy.

Not with that toy!

Some wet food. 

NOW.

I’m cold, 

your lap Is warm.

I’m hot, please move 

your arm away.

Don’t pick me up

or try to hold me.

You’ll be sorry!

Brush my fur.

Not with that brush!

Now, come to bed—

I’ll purr for you,

unless you really

want me to.

For Charley, who inspired this poem. 

Today.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

World Like a Cat Toy (Day 313)

Sometimes the world 

feels like a cat’s toy, 

a little blue-green ball, 

new, shiny, frantically 

spun about for a while, 

then batted under the bed 

and soon forgotten. 

For weeks, months, or (yes), 

even years, the toy remains 

inert in dust-laden darkness.

But, on a far-off moving day, 

someone may find it, 

pick it up, and say, 

“Hey, remember this?” 

Then, once again, the little ball 

will enjoy more light and 

find renewed favor, and be 

maniacally spun about, until 

it is batted under the bed again.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Moritz320

Indulgence No.1 (Day 228)

Deeply past nightfall.

Each page whispering secrets.

Weightless, fallow hours.

(c) by Hannah Six

Image: Pete Souza