Color of a Rose

Black Rose on a Pink and Purple Fence

Used with Permission of Resa Swork

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Spring Angel

Angel in snow

softer
snowfall
in April
a  winged angelic            and            feathery stillness
heralds           divine music      from above
the icy confection
reminds of protection
brings a sense of peace
contemplating movement
making art turn into magic while
overhead fly Canada geese

Copyright 2016 Brenda Davis Harsham Continue reading

Hyacinth Hats

Purple Hyacinth crushed by snow

Purple party hats prickle
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Find the Divine

University of St. Thomas in Minneapolis photo by Laura Purdie Salas

Fresco at University of St. Thomas in Minneapolis Used by Permission of Laura Purdie Salas

The fairy tale, the prosaic,
the absurd and the divine,
find their way into myth,
story, art and rhyme.

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Spring’s Poetry

Skunk Cabbage -- Symplocarpus foetidus

Mudiferous,
squelching ramble
beneath bare branches
and yearning buds
yields a vast harvest
in my wintry soul
of spring faith. Continue reading

Roses for Noses

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My nose misses roses
through long winter days,
but Trader Joe’s knows.
There, summers scents
come in cellophane.
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Peace is like Sunlight

Willow tree

Peace is like sunlight:
I yearn toward it.
I can’t hold it in my hand.
I want it most
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Yellow Thing

Daffodils with blue sky

I enjoy every
yellow thing
that blooms in
early spring.

Copyright 2016 Brenda Davis Harsham

Note: This ditty is in honor of writing and rewriting manuscripts galore. Plus, today, I won an award-winning book thanks to a cat named Maggie. Continue reading

Three Limerick Tale of Leprechaun and Kitten

Glass plate with a stained glass shamrock

Tiny O’Toole loved a kitten.
He felt himself hard bitten.
“Ouch!” he cried.
“Open wide!”
He stuffed her in his mitten.

“Now, that’s not fitting’,”
complained the kitten.
“Let me out
or I’ll shout.
After all, I’m no Briton!”

O’Toole sipped mead,
and then he agreed:
“Come out!
No doubt
you mistook me for tweed.”

Copyright 2016 Brenda Davis Harsham

Notes: Happy St. Patrick’s Day! The art work is a stained glass plate I made with my daughter. A limerick is a light-hearted poem with the rhyming pattern AABBA. A lines are shorter than B lines. My all-time most viewed post is Leprechaun Limerick. I also wrote a set of three limericks on being Irish.

Love Stays

 

Love never fully goes away;
it lingers, like a vine white with winter,
remembering its heyday.
Its memory can sting like a splinter.

Best to give the vine sunshine;
don’t let it grow stiff and cold.
Green leaves unfold on mine
because new love grows from old.

Copyright 2016 Brenda Davis Harsham

Note: I’ve joined Twitter, and my what a fun free-for-all party it is: a cocktail party with air kisses, heady drinks and no one pigeon-holing me with long stories. If you’re on Twitter and want to friend me, I’m @BrendaDHarsham. Eventually, I’ll figure out how to put that somewhere useful on my sidebar.

I’m not sure I like how WP publishes to Twitter, though. I wasn’t fond of the way it publishes to FB (no line breaks in text), but that’s better than how it publishes to Twitter. It just publishes the title then a link. None of the text of the post appears, just one photo. No matter how engaging your first line or two, no one on Twitter will see it unless they click the link. Now I understand why so many people put hashtags in post titles — because otherwise, they never show up in your tweet, and won’t pop into anyone’s search on that tag without them.

And you can’t edit a tweet. You have to delete and redo if you post in the middle of the night in a state of advanced exhaustion (and grammar has departed for the day).

All that said, the people on Twitter have been welcoming and lovely. Hugs all around.

Heaven in a Wild Flower

IMG_6006

This cold, blustery day, I dream
into being another spring day.
This one is mountain-flavored,
nearer to heaven than the sea,
far away from here, far from me.
A mountain meadow blooms
as far as my eye can see:
pink heads nod their approval,
as if they like what they see.
I’m atilt, upright on this slope,
keeping my feet, holding out hope.
Pollen coats my skin in gold dust
and I run as lightly as a wind gust.
I lift my arms to the sky,
I’m not a gazelle, but I can fly!
l reach the dim of the tree line,
and each leaf sings harmony with me.
Part of me dwells there, in that perfect hour
when spring is eternal: sweet, soft air and
cool breezes. Infinite beauty. Birds sing,
deer graze and rabbits nod to the grass.
The scent of wildflowers is heaven.
Heaven is in our memories.

Note: The title is from a quatrain that has been niggling at the corners of my attention all week. I decided to embrace it, celebrate it. This is the first of two posts about it. Do you know it already? It’s this one:

To see a World in a Grain of Sand

And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,

Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand

And Eternity in an hour.” 

William Blake, Auguries of Innocence

Spring Dreaming

Cherry blossoms

close dreaming eyes
fragrance of cherry blossoms
intoxicates, breathe

Note: Dreams are magic. I dreamed spring into being today as I soaked up the lemon winter sun. The park may have been wet with snowmelt and smelling of mud but I was remembering cherry blossoms.