Your Own Stories (Day 494)

just become 

quiet   a butterfly’s unfurling 

wings   your own stories

flutter within

listen   still as a snake 

about to shed her outgrown skin

do you hear the rustling

inside your walls   small

secrets   guests  some welcome 

some uninvited   nestling 

and settling in 

well-protected corners   notice

your narrator   is she trustworthy

how do you know

if what you hear is true

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image via MaxPixel

Revolving Door (Day 453)

She craves 

the tonic of truth,

the flavor of 

cold canteloupe 

honey-sweet and 

slippery  sliced thin as 

mountain morning air 

She yearned 

to wander through 

the labyrinth of language  

to spin in and out 

of the revolving door 

between 

the Summer of Love’s

fizzing orange 

and unripe green 

and the cobalt blue

Reagan era’s satin  sequins 

and cheap gold plate 

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Wikimedia Commons

Shortcomings (Day 266)

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Difficile (Day 193)

threats (like red threads)

are frequent (text alerts)

and difficult (of hearing)

to identify (with)

and even (out)

to comprehend (one’s own existence)

among (a city of strangers)

the broad spectrum (gray-scale)

of intruders (in the night) 

stealing (tip-toeing about)

confidential (you know, that movie?)

information (freedom of…act)

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Buy This One, Zanzibar, by Rod Waddington

Can We Fight (Day 182)

How, how can we fight 

against figments of 

the night, creations 

of a disturbed lack 

of imagination—

every direction a knife, 

a noose, a fiery pit?

How can we live, 

banging up against 

thick-swarming lies, 

when everywhere, 

the buzzing, biting 

flies struggle to believe 

him more? Almost 

imperceptibly, the door 

is closing, and we—

we with our buckets and 

green garden hoses, are 

fighting a storming sun.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Gorgeous image of a 7/14/17 solar flare and coronal mass ejection: NASA (more here)

Cloudburst (Day 154)

Cloudbursts 

Fleeting fugitive

Sheer cool deluge

Wrapped in warm wind 

Singing setting stray leaves dancing 

Blossom shaped splashes bloom

Like forgetful angels 

Then softly

Fade

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: Antarctic Sunset with crepuscular rays, NOAA 

Read Widely (Day 143)

Photo: Library in the Jewish Cemetery Krems in Krems in Austria Anton-kurt

read widely and 

cultivate

manners (compassion)

a dry sense of 

humor

civility (kindness) 

which isn't at all 

the same

resolution (conversation)

as cynicism 

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Grain of Sand (Day 133)

 

I dreamt I 

was a grain 

of sand 

in a hand 

holding on 

too tightly and 

woke

tumbling into 

the dunes.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

(Original image source unknown)

One Word (Day 93)

 

week of one 

     word

floods us    you 

can't argue with  
these    things 

     spiral out 

of control 

     and love

filters out expertise 

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Where the Truth is Written (Day 61)

 

I can hardly see the trees anymore, let alone 

the forest, floor composed of fallen leaves,

a century's worth of organic debris, perhaps more
than I care to count anyway
you look at it, the truth is written in 

  the pattern of your missing hair, 

  the blue now faded from your eyes, 

  the spaces between the razor thin lines etched
    into the back of your hands,
  the rings you no longer wear
    on fingers so swollen from typing
    lies, that they no longer fit

your purpose now, as you can see,

is to reach the bold red X on the corner
of your map, where you imagine treasure awaits
discovery by a conquistador of your stature, you 

won't find contentment there, though,

the demise of longing, your old companion 

about whom you could elucidate, wax poetic,
compose sad songs while sipping wine
in a cafe, but no, we'd rather never hear 

some lonesome tale of martyrdom

embellished as it would surely come

from between your truth-parched lips.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six