East Tower

Mushroom growing from Tree knoll

The ad was enticing: “River view, private entrance, doorbug, generous acorn storage and no neighbors for several fae furlongs — a successful fairy’s dream residence.” Mister Fister the Fighting Fae was tired of ducking admirers and signing the wings of fluttering fans. The East Tower was perfect for a beleaguered celebrity. Much more salubrious than the Fungus Lloyd Wriggle Condopolis down below!

Tree lined with bracket fungus

In he moved, shouldering his thistle-woven boxing gloves, his collection of iridescent scarabs and a bevy of trophies. He wandered, room to room, looking for the perfect chair. The silence was louder than a roaring crowd. He missed his Russian Stag Beetle neighbor’s pine needle symphonium. He even missed the relentless creole creaking of the Louisiana crickets.

He moved back to the condopolis within a fortnight, and his fans welcomed him with a party that lasted a week. Noise complaints lodged with the FES (Fae Enforcement Squad) resulted in the deployment of several FES officers, but they joined the party. The Nectar Nippery was drank dry, the Buttery Bakery eaten empty, and the Pudding Palace was completely consumed. Several bankrupt fans fled the trolls, and Mister Fister lost his next match. He never regretted a moment.

Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham

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.

Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham

Infernal Internal Poem: Fae Clan

Blue Green Bracket Fungus in Early Spring

Blue with missing sun’s hue,
Forlorn fungus is winter worn.
Spring, its insides begin to zing —
Humongous will grow the fungus.

See some color in the woods like me,
Hiding fairies will be giggling, gliding.
Pearly wings beat, sending air whirling.
Can you hear them? They are the Fae Clan!

Thin hibernating animals can now grin,
Food is aplenty, no time to brood.
Fairies plan to gather and be merry:
Sharing, dancing, laughing, caring.

Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham

Note: The Infernal Internal is a new poetry form I created. The first and last words within each line rhyme.