Ode to a Snowday

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Oh the excitement! A storm is coming,
Weather forecasters are so seldom wrong,
Rumors are flying, and nerves are humming.
Even teachers smile at the hopeful throng.

Internet weather searches are many
The night before a major storm comes through.
A young child’s face shines like a new penny.
Even parents hope, at least one or two.

The first flakes fall unnoticed in the dark,
Stars hidden by clouds, snowflake stars falling,
Lightly, but thickly, on tree, road and park.
Schools are closed only after some stalling.

Parents and kids sleep in past the gray dawn.
Parents sleep longest, quiet kids watch cartoons.
Mom comes down to breakfast with a yawn,
Dad flips pancakes. Kids eat peaches with spoons.

Weather is perfect, just below freezing.
Snow is heavy, wet, perfect for packing.
We play outside all day without sneezing.
Children roll giant snowballs for stacking.

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Seedpods make spiky eyes and twigs form arms,
Meanwhile, two boys sling snowballs from sled forts,
Pink-covered smallest makes snow angels farms,
And we sled until we’re soaked to the shorts.

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Dry clothes and cocoa with marshmallows untold,
Help finish shoveling, board games to play,
As the plows finally clear our back road.
Oak leaves dangle forlornly with snow’s weight.

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Tired children fall into their warm beds.
Coats drip dry by radiators, thumping,
Parents mop up water and shake their heads,
Pray for sunshine before tired slumping.

Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham

Inspired by Painttheworldwithwords weekly poetry prompt, and her helpful post defining an ode, with links to, among other great odes, Keats’ Ode to a Grecian Urn, Shelley’s Ode to the West Wind, and Creeley’s America.

Weather Witch

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Tempers ran high when the snow started to fall.
Frog would not come out of his palace at all.
Orla Fairy drank cup after cup of tea.
Jake the Forest Snip, belligerent was he.

Down the slippery village road he stalked.
Approaching all the closed doors: Bang! bang! he knocked.
A Siberian tiger paced and snarled,
Snow piled onto his fur, nails old and gnarled.

Forest Snip banged on the Weather Witch’s door,
Calling out, “What are you thinking, you great bore!”
“You tell her,” said the old tiger with a grin.
“Stop your banging!” came a shrill voice from within.

Out with demands came a magnificent mouse:
“Stop making a racket in front of my house!”
“We all talked and decided, it would be spring!”
Jake the Forest Snip’s words had a rousing ring.

Fairy Orla put down her tea, now resigned.
Outside, she said: “Mags, an accord was designed.”
“Don’t you dare call me Mags,” the Weather Witch grumped.
“But why did you change your mind? We are all stumped,”

Fairy Orla inquired. “Dear, we all see snow.”
“Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow, you know!
How can I ignore that?” asked the Weather Witch.
The tiger’s black and white striped fur gave a twitch.

He growled: “Don’t tell me we have to wait six weeks!”
Fairy Orla sadly brushed snow from her cheeks.
“All this cold for a Pennsylvania rodent?”
Fairy Orla snapped, ending quite despondent.

The witch scratched her mouse whiskers with tiny nails.
“There might be a way, but if done wrong it fails.
Gather some helleborus, ginger root, moss,
Shrew coat clippings, raven feathers, grassy floss,”

The Witch listed, hugging her pink coat tightly.
“Gather all that, my friends, gather it sprightly.
A brew will I prepare that will end this storm,”
Gravely she spoke, looking at snowflakes, forlorn.

All but the ginger root came quickly to hand.
Not one could be found on fairy village land.
They bartered for roots with five passing tinkers,
But Forest Snip lost them dicing with drinkers.

Now all were snarling at Jake the Forest Snip.
He left to go south on an extended trip.
More and more snowflakes drifted quietly down.
“Each thing has its time,” quoth the mouse with a frown.

Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham

Beauty in the Broken Places

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.
Leonard Cohen, Anthem
Read remaining lyrics here.

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The broken parts have the deepest beauty.
A road is just a road until you stop and see a turtle hiding.
The crack in perfection is where new life takes root.
Magic is in how you look at things.

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Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham

Snowball Battles Haībun

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Words held back are like snowballs unthrown. Turned around, patted, added to, growing in size and coldness until, blam! Released, they slam into the target.

pile of snowballs waits
giggling from behind the fort
duck, one is coming

After getting nailed by a young son, my laughter starts while I form my own snowball and launch a counterattack. Usually my son is running for cover, dodging and weaving.

both combatants
howling with laughter
ducking and throwing

In snowball fights, people have their weak points, and the battle is over once someone gets snow in their eyes or down their neck. Or someone breaks a window. Yes, tempers can flare, even in a snowball fight, and things can get out of hand. Any kind of battle can wound.

When people start flinging words, sometimes a stray comment lodges in the memory, suppurating and infecting until the thorn is drawn.

