Squirrels skitter past
On the treetop Autobahn
Catch a fuzzy glimpse
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Itty bitty, not very pretty,
(Unless to his mama)
Stone silent, not very witty,
But the high hop creates drama;
From the woods not the city
(At least not Yokohama)
Inspires this little ditty
From one who likes to yammah.
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: Despite my usual inclination that a poet should never explain, for those not from New England, the “yammah” is a Bostonian pronunciation of yammer. My photograph is of a Pinetree Spurthroated Grasshopper (Melanoplus punctulatus), a rare sighting. Not only had I never seen a grasshopper like him before, my research indicated he’s rare in general. My poem is an ode to Ogden Nash, a particular favorite author of my children and I. Here is one of his poems, which I hope offering here, would not have displeased him:
The Ant
The ant has made himself illustrious
Through constant industry industrious.
So what?
Would you be calm and placid,
If you were full of formic acid?
— Ogden Nash
Happy October First!
Mornings are dark, wet and gloomy.
The time has come to fear the Worst!!
The veil separating us from the grave
Is thinning and opening windows and doors.
Before the thirty-first, decide who you will save!
Children will turn into Monsters, Heros, Bats,
Witches, Pumpkins and Spirits from Beyond!
Get your orange on and watch out for black cats…
Halloween is coming!
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: This was inspired by Autumn, the changing leaves and the Spooky Writing Contest. Enter if you dare! If you want to see my contribution from last year, it was Halloween Scene Haiku. Other themed writing: Spellbook Haibun and Crankypot Halloween.
“Look at the baby!” An elder fairy cooed then sipped nectar of jalapeño.
“Oh, she’s so cute!” A barrista fairy chimed in, while handing out honey-frappes.
“Look how pink she is!” A third fairy exclaimed, sipping her honeysuckle frappuccino.
“Thanks, my dears,” the mother fairy replied, “I just hope she naps!”
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Happy Memorial Day, everybody, from the Rhododendron Fairy Cafe!
Warmly, Brenda
“No, no, we cannot let in riffraff.” The countess was firm. “No exceptions. We have never taken a transfer student from a white dogwood school, and we never will.”
Petalline’s head drooped, hiding her defiant expression. Her wings fluttered angrily, though.
“We have empty places, my dear, and the young lady has no where else to go. She must go to school here near her Grand-maman.” Baron von Rimple-Dimple had a soft heart, but his sister was used to getting her way.
“Pink Dogwood Manor only takes the most select dogwood fairies. Pink Dogwood Fairies!”
“My dear she has studied at the renowned Paris École des Beaux Arts in the Cornouiller Blanc class. What can be more select than that?”
Petalline the Dogwood Fairy carefully did not meet the eye of the Baron, who was pink-washing her background. Cornouiller Blanc simply meant White Dogwood, but the Baron knew his sister well. Her snobbery was only exceeded by her ignorance of French. She would never admit to not knowing anything.
“Petalline, I am happy to say we have an opening.” The countess gushed, quite overlooking that she had called Petalline “riffraff” only moments before. “You may start your classes tomorrow. Welcome to Pink Dogwood Manor.”
Petalline however, did not forget having been called riffraff. Later that term, when someone turned the entire manor white, only the Baron guessed who was responsible. The Countess merely had hysterics until all the petals were returned to their pink glory. Petalline felt the books had been balanced, and she was a model student thereafter.
The sun was setting, cherry blossoms perfumed the air, and Esme’s handsome boyfriend, Al, paddled at her side. His fine, green Mallard head feathers looked purple in the waning sunlight. She nibbled on bulrushes.
Nosy daffodils crowded round taking selfies. You’d think it was an award ceremony.
Esme would let nothing lessen the magic of the evening. There on the riverfront, she and Al sipped water laden with tasty seeds. The silvery twilight faded, and fairies flickered like fireflies. Al offered Esme a tasty tuber under the Three Birches. She sighed with pleasure.
Al raised his wings and drummed the water from happiness. Together they swam figures eights, intertwining their wakes, visible ripples of pleasure. Before Esme returned to her family’s nest on the far bank, her beak brushed Al’s farewell. A door had opened in her heart, perhaps Al would pass through one day.
sun sets on longings
solitary triangle of ripples
rushes bend in winds
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: This is my farewell haibun dedicated to Al, but it’s fictional, so I called it a flash fiction in the title. Al has run the weekly Haibun Thinking prompt, which sadly has ended. I hope you don’t mind me making free with your moniker, Al! I am a bit late with my entry, but I was preparing for and attending a writer’s conference. I have to scale back my blogging in May. I will be rewriting my children’s chapter book. Wish me luck! My plan is to blog in the evenings if I have any energy. 🙂
References:
http://diet.yukozimo.com/what-do-mallard-ducks-eat/
http://www.ask.com/question/what-do-mallard-ducks-eat
crocus embracing,
offering nectar to bees
tickling, tiny feet
petals dancing with laughter
honey blossoms with flavor
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: Tanka is defined in Oak Leak Tanka. Please feel free to add your haiku or tanka here, if you are moved to join in. 🙂 In the past, Japanese poets would alternative haiku (3 lines, 5/7/5 syllables) with two 7/7 lines, playing off each other’s work. It’s fun, if you want to try.
The first of Three Little Pigs
distained using twigs
and built from straw.
Big Bad Wolf laughed when he saw.
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Inspired by Paint the World with Words weekly poetry prompt, a Clerihew, which is a 4-line rhyming poem, aabb, generally about a famous person introduced in the first line. Here are two famous Clerihew by the originator of the form, Edmund Clerihew Bentley:
Said Sir Christopher Wren
I`m having lunch with some men,
If anyone calls,
Say I`m designing St Paul`s.
The digestion of Milton
Was unequal to Stilton.
He was only feeling so-so,
When he wrote Il Penseroso.
References:
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems/clerihew
http://www.wattpad.com/31546636-the-who’s-who-of-clerihew-85-porky-pig