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October 30, 2015

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Squashed Sonnet

Freckle Goblin wriggles under gourds,
tired by a night’s divine carousing.
Freckle dreams of youthful fun in fjords.
After chasing ghosts, he can’t help drowsing.
Boom! He wakes to sulfur scents and peril.
Freckle peeks. He spots fair Glisten Rue.
“Enemy!” he hisses, turning feral.
“Flee, you witch!” he snarls. She pouts: “Listen, you
ruined parties, chased a lovely spirit.
This will be your Halloween goodnight!”
“No, my lady,” Freckle shouts, “I fear it
will be you destroyed!” He swings his right.
Acorn squash, gourds and pumpkins tumble.
Mashed and bashed, she flees. Trip and stumble!
Goblins rule on Halloween night —
even scary witches flee with fright.

Pumpkins

Notes:

Happy Halloween!

The first 14 lines of this is a sonnet, rhyming ABABCDCDEFEFGG. It didn’t feel quite finished to me, so I threw in a bonus couplet for those trick-or-treaters reading to the end. For the meter nerds in the crowd, it’s written in trochaic pentameter. In plain English, each line has ten syllables, alternately stressed and unstressed, with maybe a few variations. It took DAYS to write!! Now that’s frightening!

This is linked to the Third Annual Spooky Writing Challenge at the Writing Works in Progress Blog. Also, this is my entry for Poetry Friday (if a bit late in the day), hosted this week by Check it Out. Yeah for poetry! Thanks to all the great poetry writers and fans in Poetry Friday’s crowd!

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 6, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

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27 Comments

Mushroom Abloom

Misty morning rain —
Abloom go fairy umbrellas.
Sprites huddle and hide —
Only a toe might show.
Mushrooms glisten.
Gilded droplets
form slowly,
roll to the center —
a pool of fairy nectar.
Deer step warily,
brown eyes dewy, and
nibble mushrooms.
Sprites tickle their chins
and spin widdershins.
So again it begins.
Abloom!
Hide and seek with the fawn
till Mama Doe gives a yawn,
and the rain is gone.
So are the mushrooms.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

August 19, 2015

Posted under

Humor, Photography, Poetry

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55 Comments

Magic Mirror

“Mirror, Mirror, shining bright,
in that river to my right,
who’s the fairest in the land?”
River winked at Meadowland:
“You are, fairest lady Sky,
“whether you are wet or dry.”

“Best to keep her happy, dear,
else we’ll dry to dust this year,”
Meadowland agreed with River.
Then Cherry Tree gave a shiver:
“Silence, she might hear you, fools,
you know it’s Lady Sky that rules.”

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

August 13, 2015

Posted under

Fairy Tale for Boys, Fairy Tale for Girls, Photography, Poetry, Tales for Kids of All Ages, Young Fairy Tale

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22 Comments

Stone Turtle

Bear stopped for raspberries at Kent Pond.
Turtle basked nearby.
“You look delicious,” Bear sniffed. “Yum!”
His claws swept out.
Turtle disappeared, and his shell bounced.
It rolled like a stone.
Bear knew that stones hurt his teeth.
He lumbered away.
Turtle poked out his head, grinning.
“Works every time.”

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

August 2, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

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67 Comments

Dappled Glade

Light moves and
shadows turn cartwheels
in a dappled glade.
A shadow might be
anything,
squirrel, gopher,
dog, deer or sprite.
Or the absence of
someone dear.
A dappled glade
can contain
anything at all,
or everything.

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.

This post is part of Poetry Friday, this week hosted thanks to Keri Recommends.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

July 29, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

40 Comments

Covered Bridge

River rambles and curves,
shallow then deep,
rocky or smooth,
changeable as the weather.
Under the bridge are dark places,
deep pools with hidden depths.
The biggest fish hide there.
Aquatic plants sway
in the current, roots unseen.
The burbling water
covers whispers made, but
sounds echo above,
in the dim covered bridge,
where magic dwells.
Gossamer webs hold fast
lingering traces of lovers past.
Children, clapping hands
and believing in fairies,
once danced here.
Their shadows remain
sweetening the breezes.

Red Covered Bridge

Note: These photographs were taken in New Hampshire in the White Mountains.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

July 27, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

26 Comments

Bianca Belle

Bianca Belle knew full well:
A Belle wears white, plain and bright,
To her first ball within fairy Hall.

She wanted to rebel, shh, don’t tell!
She fought, ignoring all she’d been taught,
And did her own thing, finding her inner bling.

She added orange beads, like tiny seeds,
Dangling on citrine fringe: a wild color binge.
Bianca was one in a million at the cotillion.

She set a new trend by refusing to bend
To her parent’s tradition, creating a mission
Of being unique, true to herself, bold and chic.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

July 22, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

30 Comments

Fairy Tent City

A sudden squall thunders.
Tent City springs up.
Way-sprites huddle –
wayfaring fae kin
dislike staying home.
They travel light:
just dancing feet,
a bit of music
and nature’s magic.
When rain pounds,
they hold fast
to one slippery slope and
conical roofs rise,
followed soon by tunes.
Fiddles sigh and drums thrum.
A lilting song climbs the scale –
a spirited counterpoint
to the pattering rain.
Birds hide under leaves
and bob their heads.
Chipmunks curl up
in their beds.
If only the music
would never stop.