My dad always liked to tease. One of his favorite ways to deal with complaints was to make a fist, thumb up, then circle his thumb on the closed index finger. “Do you know what this is?” he would ask. The first time, I said “No.”

“It’s the tiniest record player in the world, playing: My Heart Bleeds for You.” And then he would laugh. I still smile at the memory. He had an infectious laugh. For a long time, though, the memory of that tiny record player and my father’s laugh did sting. Looking back, I realize he was teaching me to solve my own problems. I learned not to bring him my problems. By and large, that was good training for life.

I have learned to draw the thorns from my memory. Raising my own kids has helped me understand my parents. Leaving in the thorns is like leaving the ice down your neck after a snowball fight. Uncomfortable in the extreme.

pulling out old thorns
bitter thoughts wedged in deeply
best with compassion

Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham

Inspired by the Friday Haībun prompt by Ese and Ye Pirate. This week, they used two of my photographs as prompts. I chose the one above, entitled: The Arsenal.

Ditty on Tracks

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Cold birds hopping,
Raindrops plopping,
Gathering seeds today,
Thaw is underway.

Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham

Storms Gather Haibun

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Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.
Robert Burns

   Storms gather, and the air feels heavy. The first few rain drops are huge monsters, icy with winter indifference, a mixed bag of snow, sleet, hail and rain. The sidewalks have black ice. With the rain, they are slick, and I have fallen twice. I’m at least a mile from home. The rain stops again, the universe holds its breath, and the sun struggles through the layers of cloud.

Of Crystal Palaces and Brothers

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A crystal palace
Surrounded by the sea,
windward, starward
Without flower or tree.

Light refracted into rainbows.
She dreamed of beauty
Wrapped in downy blankets.
Origins a mystery.

Finally safe and alone,
No one to harm or disturb her
She wandered through crystal halls.
Ocean waves did not perturb her.

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Big Boots, Little Boots

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my daughter’s boots
snugged beside her daddy’s,
new footsteps following

Note: Inspired by the Weekly Photo Challenge: Juxtaposition by the Daily Post.

Frost Fairies, Pas de Deux

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Used with kind permission of Tracy at Wanderlust

Blue Bella wakes late,
Sun already high.
Today is the date
To dance in the sky.

Frost fairies come
From far and wide,
Beating a copper drum,
Dancing a silvery glide.

Devan comes alone
Sad in his heart,
So far from home,
Bringing his frost art.

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Tan Renga Invitation: A Silent Cry

flight of the eagle

flight of the eagle, used by permission of Kristjaan Panneman

Carpe Diem Tan Renga Challenge #28, “a silent cry”

flight of the eagle
stepping into the world of dreams –
a silent cry

[.........(c) Chèvrefeuille]

message from my spirit guide,
pale head pacing the north wind

arctic air crushes
frost settles over rivers
cold bites off dreams

[…………..your two lines here]

Note: In Tan Renga, poets alternate writing of haiku and “rejoinders” which are two lines, seven syllables each. The first haiku was written by  Kristjaan Panneman (Chèvrefeuille). His challenge is for another poet to add two lines to his 3-line haiku, making the combined poem a tan renga. I then added another haiku, and I invite anyone who wants to, please write a 2 line (ideally 7 syllables each) rejoinder to my new haiku in a comment or on your own post…

Further Note: Tan Renga is a Japanese poetry tradition of one author supplying a haiku and then next a 7-7 syllable rejoinder. (The form would be a tanka if written by one person, but is a tan renga if written by two.) Poets can alternate haiku and 7-7 rejoinders as long as they like, sort of a crazy poets party game.

Edit: Jules and Beth both added more rejoinders (aka 7-7s) and haiku, and we have written a long, dreamy sequence on Jules site. Thanks to everyone, this crazy poet has really enjoyed the back and forthing!! 

References:

http://thewordshop.tripod.com/asian/Japan/tanrenga.html
http://thewordshop.tripod.com/asian/Japan/rengadef.html
http://encyclopedia2.thefreedictionary.com/Renga

Winter Sun Haībun

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Sometimes life gets away from me. Like the winter sun, the central things I care about seem too distant to keep my focus. I start to pay attention to the cold, the ice, the blocked flow of my life. And yet, through the trees, the sun returns, to remind me of all the things that form the center of my life.

sunshine on cold days
casting long shadows on the snow
spilling star shine

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Finding Friends Haībun

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Ranger and Monty © Kathryn Forbes 2013

I’m not the first to ever write about finding friends. And I won’t be the last. I looked at Goodreads quotes about friends, and they number 1071. I felt like the most noble of researchers just continuing to read past page one. Yes, folks, in your honor I actually read page 2! Whew, that’s 60 quotes. Here’s one gem from page 2:

I don’t suppose you have many friends. Neither do I. I don’t trust people who say they have a lot of friends. It’s a sure sign that they don’t really know anyone. — Carlos Ruiz Zafón

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