Darling, did you have to wear your red dress?
Everyone is staring.
Let them look.
I will wave like a princess.
Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham
Tag Archives: fairy tale
Morning Haiku
Blinding warm sun peeks
Autumn fire on high branches
Citrine cloud castle
Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham
Published Fairy Tale, Part 2
On October 22, Friendly Fairy Tales announced the publication of a new, previously-unpublished story, The Day the Dragon Flew up the Chimney, on The Paperbook Collective October 2013 Issue 3.
Click to read Part 1. As promised, here is the Final Part:
Henry decided he’d better keep an eye on the dragon, so he followed it closely. The dragon was flitting from chair leg to chair leg. He would hop up onto chair arms or tables and eat the food right off people’s plates and drink the tea right out of people’s cups. Everyone was so busy talking that no one noticed a thing.
Then the miller’s wife reached for one of her cookies, only to find that it had disappeared. “That’s odd,” she said.
“Miss Miller, Ma’am,” said Henry. “A dragon has eaten your cookies.” Meanwhile the dragon had moved on to Phileas Farmer’s plate.
“Henry!” scolded his mother. “Stop telling fibs and don’t filch people’s cookies. Now for the last time, go and play. Honestly.”
“But Mama,” protested Henry. Sadly, his mother just shook her head at him and waggled her finger. If his mother wouldn’t believe him, who would? Henry watched as the tiny dragon plundered the room of its teacakes, its cookies, its biscuits and its tea with cream. A hum of conversation arose as more and more villagers were puzzled to discover empty plates and cups. Henry wondered how such a tiny dragon could eat so much.
Then the dragon had the temerity to steal from his father’s plate, and that was more than Henry could bear. “Daddy, Daddy,” cried Henry. “The dragon is stealing your biscuits!” The whole room stopped to stare at Henry. Henry’s father seemed very embarrassed.
“Henry, I told you not to fib!” cried his mother, standing up.
“But I’m not!” Henry replied.
“Then where is the dragon,” asked the mayor with one last laugh. Henry pointed at the hearth where the dragon perched, fickety-mickety finishing up the last chocolate from the plate of Mrs. Farmer. The fire had died down a little, but he was still clearly visible against the glow.
When the dragon noticed everyone staring at him, he gulped down the cookie and flew straight up the chimney.
Everyone gave a gasp, and the mayor and several aldermen raced over to try to look up the chimney. No one could see anything for the fire and the smoke.
Henry’s mother and father came and gave him hugs and apologized for doubting him. The villagers all patted his shoulders and told him how brave he had been. He was the village hero thereafter. And when Henry grew up, they elected him mayor. To this day they tell stories of the day the dragon flew up the chimney.
THE END
Copyright Brenda Davis Harsham April 1, 2005
Fairy Tale Alert!
Fairy Tale Alert: A blogger friend has published a Christmas fairy tale, March of the Toymakers. Woo-hoo! I love to hear about new fairy tales and bloggers publishing!!
Author and Blogger Julianne Victoria
I read her book, and it’s an adventurous elvish story full of magic, color and steadfast loyalty. Nissa is chosen by Santa to go on an epic journey to save Christmas. He sees wonders, makes new friends and saves Christmas itself. The story is full of great imagery, delightful language and magical creatures of all varieties.
Author Bio: Julianne Victoria is a spiritual counselor and writer, who has always felt a strong connection to nature and the spirit world, so writing fairy tales seemed like a natural progression for her writing. The March of the Toymakers is the first in a series of children’s fairy tales. It is based on an original story written thirty years ago by her father, Robert Thomas, who also drew the artwork that was used for the cover of the book. Julianne remembers when she a little girl listening with awe and excitement as her father would read portions of his original story to her and her siblings, and she now has enjoyed re-writing and condensing the original epic into an exciting fairy tale adventure to share with children all over the world.
Synopsis of the story: The March of the Toymakers follows the journey of Santa’s chief elf, Nissa, on his quest to save Christmas. Santa barely has enough elves to make enough toys for all the children of the world, so he sends Nissa on a mission to find the Fair Feather Maid, who will help them recruit an army of elves to become toymakers.However, there are many challenges along the way, from solving riddles and breaking pixie spells to fighting off ogres, trolls, and goblins, all of whom wish to prevent the army of toymakers from making it back to Santa’s Village in time. If they do not make it back by Midsummer’s Eve, they will not have enough time to make all the toys that bring Christmas joys.
Order here or Amazon or Barnes & Noble, also:Amazon Canada, Amazon UK, Amazon India, and other international Amazon stores.
Urban Cobweb Haiku
trolley spider-bus
crawls into the sunset
leaving cobweb tracks
Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham
Pear Tree HaĪbun
I have planted hundreds of vegetables, herbs, flowers, bulbs and shrubs in my years of gardening, but very few trees. Last year, I planted one tree for each of my three children in our yard where we could watch them grow. We tended them carefully, watering them during the long, hot months. This spring, our young pear tree was covered in white blooms, like a bride on her wedding day. All those white blooms dropped away in days, covering the ground like a veil, before they blew away on the wind, and became part of the earth again.
white blossoms drifting
petals falling to the earth
nourishing our soil
The heart-shaped leaves budded and turned emerald green soon after. Our tree produced oxygen and shade all summer long, and it grew a few inches in height and width every month of the summer. Today, I could see that several hard frosts had taken their toll. The leaves had turned a rainbow of colors: yellow, orange, red, purple with darker spots of indigo. A closer view revealed small brown fruit only as big as my fingernail. Even the squirrels have not harvested these vestigial pear, although the squirrels were pleased to eat our jack o’lanterns.
