If you like fairy tale tongue-twisters, this poem has them galore. Lavender Moon Girl is bubbling up with magical poems and beautiful pictures this spring. I hope you have time to visit her. Cheers, Brenda
Luxurious Lupins
Flourishing,
Nourishing
Nougat turrets,
Glittering,
Tinkling
Amethyst
Pixie pinnacles.
Smell the healing fragrance of honey. Nourish your imagination.
This border in the town centre of Welwyn Garden City was filled with lupins and Cerulean iris, so beautiful.
grandmother’s table
set with crystal and white lace
nature’s lace echoes
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Bumblebee, Bumblebee,
What do you see?
Are flowers as big to you as a tree to me?
Are stamens your tightrope?
Is that wet petal like a mountain slope?
Do you dream? What is your hope?
Bumblebee, bumblebee,
I care about you, you see.
Without you, there might be no me.
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
clouds crystalize
raindrops dissolve light into
diamond dewdrops
sunshine is a memory
but cleansing tears renew life
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Seabirds scream overhead before diving into Pavilion Beach’s gentle waves. Tide pools reflect the sky. Surrounding sand is cold and muddy, squashing between my toes. A salty wind scrubs my skin raw.
The Ipswich beach is not crowded, but on one side, a sausage dog sniffs my feet and looks askance. On the other side, college students discuss over-drinking and under-studying, their laughter louder than the waves. Across the Sound, Plum Island’s sands gleam whiter than wishes. I daydream about solitude over there: just my family, the seabirds and the sunshine, sea winds blowing my cares away.
I look down at the ripples left by the tides. Overlaid are footprints of people who arrived, gazed at the same sights as me, and then departed. They left these traces of life behind: bare feet, shod feet, children’s feet, bird feet. I add my footprints to the chaos left by other beach lovers. I am part of a greater whole, separate, yet no different.
white boat bobs
sails furled, engine quiet
bird feet leave no trace
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
colorful maelstrom
paradise of May flowers
butterflies welcomed
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
“Look at the baby!” An elder fairy cooed then sipped nectar of jalapeño.
“Oh, she’s so cute!” A barrista fairy chimed in, while handing out honey-frappes.
“Look how pink she is!” A third fairy exclaimed, sipping her honeysuckle frappuccino.
“Thanks, my dears,” the mother fairy replied, “I just hope she naps!”
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Happy Memorial Day, everybody, from the Rhododendron Fairy Cafe!
Warmly, Brenda
Wild Honeysuckle
Fair flower, that dost so comely grow, Hid in this silent, dull retreat, Untouched thy honied blossoms blow, Unseen thy little branches greet: No roving foot shall crush thee here, No busy hand provoke a tear. -- Philip Freneau
Hummingbirds hover, long beaks seeking
Trumpets of nectar in a wild blooming hedge.
Honeysuckle, so sweet and fragrant,
Small, shy flowers, perfuming the air.
What magic allows you to bloom early and long,
Leaves first to green and last to wither?
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Reference: http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/wild-honeysuckle
Lilac-scented grandmother memories,
How her face lit up when we arrived, tired from hours of driving.
White hair tightly curled and steel cat-eye glasses above her beaming smile.
We walked in Mill Creek Park, enjoying the sun and flowers at Fellows Garden.
My photographs have turned yellow and orange, faded like my memories.
Pink and purple lilac stars shine now as they did then,
Sitting on her warm lap, wrapped in soft arms, hearing flower names.
From her, I learned the names of roses, lilacs, impatiens and daisies.
She taught me to tell time on the face of her nurse’s watch.
I remember when she seemed so tall, and then I grew taller still.
She loved powdering her face, sharing conversation and keeping her home tidy.
She peppered her conversations with the word, “evidently,”
A word gone from fashion, like her name, Dorothy.
I remember how she loved spring flowers and touring gardens.
I still do that every year, and I miss her. Some aches are precious.
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
“No, no, we cannot let in riffraff.” The countess was firm. “No exceptions. We have never taken a transfer student from a white dogwood school, and we never will.”
Petalline’s head drooped, hiding her defiant expression. Her wings fluttered angrily, though.
“We have empty places, my dear, and the young lady has no where else to go. She must go to school here near her Grand-maman.” Baron von Rimple-Dimple had a soft heart, but his sister was used to getting her way.
“Pink Dogwood Manor only takes the most select dogwood fairies. Pink Dogwood Fairies!”
“My dear she has studied at the renowned Paris École des Beaux Arts in the Cornouiller Blanc class. What can be more select than that?”
Petalline the Dogwood Fairy carefully did not meet the eye of the Baron, who was pink-washing her background. Cornouiller Blanc simply meant White Dogwood, but the Baron knew his sister well. Her snobbery was only exceeded by her ignorance of French. She would never admit to not knowing anything.
“Petalline, I am happy to say we have an opening.” The countess gushed, quite overlooking that she had called Petalline “riffraff” only moments before. “You may start your classes tomorrow. Welcome to Pink Dogwood Manor.”
Petalline however, did not forget having been called riffraff. Later that term, when someone turned the entire manor white, only the Baron guessed who was responsible. The Countess merely had hysterics until all the petals were returned to their pink glory. Petalline felt the books had been balanced, and she was a model student thereafter.
I was remembering my Grandmother’s soft lilac-scented lap, her smooth dusting powder, cat’s rhinestone glasses, thick leather purse with candy bars, and heeled beige shoes a few days ago. This poem by Marlyn of Kintal reminded me again. I love the old-fashioned name Grandam or Grandame. Thanks for this treat, Marlyn. I hope you all like it! Warmly, Brenda
fae iris magicks
sprinkled generously
bewitch passersby
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Friendly Fairy Tales 