Mammoth (Day 487)

Imagined transparent 

against eons of ice  awakened 

without a by-your-leave

awakened without a choice

bold conqueror 

of the frozen old   a foreigner 

in this subtler new New World

Mammoth whispered   

a trace of sadness 

tuned his ancient voice

Sundry seasons entranced 

ere darkness rose   

Sundry sunsets danced 

across virgin skies

where only flying creatures

had yet flown

No pitiless fears will come again 

to tired spirits below  

But pitiless mornings will rise

above considering all you know

Eyes closed   he melted 

into the blue crevasse

what would come 

to pass still echoed 

on frozen air 

a trace of sadness 

tuned his ancient voice   

we have a choice   for now   

we have a choice

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Simon Migaj/Pexels

Imperfect (Day 445)

look                      over there

see                       where 

we once were       it seems     

like                        always  

the                        sun               

moon                    and stars were

blazing                  red 

raging                   with anger        

in the west            don’t tell me 

their                      God’s in             

charge                  my spirit

still                        bears the 

prophesied           scars

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Sorbyphoto/Pixabay

Pointillist II (Day 436)

Breathe hush wind beach fog 

Petal cup hand abundant kiss

Slice green point edge damp

Electric shiver ice steel frost

Marine slough clear shimmer curl 

Breath flow gurgle chime rocks

Bird floral bittersweet wing dust

Knowing warmth wait send tucked

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Patterns of the superbloom 

at Carrizo Plain National Monument 

Bureau of Land Management/ Flickr

The greenness of yesterday’s grass (Day 434)

They fantasized 

about resting 

on ancient oceans’ 

sticky surfaces,

about finding a path 

their feet would recognize 

as the way home.   

Among the fortunate few 

who could forget 

the greenness 

of yesterday’s grass, 

in the end, for this 

privilege, they were met 

with disdain, scorned 

and rebuffed, but 

they remained hopeful and 

taught their children 

to swirl through the world 

having vast adventures, 

voyages of possibility, 

and when they encountered 

their own ripples, 

swelling like waves 

to wash them 

clean away, without a trace, 

they knew that choosing 

this deafening moment 

is everything.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Martie Swart/Flickr

Bridge (Day 432)

Bridge of no burdens. 

Leaf-green light, bright with warblers.

Beneath, clear stream flows.

(c) by Hannah Six

Image: Bergadder/Pixabay

Trout (Day 408)

Overhanging branches  speckled brown as trout 

by months of unfiltered sun and lingering 

drought   spring-fed streams   cold 

and clean on the surface   water of many 

rivers   flowing warily westward   rising 

through narrow 

chasms of  

tumbling 

boulders

swiftening under bridges built 

when mystery veiled the moon 

then 

spreading out 

into the ease of a broad delta plain.

Looking down-river   watching 

water-spiders float effortlessly on the taut skin 

of a deep-plunging pool   shady niches 

harbor insect worlds and coarse bits 

of upstream-stories drift past 

tell tale rings on the green-black surface 

where fish rise to kiss the air

and all of this will help 

you see

and all you will see 

in all of this

is an iridescent flash—a fish darting 

into shadows in front of 

or behind rocks or submerged fallen trees—

swimming impossibly fast   like a dream

disappearing before your eyes 

because they spotted you 

before you 

were able to lure them with the subtle bait 

fastened on your glinting hook.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: steinchen/Pixabay

Just a glimpse (Day 407)

Once a smooth 

emerald-velvet breast

—where silver lights 

played and twigs rattled, 

concrete crackled, 
and sometimes,
sweetness sang
—deserts now splinter 

into angry glass, newly 

mown sand transformed 

by a blast of blazing 

heat such as the world 

has seldom known.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Sand dunes in Rub' al Khali, Arabia's "empty quarter". 
Acquired by the Advanced Spaceborne Thermal Emission 
and Reflection Radiometer, or ASTER, aboard 
NASA's Terra Earth-orbiting satellite.

A hint of sweetness (Day 404)

Winter is sleeping 

off an angry outburst 
now  its freshness faded  

and spring’s impending 

buds  sensing the end 

of long cold nights are 

forcing fall’s final leaves 

from their branches  

sending them flying 

toward the estuary  

striped gray and brown 

by three weeks of rain  

flooded with runoff 

from the foothills 

that glow like autumn 

in late afternoon 

when the fog breaks and

sunlight strokes last year’s 

storm-flattened grasses   

nomadic summer migrates 

northward now  fluttering  

open-ended  shallow  

but still in a deep sort of way 

and  straining toward it 

with open-mouthed desire 

we  confined to our nests  

yearn to grasp the slightest

wafer of warmth  a hint 

of sweetness in the air  

dreaming of bees humming 

over a bank of tiger lilies 

and heavy-headed peonies 

kissing the chalky gravel walk

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: John Singer Sargent, Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose (ca.1885), 
oil on canvas, photo courtesy Tate London/Wikimedia Commons

Formal reception (Day 402)

Perfect white petals.

Slight eagerness stills cupped wings.

Formal reception.

Sternly, pines balk, branches bowed.

Eloquent wind speaks her mind.

Sighing, spring retreats.

Ice reclaims still pools and ponds.

Fickle winter smiles.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: pihajutkanen/Pixabay

Moonscape (Day 401)

The artist's fingers seek and find  squelched

deep inside his rumpled linen coat 

the lawyer’s letter (signature required)  

growing damp and crumpled  there

he stands and draws his few visitors toward 

the glass   chilled by cold drafts tugged helplessly

into thin indentations   where beyond 

crackled windows   a golden moonscape glows  

a leaf grows here   a twig dries there  lizards 

lounge companionably   trying to warm their skin

in watery sunlight  requiring nothing more than 

an opportunity to taste the apple-scented air

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Sahara Desert (wislamos/Pixabay)

When You Rise (Day 397)

When you rise above 

the clouds  say hello 

to the blue for me

memorize its myriad 

hues and shades from 
ice to indigo  tell me if 
you can see the stars 

when you look up or 

if they are hidden by that 
golden light warming 

your flushed cheeks  rest 
a moment on 
the terrible wind 
that bears you aloft 

and look down on 

the soft undulations of 
the sea stretching like 

bleached cotton sheets 
beneath you  only the quilts 

on our shared bed 

can enfold you as softly  
only my arms support you 
with the strength of that 
high gale and 
the roughest tides 
of time we long to sail 
together will quiet when 
you are near again

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: macayran via Pixabay

Watercolors (Day 390)

Where the edges

are not, there now

twist and turn, into cavernous

echoing chambers, bleeding

rivulets of umber diverging into

creases that vein the vast,

opaline expanse of 

love’s cold, hard floor,

over which we slipped and

ran, laughing until we cried, our

seawater tears blooming like watercolors.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: JMW Turner, Lyme Regis, Dorsetshire, England (ca. 1834), 
watercolor, Cinninnati Art Museum (via Wikimedia)

Haiku for Day 380

bourbon-amber world tilts

sliding down that coffee-sweet glass

in crestfallen octaves

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Roger Peterson, US Forest Service

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

Angel (Day 359)

Hands flower heat expands

Mist annoints an oatmeal angel

One poised dewdrop succeeds

Sirens call joy children pout

Suddenly brown petals play

Torn committees flutter

Green shadows tax the humid wind

Nearby frogs are chiding

(c) 2018 by Hannah Six 

Image: pixel2013/Pixabay

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