Halloween is past
squirrels have nibbled their repast
pumpkins are tasty
We would rather eat pumpkin than those tiny, rudimentary pear treats, too. Only a faery could love those tiny vestigial pears. I hope the fae harvest them, and serve them at a harvest dance, perhaps taking the leaves to make splendid gowns. I like to imagine them squeezing the pear juice into an acorn cup and drinking the nectar under the twinkling stars while the pipers play a reel.
faeries dance and smile
starlight washing cares away
sipping pear nectar
Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham
Prepared for the weekly ligo haibun challenge, the prompt this week being faery, which I could not resist! 🙂
Fairy Candles In The Sky!
Elephant’s Picture Book is saving many gorgeous illustrations, and making them available to us on-line! This one is a friendly fairy tale, but to find many others, visit her site. I hope you enjoy it. Have a great weekend! Brenda
The Candle-Lighters
When shadows creep at eventide
And little ones are safe inside,
Bright stars a-twinkling way up high
Are Fairies’ candles in the sky.
When shadows creep at eventide
The Fairies take their evening ride;
On flitting fireflies wafted high
They light their candles in the sky.
A Year With the Fairies.
Written by Anna M. Scott.
Illustrations by M. T. (Penny) Ross.
P. F. Volland & Co.: Chicago, U.S.A. 1914.
Care to Dance?
Released from my anchor, skittering adrift,
Where the wind takes me, I stop and listen.
A kneeling player, skilled fingers quicken on the drum.
Mallets hit a marimba in six eight time.
Two instrument emit an intertwining wave creation.
I cannot keep still with so much magical precise pounding,
Finding echoes in my inner dreamscape, awakening.
Impulse to dance hits me, no defense needed.
Arms outstretched, fists clenched,
Toes pointed, tap, tapping in rhythm.
Mind’s a whirl, I’m breathing, spinning.
Dancing jig time, whole mind, to music faster.
Invisible whisperings from resonating strings within
My body is limber and loose, infinite sinews singing.
No distance now between me and the music.
Whisperings, soundings, plumbing depths of movement.
No longer carried by the wind, instead every part moving to sing.
Movement become music and music movement.
This was my first Sunday Whirl, done rather late, but better late than never! 😉
Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham
Smokebush in the Fall
Raspberry leaves dance on a chilly breeze.
Kissed by cold stardust, the violet-edged leaves
Outshine the fading summer’s flowers.
Luminous leafy ovals welcome the coming sleep.
Life force gathers into the stems, retreating root deep
And no cold winter can extinguish its secret powers.
Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham
Starry Tree Haiku
Starry, starry night
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze
Swirling clouds in violet haze
— Don McLean, from Starry, Starry Night
(describing Van Gogh’s painting)
November night,
Incandescent, magic sight,
Transcendent with light.
Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham
Namibia HaĪbun
Himba Tribal Woman, Namibia, Africa
Photo by Dr Agnieszka Wojtecka, Gdansk, Poland
I was born in Namibia in the heat of the summer sun, outside a homestead beside the Kunene River, many miles from the Skeleton Coast. Mukuru blessed my beloved Namibia with music, dancing and poetry.
homestead in grasslands
waters flow like gold blessings
river meeting sand
My young mother glistened with the traditional red ochre called otjize, which she made from the Omuzumba shrub in the way her mothers and sisters have done since a time beyond memory. Grandfather, the headman, tended the okuruwo, the sacred fire, feeding it Mopane branches. He had not let the fire die for sixty years. Over the fire, he spoke to his ancestors. Nearby, his daughter sat quietly, her braids shading her face, listening to music ripple like heat waves. His music drew my spirit down, and I sang my song to her, her braids sliding along her neck as she lifted her face to the sky.
red braids, shining face
your magic called me to earth
my song filled your ears
Sitting in stillness beside the Mopane in the meagre shade, she first heard my song. Her face shone with the light of the powerful desert sun. She listened carefully, and with her natural musical talent she quickly learned my song. I returned to my long dreaming, but she continued to sing my song. She called my spirit from the dreaming land back to the earth. The women welcomed me on the day of my birth, singing my song through the long hours of her labor.
first gasp of hot air
I cried from surprise, alone
watery world gone
You nourished my spirit, Mother of my earthly body. When I was sad, my mother sang my song, and my spirit remembered the dream land. I joined my song to the songs of the villagers and those of my sisters and brothers. I learned to tend the cattle among the men, but I thought often of my mother. When a lion came for the cattle, it scared me. I held my fear tight until my mother and the villagers sang my song, and my spirit soared high again. In dry years, the cattle grew thin in the high reaches, but the river sustained us like my mother sustained me. Always the cattle could find grass by the Kunene.
water is precious
waters draw grassland from sand
liquid sky, god’s gift
Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham
Written for the weekly Ligo Haibun challenge (making Fridays more beautiful for us all).
Articles used in writing the story:
http://theperfectbirth.wordpress.com/2013/04/22/the-himba-namibia-the-birth-song/
http://birthpsychology.com/free-article/very-early-parenting-african-model-childs-song
http://www.newafricanfrontiers.com/namibia/country-info/people-of-namibia
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Himba_people
http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/ngm/0401/feature2/index.html?fs=www7.nationalgeographic.com
Sky Giant Haiku
Sky giant smiling;
His backstroke breaks cloud cover,
Watches autumn shine.
Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham
Friendly Fairy Tales 