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April 14, 2015

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Fairy Squill

Salutations small Siberian Squill,
Rising from the icy dregs of a hill.
Bowing in breezes on a fairy mound,
Its still shadow doesn’t make any sound.
After Lady Winter’s chill ermine shroud,
Its azure beauty makes me sing out loud.

Note: This drooping blue beauty is Scilla siberica, one of the earliest blooming bulbs. I apologize for not having time to comment on posts this week. My van is in the shop, my middle child is on crutches, my novel deadline is looming and I’m nowhere near done. My kids will soon be on spring break. If only I had more time, or more brains or more hands. Something. Meanwhile, at least there’s magic! Hope you have a great week! Warmly, Brenda

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Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

April 9, 2015

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Photography, Poetry

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60 Comments

Spring a ling!

Spring a ling!
Hear spring sing;
Flower bells ring:
Spring a ling!
Spring a ling!
Spring a ling!

Note: We’re hearing it! A few days above 50 and a vast flood of snow melt is all the encouragement these little hardy crocuses needed. My lucky neighbor already has blooms. I hope you’re enjoying National Poetry Month. I am participating in Poetry Friday, organized by Kidlitosphere Central and hosted this week by Laura Purdie Salas at Writing the World for Kids. She has lots of great tips for reading poetry to kids.

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Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

April 4, 2015

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Photography, Poetry

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Catkin Cold

Catkin young,
Soft, sage and fuzzy,
Catkin brave,
No leaves are open,
Catkin cold,
Snow freezes toes.
Catkin grow!
Early sign of spring.
Catkin open:
When ripe but soon!
Catkin bloom:
Bring back the birds.

Note: Fingers crossed for spring here. Someday soon, we’ll have blooms here, and lots of spring-green shoots! For another catkin poem, see Catkin Fuzzy.

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Brenda Davis Harsham

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April 3, 2015

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Holiday, Photography, Poetry

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Happy Easter and Happy Passover!

Have a fun, safe holiday!

Here is a Clerihew in honor of National Poetry Month (April):

When I think of the newest Newbery Kwame Alexander
I remember sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander:
Women aren’t the only ones who love romance and mo’,
Real men eat poetry for breakfast, so let the words go!

I will be taking some family time this weekend. Many Blessings,

Brenda

Note: Kwame Alexander wrote Crossover, a book from the heart that sings to us all.

If you want to write a Clerihew for National Poetry Month, Michelle H. Barnes is running a challenge at Today’s Little Ditty, and Kwame is in this month’s spotlight. He’s laid down the gauntlet, sending out a call for Clerihew. Have fun everyone!

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Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

April 2, 2015

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Photography, Poetry

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Ghost Leaf

Oak leaf rimed,
Bleached winter white,
Stark skeleton aglow.

A bit of starlight,
Its light grown white,
A transient in the universe,

The writing is plain:
An early calling card
Of Lady Spring’s visit.

Perhaps I’ll pour the tea,
Remembering heat,
Wishing for sunlight.

Note: I’ll lift my teacup in a toast to Lady Spring, whose velvety green cloak will swirl around us any day. And I’ll dedicate this ghostly post to Poetry Friday, this week hosted by a wonderful children’s poet, Amy Ludwig VanDerwater, at her blog, The Poem Farm. It’s National Poetry Month, and the kidlitosphere is lit by the radiance of many special events, some listed by Jama, the Poetry Potentate. If you like poetry, you can dine until sated this month!

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Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

March 30, 2015

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Photography, Poetry

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Sycamore at Sunset

Winter light dwindles to a pale sunset.
Sycamore bark peels in patches.
Ever on sentry duty, an eye on the horizon,
Glowing like a desert landscape,
The silent tree watches for
Spring, as winter melts away.

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Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

March 26, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

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Diamond Snow Tanka

pink morning light
gilds young trees, knee-deep in ice
thousands of diamonds

break light into rainbows,
blinding me to spring

Note: Tanka is defined in Oak Leak Tanka. This photograph was taken this spring. You can compare it to a picture taken last winter of the same trees in Five Brothers Tanka. This poem is in honor of Poetry Friday, hosted this week by Check it Out.

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Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

March 22, 2015

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Photography, Poetry

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The Love Challenge

There are four questions of value in life, Don Octavio.
What is sacred? Of what is the spirit made?
What is worth living for and what is worth dying for?
The answer to each is the same. Only love.

— Lord Byron

Purple flowers in stone wall

Love is elusive prey,
Love curves and flows
Down lonely love’s path,
Can I find love?

Love’s flower-shaped bell rings:
Love calls to hearts,
Stony in love’s graveyard,
Can love find me?

