Seed for Thought

Milkweed

Kindness is
planting milkweed seed
for a monarch butterfly
we’ve never met.
My daughter and I
dig a trench along
a wooded path,
where just a bit of light comes in.
It’s place where a caterpillar
might live its days in
emerald twilight,
munching its favorite food,
until it winds hope about itself.
Then it can be still,
listening to the wind
and the dog walkers,
the trail joggers
and the children finding pebbles
among the leaves and earth
in this green place of wishes.
Kindness is hoping it grows.
Kindness is carrying water in two hands,
sloshed onto colorful sneakers,
dribbled onto a rumpled trench.
Kindness is wishing all winter
for not-too-cold, not-too-dry,
for that seed to remember
the loving hands that patted
the soil into place.
Kindness is imagining the world
orange and yellow,
full of fluttering wings,
Without a care for oneself.

Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham

Note:  A few days ago, my daughter and I planted a hundred milkweed seeds along the edge of a wood. We watched for rain and imagined the seeds putting down tiny roots. We hope for a dozen milkweed plants come spring. We hope monarchs hear the milkweed song and come dancing along. Have you a kind act to share? Today’s Little Ditty has a challenge from editor Rebecca Davis to write “a poem about a specific act or moment of kindness. You can write it from any point of view– as a participant, a beneficiary, or as a witness. The more specific and vivid, the better!” Some of the poetry will be published by Today’s Little Ditty between now and Thanksgiving.

Willow’s Secret

Willow tree

Combing the willow’s hair
is a wind cold and autumnal.
It twines about soccer players,
and curls into secret places,
places lined with leaves and
cushioned with damp wishes.
Thoughts are birds
zigzagging in branches
alighting on bobbing twigs
in the willow’s bouncy house.
I remember tadpole wiggles,
looking for dangling legs
between the sunspots and
cherry blossoms dotting
the burbling brook.
In that thin suburban wood,
I found a tree too young to climb
and other places I couldn’t follow.
The willow’s house invited with
a knob of bark for a handhold,
a limb wide enough for a teacup.
Its leaves held all the stars
from sundown to sunup.
Now I follow my daughter there,
and the magic hasn’t gone.
Giggles, leaf mold, and secrets
crown the twilight willow world.

Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham

Note: Happy Friday the 13th! So close to Halloween, the day has a spooky feel. It set me remembering once, when Friday the 13th fell on Halloween itself. Or am I inventing that? I love to invent things, after all. I hope your memories are playing fun games with you today, too. Hello to all from Poetry Friday, hosted this week by Wee Words for Wee Ones. Kids of all ages are welcome here. Have a magical weekend!

Poetry Friday with kids

Finding Red

Oak leaves with red at the edges

A toddler oak glints like rubies.
Too young for acorns, trunk,
Or boughs, just a sprig,
a sprout, a snip of joy,
with earth between its toes,
it has unfolded proudly.
Its leaves flower in fall,
alight, aglow, aflame,
crimson with yearning for spring.
Its sire has amber leaves and brown
scattered about the ground.
Does the tiny tree dread
gale force winds, ice and snow
more than its older kin?

Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham

East Tower

Mushroom growing from Tree knoll

The ad was enticing: “River view, private entrance, doorbug, generous acorn storage and no neighbors for several fae furlongs — a successful fairy’s dream residence.” Mister Fister the Fighting Fae was tired of ducking admirers and signing the wings of fluttering fans. The East Tower was perfect for a beleaguered celebrity. Much more salubrious than the Fungus Lloyd Wriggle Condopolis down below!

Tree lined with bracket fungus

In he moved, shouldering his thistle-woven boxing gloves, his collection of iridescent scarabs and a bevy of trophies. He wandered, room to room, looking for the perfect chair. The silence was louder than a roaring crowd. He missed his Russian Stag Beetle neighbor’s pine needle symphonium. He even missed the relentless creole creaking of the Louisiana crickets.

He moved back to the condopolis within a fortnight, and his fans welcomed him with a party that lasted a week. Noise complaints lodged with the FES (Fae Enforcement Squad) resulted in the deployment of several FES officers, but they joined the party. The Nectar Nippery was drank dry, the Buttery Bakery eaten empty, and the Pudding Palace was completely consumed. Several bankrupt fans fled the trolls, and Mister Fister lost his next match. He never regretted a moment.

Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham

Red Maple Tanka

Red Leaf, tips curled, as if remembering

flight
one perfect moment
remembered

fingers curled in longing
to relive one’s height

Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham

Do you have one time in your life you would relive if you could?

Leaves Rain

Three Maple Leaves

leaves rain
tree tears spiral and tumble
mourning summer

Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham

Maple tree in color

Bat Haunts

Bat Haunts Trees poem picture

Text again, for text to speech readers:

Bat
haunts
dark trees
in leaf costume, hunting.
The full silver moon hides its eyes.

