Fishing for Words (Day 723)

Slippery as trout, 

and evasive, they 

won’t come, 

won’t show themselves

in the light of (this) day. 

Deep in the shady pools, 

they turn and hover, 

suspended, expectant,

unwilling to emerge 

into the foreign air 
and, perhaps, die
there, on the page. 

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Jacob W Frank/US NPS

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

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