Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

November 19, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

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68 Comments

Season of Thanks

Thankful for summer —
fragrant with cottage roses
climbing a stone wall.

Thankful for autumn’s
brilliant multi-colored leaves
that spin, curl and fall.

Thankful for winter —
sledding and skating on mill ponds,
made smooth with ice.

Thankful for spring
when bulbs and roots create
flower paradise.

Note: Here is a thankful poem in recognition of Thanksgiving, a time when we celebrate what the earth gives us. This is my contribution for Poetry Friday hosted this week by Miss Rumphius Effect.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

October 18, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

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49 Comments

Autumn Honey

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.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

October 14, 2015

Posted under

Humor, Photography, Poetry

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60 Comments

Bewitching Garden Party

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.

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.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

October 12, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

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41 Comments

Fields of Fun

Skipping and hopping,
from petal to leaf,
chased by beetles,
is a nectar thief!

Jack Frost’s cousin,
Chill, the Fall sprite,
arrives every October,
to the beetle’s fright.

“Stop right now,
you hairy beast!”
Stinkbugs shout
but he flees east.

He turns the nectar,
into golden art,
dabbed on leaves —
summer’s torn apart.

From nectar to mold,
black spots of blight
multiply and dismay,
as he zigzags in flight.

October’s arrived and
Autumn’s show has begun.
Protest though you may,
he will have his fun.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

September 20, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

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61 Comments

Fairy Dust Haibun

To step amongst giant phlox, rudbeckia and Russian sage is to enter a suburban fairyland, a small oasis surrounded by the desert of houses, concrete and asphalt.

meadow blooms
sharp fragrance intoxicates
fingers sap-sticky

Bronxville garden

Goldfinches feast on spiky echinacea seeds, while redheaded woodpeckers knock on fence posts. Sparrows dart under eaves. Day lilies bob, and a rabbit emerges from the grassy leaves, smug and plump. The gardener is the majordomo.

crickets stir
hundreds of insects hum
spiders spin

A shady spot provides a view of an apple tree, too young to bear fruit. At its feet, the profusion of jeweled blossoms is blinding. Magic floats past in the sunbeams. Time slows to this one perfect moment.

Fairy dust gilds bees and
sparkles on flower petals.
Dragonflies hover
like hummingbirds,
held aloft by magic
or science
or faith.
Sudden breezes
bring a rainstorm
of fairy dust,
dried to pollen
by the hazy sun,
solar fast.

But even magic
cannot make summer last.

Note: A haibun is a Japanese form of prose alternating with poetry, often haiku. It’s often a recollection of one’s day, in present tense. A few moments in a garden, and suburbia drops away. These photos and memories are from Bronxville, New York, where I happily helped a friend celebrate his 60th birthday. Bronxville is a village of Westchester County, part of the Tri-State Area that surrounds New York City. People commute to Manhattan in half an hour. Have a magical weekend!

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

September 12, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

72 Comments

Color Pirate

Seize every color
from the trees to the leaves
from the houses and the breeze.
Embrace a flower’s bold hue
and each neutral tone made,
for all of it matters, each shade.

Note: A Painted Lady is a Victorian house with at least three colors of paint used. Wikipedia allows Edwardian and Queen Anne houses, too. I’m lucky enough to live in a town with several bold ones. I wrote this poem after reading many September 11 posts, and remembering the day myself. If only we could all see the beauty in the rainbow of colors around us and stop hating and blaming each other. Build, preserve and celebrate rather than destroy. If words have magic, and I believe they do, then let peace increase!

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

August 30, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

38 Comments

Wildflower Heart

wildflower heart
roots hidden in darkness
trembles toward the sun

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

August 26, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

31 Comments

Green Magic

Green leaves entrance,
make my feet dance
down pathways
through wildflowers
into secret glades,
surrounded by
silent sentinels:
pine, oak and spruce.
The hum of crickets
finds me where I hide
but no other person does.
In that loud silence,
full of ducks quacking,
geese honking,
bees buzzing,
and mosquitoes hunting,
one yellow leaf falls.
Even the crickets pause
in shocked wonder.
Clouds thicken and churn,
rain slashes and dashes,
the sky’s anger interconnected,
a reflection of us all.
The coming of autumn
is part of summer,
as sunset is part of day.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

August 22, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

34 Comments

Phenomenal Bloom

The prettiest bloom,
youthful and bright,
doesn’t always
attract the bee.
Honeybees visit the
same purple petals
even after the flowers
are thin and worn.
Is it first love’s kiss?
Or is the sweetest honey
made from
wind-tossed blooms?
The bee should not
be alone in admiring
late summer’s song —
the survivor bloom.
That flower speaks to me
in poetry:
fragrance heady,
curve and wit
shining,
alluring
and grand.
Phenomenal.
A Maya Angelou of blooms.
Perhaps my petals
grow thinner each year,
But not my charms.
I have magic still.
As do you.

Note: These flowers are wildflowers from Vermont. Can anyone identify them? I couldn’t. Also, this poem references Maya Angelou’s fabulous poem, Phenomenal Woman. A poem that makes me sigh with joy, every time I read it. You don’t need to know where magic comes from, you just need to believe. Have a great weekend!

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

August 16, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

27 Comments

Vermont Twilight

Fairies dance and twinkle,
mixing with fireflies.
Lilac skies reach toward
lavender lakes.
Goldenrod nods
farewell to the sun.
Mountains darken
and trees disappear in
the dimming light.
Still the dragonflies hum.
Children seek the first star,
the first wish.
They believe in magic.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

July 30, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

50 Comments

Fairy Tale Flowers

Seeds sown wide
scatter color to the wind.
July is hothouse
blooms and wildflowers:
Coreopsis gold,
Cosmos pink and purple,
Day lilies and moonflowers.
Bees, flown off their knees,
crumble dust to honey.
On that perfumed air,
dreams ride Scotch Broom,
trip on witch hobble
and snatch blueberries.
Bee balm bursts into fireworks.
Dragons doze in glades,
and little boys whistle up storms.
Thunder rides stallions
behind black clouds.
Summer is a fairy tale,
wild and free.