© 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham

Note: This is offered for the 5th Annual Halloweensie Writing Contest at Susanna Leonard Hill’s blog. Susanna is a children’s book writer, and she is offering awesome prizes for contest winners: critiques, magazines and books, oh my! I imagine mine is too short to be taken seriously, but if you have a 100 word or less story or poem, done by midnight tonight (I know, right? But I just found out about it half an hour ago!) with some form of the words dark, haunt and costume, then throw your hat in the ring.

Squashed Sonnet

Gourds

Freckle Goblin wriggles under gourds,
tired by a night’s divine carousing.
Freckle dreams of youthful fun in fjords.
After chasing ghosts, he can’t help drowsing.
Boom! He wakes to sulfur scents and peril.
Freckle peeks. He spots fair Glisten Rue.
“Enemy!” he hisses, turning feral.
“Flee, you witch!” he snarls. She pouts: “Listen, you
ruined parties, chased a lovely spirit.
This will be your Halloween goodnight!”
“No, my lady,” Freckle shouts, “I fear it
will be you destroyed!” He swings his right.
Acorn squash, gourds and pumpkins tumble.
Mashed and bashed, she flees. Trip and stumble!
Goblins rule on Halloween night —
even scary witches flee with fright.

Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham

Pumpkins

Notes:

Happy Halloween!

The first 14 lines of this is a sonnet, rhyming ABABCDCDEFEFGG. It didn’t feel quite finished to me, so I threw in a bonus couplet for those trick-or-treaters reading to the end. For the meter nerds in the crowd, it’s written in trochaic pentameter. In plain English, each line has ten syllables, alternately stressed and unstressed, with maybe a few variations. It took DAYS to write!! Now that’s frightening!

This is linked to the Third Annual Spooky Writing Challenge at the Writing Works in Progress Blog. Also, this is my entry for Poetry Friday (if a bit late in the day), hosted this week by Check it Out. Yeah for poetry! Thanks to all the great poetry writers and fans in Poetry Friday’s crowd!

Poetry Friday Badge

Tender Moments

T giving piggyback ride to A

Note: My surgery has allowed others in the family to be the hero of their story. Here my oldest is giving a ride to my youngest. If you have a tender moment, please link to Cee’s Photo A Week Challenge: Tender Moments.

Harvest Song

tomatoes on the vine

No cellophane or styrofoam
enclose vegetables that
ripen with deep roots in loam.

But tomatoes need attention
from sunshine and gardener —
saving seeds is an obsession.

A good soaking for the seed
then planting in warm soil —
water, fertilize, stake and weed.

Year after year, they grow
Are they fruit or vegetable?
They’re silent. They don’t know.

Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham

Note: I harvested the last of my tomatoes before the recent frost. They were a poor crop this year. Free roaming turkeys ate most of my garden. Ten roost in the maple outside my bedroom window, nearly invisible, except when coming or going.

Autumn Honey

Sunflower

Do rusty blooms taste bittersweet,
of summer gone, left incomplete?
Thick stems are braced for swirls
from wind, even hurricanes whirls.
Honey formed on shortening days
might fizz, pop and amaze.
Will a bit smeared on bread
come with warnings of danger ahead?
Perhaps tea sweetened with that nectar
would raise an unholy specter,
a white vision of winter coming,
icy, pale dreams thrumming.
I recklessly stir it into a cup,
unafraid of what might turn up.
The stillness of a perfect day
belies the storms headed this way.

Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham

Bewitching Garden Party

Hibiscus

Beware the garden party
where evil spells are cast
by ladies in flowered sun hats.
You might find yourself nibbling
rock cake with a pinky high,
or find your high heels sunk
into fertile, loamy ground.
But that’s not the worst, oh no!
You might find that birds
dive bomb your bonnet
or squirrels run up your sleeve.
Or wicked teens drive by
and shout “Show some ankle!”
Someone does lift a leg,
but it’s only the spaniel,
watering the hydrangea,
right below your hem.
The weather takes a sultry turn,
and you use your napkin as a fan,
only to remember too late,
the crumbs from the rock cake.
When they splatter the hostess,
just chuckle and blush —
it’s those evil spells,
none are immune.
You’ve done your part
to make the lawn into art –
now it’s time to depart.

Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham

Note: I was inspired to write this summer poem when I researched garden party hats, because my hibiscus blooms make me think of a garden party, resplendent with lavish sun hats. The Duchess of Cambridge is helping make the fascinator popular. I had never heard of a fascinator, how out of touch, I am. I learned that it’s an artful concoction that decorates a woman’s head, designed to fascinate. The word fascinate ultimately comes from the Latin fascinum, “an evil spell.” I immediately imagined what evil spells could be woven at a Garden Party. I hope you like the results. Perhaps you have some disasters to add that have happened to you in real life or imagination.