
Used with Permission of Artist Joy Dickson
Memories
are black pearls,
heavy rounds
of moon and sea
Copyright 2018 Brenda Davis Harsham Continue reading

Used with Permission of Artist Joy Dickson
Memories
are black pearls,
heavy rounds
of moon and sea
Copyright 2018 Brenda Davis Harsham Continue reading

Ideas last,
stick barnacle-fast,
and even dance
when asked.
So I write,
dawn to night,
just an idea
acolyte.
Copyright 2018 Brenda Davis Harsham Continue reading

Thankful for art and music,
for time with my family,
words that flow and dance, Continue reading

How Many Fives Can You Find In
tuning
a star
a maple leaf
a baby’s open hand
and wiggling toes Continue reading

after Terrance Hayes’s lines:
sing until our blood is jazz,
we swing from June to June
Our skin is too tight. We need to sing,
our spirits folded into cranes, until
we can no longer stop our
words from spilling like blood, Continue reading

Our rosebay rhododendron
is white with pink newness. Continue reading

Will drops a berry in a stream.
It rolls and bounces along.
He thinks a dappled fish nibbles,
until he hears a silver song. Continue reading

Snow is old hat.
We’re ready for a new topper,
a cold stopper: Continue reading

Smiling trees, hiking, campsite, bonfire.
Night falls with a cold shower of tasks,
cooking, place setting, finding, cleaning,
while fireflies flicker in darkening trees. Continue reading

Accumulation of flakes,
millions of unique crystals soften and transform. Continue reading

“When your feet are draggin’
and your knees are sagging’
and you don’t know what to do
a little jive is good for you! Continue reading