Love weighs like stone,
Yet, somehow, love floats.

We are weaned from our timidity
In the flush of love’s light
we dare be brave
And suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be.
Yet it is only love
which sets us free.

— Maya Angelou (from Touched by an Angel)

Note: Perhaps you read and enjoyed my poem. Perhaps you thought, that’s not how I would write about love. Perhaps the quotes have inspired you. Whatever you may have thought, I invite you to please take up your pen or let your fingers dance over the keyboard. I welcome you to join in the Love Challenge, just comment here and give me a link. I will be happy to read your poem.

I dedicate this poem to Marlyn, who invited me to take up the Love Challenge, and gave me these rules (some of which I even followed):

Write about love using only 10 lines.
Use “love” in every line.
Each line can only be 4 words long.
Nominate 10 or so others who are up for the challenge.
Let them know about the challenge.
Title the post, Love in Ten Lines.
Include a quote about love.

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Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

March 19, 2015

Posted under

Holiday, Photography, Poetry

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Spring Magic

And above all, watch with glittering eyes
the whole world around you because the greatest secrets
are always hidden in the most unlikely places.
Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.

— Roald Dahl (Minpins, 1991)

Drip,
Rain
Drop
Plops,
Spring will come
With black mud, bees
And crocuses beneath trees.
Baby robins will scatter shells.
Fairies will chant vernal spells.
Birds will sing madrigals at dawn
To wood violets blooming on the lawn.
Foxglove’s speckled trumpets will play
With snowdrops and magnolias in May.

snowdrops

Ours shall be the gypsy winding
Of the path with violets blue,
Ours at last the wizard finding
Of the land where dreams come true.

— Lucy Maud Montgomery (from Spring Song)

Note: My poem, Spring Magic is a concrete poem, taking the shape of a drooping tulip or possibly a lily of the valley bell as suggested by Matt Forrest Ersenwine. Thanks, Matt! Happy Spring! This post is an ode to Spring in honor of the Vernal Equinox which is at 6:45 p.m. here on March 20, 2015. And a happy coincidence, also in honor of Poetry Friday, hosted this week by Catherine Flynn at Reading to the Core who shared a wonderful original poem for World Folk Tales and Fables Week. I hope you have time to visit her. The photographs were all taken last spring — this year the ground is covered by a knee-deep sea of receding white ice.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

March 18, 2015

Posted under

Photography

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16 Comments

Wordless Song of Seasons

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

March 17, 2015

Posted under

Holiday, Poetry, Tales for Kids of All Ages

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32 Comments

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

You’ll find no green beer here
Or stories with a jeer here
about shamrock socks
or leprechaun jocks;
The Irish won’t get a smear here.

I pass along this fantastic
idea, not sarcastic,
not as a joke
about wee folk,
But with thought enthusiastic:

Storytelling is an art
that makes the Irish a part
of words unfurled
joining the world
To one growing literary chart.

Note: The foregoing are my limericks three, to frame my respect for my Irish heritage. The shamrock is a work in progress by my daughter and I. To celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, here are few treasures by Irish authors:

While mantling on the maiden’s cheek
Young roses kindled into thought.

― Thomas Moore

The Lake Isle Of Innisfree

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

― William Butler Yeats

My body was like a harp and her words and gestures
were like fingers running upon the wires.

― James Joyce, Araby

Of the things which nourish the imagination,
humour is one of the most needful,
and it is dangerous to limit or destroy it.

― John Millington Synge

I think of the bog as a feminine goddess-ridden ground,
rather like the territory of Ireland itself.

― Seamus Heaney

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Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

March 13, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

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Sounds of Spring

Thwomp-Boom, ice dams fall.
Birds sing as sunshine strengthens.
Drip, drip, icicle lengthens;
When will the snow go?

Canada Geese waddle into traffic,
Honking: Where’s the ground?
Where can food be found?
When will the snow go?

Cars honk back; engines roar.
Traffic stalls and goggles at geese.
Is it spring despite me wearing fleece?
When will the snow go?

This Poetry Friday is wrangled by Author Amok. May your inner child be joyful this weekend!

Note: I was driving back from the pediatrician with my son, who clonked his head on the ice Sunday night (he has a mild concussion and will be fine), when two prosperous-looking Canada Geese waddled right across the busy road. The sight of them in the road is unusual, they generally congregate on grassy lawns. It reminded me that the wild things are even more inconvenienced by the remaining mountains of snow than I am. And that spring is nearly here!! Woo-hoo! The geese have returned! Given I was driving, I didn’t get a picture of them.