Sun shines so bright,
She bows her head and squints.
As the summer fades,
Her petals wilt a bit, but
She is still aflame with color.
Sunflower drowses and dreams
Of golden days past.
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
I called for you, and you came!
Magic is in the air, holding you aloft,
Magic is in the color of your wings
And your graceful dancing flight.
You pause and look at me as intensely
As I look at you, my American Lady.
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: I published a post recently called Butterflies Wanted, and then right afterwards, I was delighted to see an American Lady butterfly three or four times. This once, she even let me have a photograph. Although I still have not seen a Monarch, I feel quite happy with my Lady.
Goldenrod has grown long yellow fingers.
A crowd of eager mums are mid-laugh as
Hedgehogs nibble skunk cabbage.
Even white snakeroot,
Abloom at the wood’s edge,
Looks deceptively harmless,
But the deer leave it be.
Purple asters open wide, tiny but cheery.
Summer fairies line their beds with milkweed down,
Make quilts of hydrangea petals and
Dodge spiky, armoured chestnuts.
Dahlias bloom, large as dinner plates.
Happy Fall!
Note: The autumnal equinox is September 23, 2014, and this is the day summer changes to fall in the Northern Hemisphere, where I live in the USA. The earth is now tilting away from the sun and we will have shorter days and less warmth for 6 months.
My love is like the rose of Sharon and the lily,
Abloom among brambles,
So is my love among the daughters.
As the apple tree thrives in the wood,
So is my love among the sons.
I sit among them with great delight.
The flowers open on the earth;
The birds sing, and even the voice of the turtledove
Is heard in our land.
The winter is past, and the rain has gone.
O my dove, hiding in the clefts of the rock,
In the secret places of the cliffs,
Let me see your face,
Let me hear your voice;
For sweet is your voice.
— Paraphrased from Chapter 2, Song of Solomon (KJV and ESV)
To a friend whose inner beauty
Casts a radiance that warms us all,
And who finds peace and joy in this world
Despite her underlying sadness.
Even as your spirit grieves,
May you be showered with love.
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: This is dedicated to Morgan, whose loss is fresh. To have been loved is the best feeling of all, and it never fades.
Butterflies wanted,
Butterflies sadly missed.
Long blooms languish,
For want of their friends.
One swallowtail came, all alone.
Two cabbage butterflies danced and played,
But where have the Monarchs gone?
I remember them from my youth.
Now my youth is gone and so are the Monarchs.
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
As my children go back to school, the last blooms of the season burst like fireworks. The heat rises, homework swells, plans churn and change. Each day brings new wonders and new opportunities.
Wandering far,
On the borders of beauty,
Seeing zinnias and dahlias,
Sprawling in full bloom,
I am in the garden bright.
Snow might be coming,
But not until another day.
The seasons change gently, day by day, beginning with red leaves interspersed with the green. Berries replace flowers, and the sun’s rays dwindle. The squirrels chatter, chase and hide acorns frantically. All around me is late summer, but the preparation for winter is nigh.
harvest tomatoes
canning sauce made with basil
winter is coming
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: A haibun is a Japanese form of prose interspersed with poetry, often culminating in a haiku.
So many names, how can I choose?
Wild bachelor’s buttons,
Cornflowers,
Blue daisies,
Ragged sailors,
Chicory.
Your delicate, blue petals tremble in a breeze,
Tough stems stretch toward the sun,
Blue eyes open for one day only.
You are called hendibeh in the East,
Witloof in Belgium,
Succory to the Romans.
So many names, one humble flower.
Some say you open doors, deep magic.
I try to see through your fae portal.
You open to the sky, following the sun.
Some call you a weed, some add you to salad,
Some roast your taproot to balance coffee.
I’ll call you a wildflower.
I’ll admire you on the wayside,
A flower more ancient than humankind.
Your humble eyes look beyond me,
Your roots are in the distant past.
Perhaps your soft blue eyes
Will smile on my grandchildren,
Long after I’m gone.
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: This flower is chicory, a common wildflower all over the world, used as an herb, a coffee additive and its many names inspired this poem: blue daisy, blue dandelion, blue sailors, blue weed, bunk, coffeeweed, common chicory, cornflower, hendibeh, horseweed, ragged sailors, succory, wild bachelor’s buttons, wild endive, witloof