Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

November 23, 2013

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Red Mushroom Mansion

Used Courtesy of Postaldeliveries

Maybelle had often admired the red mushrooms mansions, where she imagined only the very luckiest of fae could live. She liked to imagine the quiet with only a few neighbors. She had been living in a fungus highrise since she was born, surrounded by constant noise and banter.

Sylphanya, her sprite-mother, was hardly ever home and wanted different things than Maybelle. Her mother cared only for painting autumn leaves whereas Maybelle was drawn to water blossoms. Her mother seemed to like having a hundred neighbors, singing out happy hellos to everyone.

Maybelle knew the other fae-children thought she was a bit odd. Her near-neighbor Jamus called her a loner that morning because she hardly ever joined him and his sister, Dolpha, for nectar in the berry bar.

Maybelle was sad all day, not even the rainbow tints of a new lotus bloom cheered her. Maybelle decided to find her mother. Continue reading →

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

November 11, 2013

Posted under

Fairy Tale for Boys, Tales for Kids of All Ages, Young Fairy Tale

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13 Comments

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On October 22, Friendly Fairy Tales announced the publication of a new, previously-unpublished story, The Day the Dragon Flew up the Chimney, on The Paperbook Collective October 2013 Issue 3.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

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

November 9, 2013

Posted under

Poetry

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54 Comments

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

Prepared for the weekly ligo haibun challenge, the prompt this week being faery, which I could not resist! 🙂

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

November 8, 2013

Posted under

Poetry

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17 Comments

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! 😉

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

November 7, 2013

Posted under

Poetry

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23 Comments

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.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

November 5, 2013

Posted under

Poetry

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37 Comments

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

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

http://www.beforethey.com/tribe/himba

Click to access himba_info.pdf

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

November 4, 2013

Posted under

Poetry

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29 Comments

Sky Giant Haiku

Sky giant smiling;

His backstroke breaks cloud cover,

Watches autumn shine.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

October 31, 2013

Posted under

Holiday, Poetry

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16 Comments

For Caregivers on Halloween: Grandmother Tree

Young maples trees blossom with hectic autumn color
Where they shelter under the high arching limbs
Of the deep-rooted grandmother tree.

Lovely, steady grandmother tree, slow to change,
Thick bark insulates and shields her from the cold,
Only showing golden and claret touches high up.

One by one, her bright leaves sigh and let go,
Lightly drifting down to caress her young for a moment.
Finally on the earth, their leaves mingle and embrace.

This Halloween, be like the grandmother tree.
Gather the rain, slow the wind, your roots entwined.
Let your children bloom and thrive, safe in your care.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

October 30, 2013

Posted under

Poetry

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16 Comments

Hello Kitty Halloween Haiku

silent, flickering

the spirit of halloween

glowing in the dark

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

October 27, 2013

Posted under

Holiday, Poetry

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28 Comments

Spellbook Haībun

“And then there are the times when the wolves are silent and the moon is howling.”

— George Carlin

Autumn leaves tapped the small windows. Elspeth blew the dust off the book. She knelt amidst generations of clutter and debris in the Martin family attic. She was looking for a costume, because Halloween was that night. On the leather book cover was burnt a full moon surrounded by a five-sided symbol. As the dust settled on old crocheted blankets and old-fashioned high chairs, she opened the book at random.

hidden in the trunk

voice rusty with disuse

still with much to say

“Scarab powder, dash of scaly rot, and ground bat bones sprinkled on seven squashed wolf spiders. Stir widdershins under a howling moon with a finger of oak. Stroke quarter over the main mast and quarter on the crow’s nest. Every particle that remains, seal in wax and burn until gone in the hold. Soon will come to you a strong headwind, fair weather and enemy bane. Beware shoal and reef, but raise proudly your flag, for safe port you will make, wise cargo making your fortune.”

seek the howling moon

sailing toward future fortune

magic within you

Fate had brought her to her ancestor’s spellbook, and fate denied becomes foe. Elspeth decided to be a witch for Halloween. She had no immediate need for a sailing spell, but perhaps it could be adapted for her car. Elspeth embraced the book, and put it back under the crocheted afghans in Grandma Demeter’s favored avocado and pumpkin colors. Grandma Demeter had always seemed to have a charmed life. Now Elspeth knew why.

hold close heritage

its magic will come to you

when fate brings you home

Prepared from the weekly Līgo Haībun challenge. Please visit them if you want to see some great writing!

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

October 22, 2013

Posted under

Fairy Tale for Boys, Tales for Kids of All Ages, Young Fairy Tale

Comments

45 Comments

New Fairy Tale Published!!

Friendly Fairy Tales is pleased to announce the publication of a new, previously-unpublished story, The Day the Dragon Flew up the Chimney, on The Paperbook Collective October 2013 Issue 3. Thanks to Jayde Ashe for publishing this story!!

Excerpt from The Day the Dragon Flew up the Chimney

One day, the sky was so dark that day seemed like night. No work could be done in the village of Miller’s Bend. All the villagers gathered in the great hall to tell stories and visit with each other.

Suddenly there was a loud knock at the door. Everyone looked around in wonder. Everyone in the village was already inside the great hall. Whoever was outside must be a stranger.

After another booming knock came, the mayor went to open the door. He looked left and he looked right, but there was no one there. He did not notice a tiny dragon no bigger than a teacup dart into the hall and hide behind a chair leg. Everyone else was looking up at the mayor’s shoulder, and they didn’t see the tiny dragon either. Everyone, that is, except a little boy named Henry who was no more than three.

Now Henry had been playing marbles near the door, and he was just the right height to see the dragon. He went at once to his mother’s knee, but she was talking to the miller’s wife. He pulled at her skirts, but she said, “Henry, I’m talking to Eliza, go and play.”

Henry tried his father next, but his father was talking to the mayor.

‘There was no one there,” said the mayor.

“Isn’t that odd?” responded Henry’s father. Henry tugged on his pant leg.

“Henry, go and play. You can see I’m busy.” Henry’s father did not listen.

Henry decided he’d better keep an eye on the dragon, so he followed it closely.

To find out what happens to Henry, adult readers can download the Paperbook Collective with work by many fabulous writers here or please check back on Friendly Fairy Tales for the rest of the story in a few days…

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

October 22, 2013

Posted under

Fairy Tale for Girls, Poetry

Comments

23 Comments

Star Fairy Fibonacci Poem

Quick!

Hide!

Deep down,

All alone.

She fled the falcon,

Taking cover in a canyon

Still she could hear it screaming for her to come out now!

Never would a star fairy fear a peregrine falcon, but she was injured and drained.

She sang to her kin, sparkling in twilight air; soon they entangled the bird in a magic web, destroying his concentration, and saving her.

Note: A Fibonacci Poem is one in which each succeeding line is equal in syllable length to the syllable length of the preceding two lines added together, or one, one, two, three, five, eight, thirteen, twenty-one, thirty-four, etc. Usually they are 5 or 6 lines long, but I wanted to see if I could write one 8 lines long.