
hope rises like heat
like a balloon let go
like prayers Continue reading

hope rises like heat
like a balloon let go
like prayers Continue reading
Another of my poems was published by Silver Birch Press for their “If I” series. Yay! Thanks, Melanie!
If I Remembered My Dreams
by Brenda Davis Harsham
If I remembered my
dreams,
I’d have great stories
with ambushes and
car chases through
city streets. I’d easily
evade cross-dressing
grandma clowns
and black-feathered
ballerinas.
I’d be chased
by giant grasshoppers.
I’d get away
in the nick of time.
I’d soar over over treetops
in a hot air balloon.
I’d solve impossible
theorems.
I’d invent a spaceship
or stow away in one.
I’d speak Spanish,
know the names of
all the stars,
and birds would take
seeds right from my hands.
Instead, I sleep as deep
as the Mariana Trench,
and if I swim with lantern fish,
dine on sea cucumber
or comb my hair with jellyfish,
I will never remember
or wake to tell the tale.
PHOTO: The author at the Boston Museum of Science with a giant grasshopper.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: I’m fascinated by the Mariana Trench…
View original post 120 more words
Announcement
One of my poems, Sister Blue, won First Place at NY Literary Magazine. Sister Blue will be published in the NY Literary Magazine anthology, Awake, in December 2016. Awake will be available in print or as a free kindle download. Continue reading

gray and white,
clouds unroll like mummy wrappings
for the moon
Notes: Happy October! I’m gearing up for Halloween. Continue reading

Used by Permission of Cindy Knoke

Used by Permission of Cindy Knoke

Used by Permission of Cindy Knoke
When dinosaurs greeted the dawn,
perhaps they tweeted and twittered,
while they preened and flirted,
just as their modern descendants
greet the dawn with a chorus that
rattles shutters and billows curtains. Continue reading

Perhaps stories are spirits
that live in our world. Continue reading
Sandy treasures are
tossed by storms
like living toys. Continue reading

When my spirits sink,
I give a saucy wink
and don’t overthink,
because soon enough —
I’ll be in the pink. Continue reading

The heyday’s passed
and cracks have drained
the party’s life blood,
but one last fountain
plays a Bessie Smith solo: Continue reading

Would a fairy drive a car
shaped like a cedar branch
with green needle fenders?
Maybe a maple leaf flying carpet?
I’d want a Japanese model,
red and sporty, Continue reading

still maiden
sentinel spruces enfold
green glen, act three Continue reading

Moving between worlds,
egg to leaf,
leaf to stone,
stone to leaf,
leaf to tree,
caterpillar to cocoon. Continue reading