Instead, I hopscotch a crazy-quilt —
CNN. BBC. MSNBC. Fox. Round
and round, site to site and back,
never washing the stain
of sad news from my heart. Continue reading →

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

September 6, 2019

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

18 Comments

Panacea

believe that
music, beauty and peace heal
and it does

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

June 30, 2019

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

13 Comments

Rock Garden Reprised

silent yellow wings,
petals uncurl colors that
strike chords

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

April 15, 2019

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

10 Comments

Monday Gratitude

when the flowers sing
a morning hallelujah,
sunshine in my heart

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

January 31, 2019

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

48 Comments

Admiring Sunflowers

“Admire as much as you can; most people do not admire enough.” — Vincent van Gogh

unfolded petals
with their high yellow note,
hold the scent of orchards

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

August 4, 2018

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

31 Comments

Waterfall Melodies

a burbling song
wind in leaves harmonizes,
summer arpeggios

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

July 26, 2018

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

65 Comments

Rose Poetry

pink petals
scent rises like hope
music on the wind

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

April 22, 2018

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

30 Comments

By the Brambles

Pink Blooms

Groundhogs amble past brambles.
Winter torpor adds a weighty waddle
to their dandelion waltz. Continue reading →

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

March 1, 2018

Posted under

Art, Poetry

Comments

70 Comments

Your Color is Hope

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“Moon Song” Used with Permission of Artist Lisa Telling Kattenbraker

Your color is hope,
birdsong on sunbeams,
a peaceful night’s sleep,
a bittersweet violin air,
raindrops on cottage roses
in full-spiced bloom,
the last snowflake of May,
and the urge to sail
over blue-green waves
with moon-drunk words
on my lips, tasting hope.