leaves rain
tree tears spiral and tumble
mourning summer
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Leaves Rain
leaves rain
tree tears spiral and tumble
mourning summer
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Tag Archives: nature
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.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
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!
Harvest Song
No cellophane or styrofoam
enclose vegetables that
ripen with deep roots in loam.
But tomatoes need attention
from sunshine and gardener —
saving seeds is an obsession.
A good soaking for the seed
then planting in warm soil —
water, fertilize, stake and weed.
Year after year, they grow
Are they fruit or vegetable?
They’re silent. They don’t know.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: I harvested the last of my tomatoes before the recent frost. They were a poor crop this year. Free roaming turkeys ate most of my garden. Ten roost in the maple outside my bedroom window, nearly invisible, except when coming or going.
Autumn Honey
Do rusty blooms taste bittersweet,
of summer gone, left incomplete?
Thick stems are braced for swirls
from wind, even hurricanes whirls.
Honey formed on shortening days
might fizz, pop and amaze.
Will a bit smeared on bread
come with warnings of danger ahead?
Perhaps tea sweetened with that nectar
would raise an unholy specter,
a white vision of winter coming,
icy, pale dreams thrumming.
I recklessly stir it into a cup,
unafraid of what might turn up.
The stillness of a perfect day
belies the storms headed this way.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Bewitching Garden Party
Beware the garden party
where evil spells are cast
by ladies in flowered sun hats.
You might find yourself nibbling
rock cake with a pinky high,
or find your high heels sunk
into fertile, loamy ground.
But that’s not the worst, oh no!
You might find that birds
dive bomb your bonnet
or squirrels run up your sleeve.
Or wicked teens drive by
and shout “Show some ankle!”
Someone does lift a leg,
but it’s only the spaniel,
watering the hydrangea,
right below your hem.
The weather takes a sultry turn,
and you use your napkin as a fan,
only to remember too late,
the crumbs from the rock cake.
When they splatter the hostess,
just chuckle and blush —
it’s those evil spells,
none are immune.
You’ve done your part
to make the lawn into art –
now it’s time to depart.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: I was inspired to write this summer poem when I researched garden party hats, because my hibiscus blooms make me think of a garden party, resplendent with lavish sun hats. The Duchess of Cambridge is helping make the fascinator popular. I had never heard of a fascinator, how out of touch, I am. I learned that it’s an artful concoction that decorates a woman’s head, designed to fascinate. The word fascinate ultimately comes from the Latin fascinum, “an evil spell.” I immediately imagined what evil spells could be woven at a Garden Party. I hope you like the results. Perhaps you have some disasters to add that have happened to you in real life or imagination.
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.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Raspberry August
dusty driveway
carts with awnings
rainbow of vegetables
and fruit —
pick your own —
rows of green brambles
leaning on string
spiderwebs glinting
lemony scent of crushed clover
delicate red berries
hidden under leaves
stems sagging low
ruby juice on fingertips
eaten on vanilla bean ice cream
long for more
August
I miss you
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: Thanks to Andy, I’m adding a link to Daily Post — Happy Place. Serendipity is sweet as berries. I’m also adding a link to Poetry Friday, this week hosted by the lovely and talented Amy Ludwig VanDerwater at the Poem Farm.
Sisters Sing Madrigals
young sisters, grow
sing madrigals to summer
dance all the day
turn toward the starlight
chins tucked into dreaming
wayward thistledown
spirals one way then the next
chased by bluejays
more voices join madrigals
sisters betwixt and between
too close, bash heads
dreams shaken by storm wind
madrigals fade
one summer lasts a lifetime
starlight lasts even longer
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: This poem is arranged into three tankas. A madrigal is a either a medieval poem or a song without instruments in two or more parts. I like to think madrigals sung by flowers would be both poem and song. May your week be lightened by flower song.
Berries Dry
Birds feed
on berry seed
red feather
autumn weather
no rain
summer’s gain
hot day
children play
rain hat
turkeys fat
eat weeds
swollen seeds
rain late
streams in spate
school’s out
puddles: shout
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: No matter what the weather, the birds eat and the kids play. Flocks of turkeys roam the neighborhood, pecking and munching. They’re as tall as my children and unafraid of anything but dogs!
Aglow
Aglow with new growth,
Aglow with joy,
Blood to pump
and thoughts to run,
toward the sky, afloat,
on high.
This is life,
in all its ups and downs,
magic pulsing,
sick then well,
in pain then resting.
Thanks for my breath,
free of pain,
thanks for sunshine,
warm on my skin,
for hugs from my kin and
another day to begin.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: I’ve recovering well from the surgery, and I feel the poetry coursing in my veins again. I hope the magic finds you, lifts you and makes your heart and imagination soar. XOXO, Brenda
Cider Sweet
In the green dappled shade, beneath
a cider-smelling apple tree,
is earth magic.
A white blossom in spring swells to
a tiny, green fruit in July:
summer magic.
I pull down the autumn-red fruit, and
its tart-sweet crunch in my teeth
is apple magic.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: The SCBWI conference was an inspiration and confirmed for me that I’m on the right path. My crazy fits with their crazy. 🙂 My surgery is in the morning, so it might be over before you even read this. Halleluja, may the worrying be past and the healing begun. Soon, I’ll be having more fun! Meanwhile, I have a bowl of sun-sweet Macintosh apples. XOXO Brenda
Open Door Haibun
When one door closes, another opens;
but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door
that we do not see the one which has opened for us.
I’m attending a Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators conference in a few days. I’ve written three children’s books, and SCBWI is an invaluable resource for improving craft and making connections.
molding words like clay
making characters breathe,
dream
When I say I’m writing books, the first question anyone asks me is have I been published. Yes, I’ve been published in the past and recently in on-line zines and on my blog, but their questions really mean has any publishing company paid money to publish my work. Not yet. I’m looking for an agent. Most editors want agented submissions. Agents have become the first gatekeepers. To get through that gate is my immediate goal.
hands on the gate
splintery wood is rough
words can smooth
I wrote “Author” for the first time as my occupation recently. I learned the poet Emily Dickinson was rejected for publication during her lifetime. She was never published until after her death. Was she an author? I would say yes. If she was an author during her life, then I am, too.
To quote Maya Angelou: “Success is liking yourself, liking what you do, and liking how you do it.” I am already successful because I love writing novels.
This is a new career for me, and publication will take time. I’m on the path, I have passed through the first door — I believe in myself. Next, I hope to pass through the gate.
words soar like birds
song echoes over lake water
feathers fall, they float
I know many bloggers are on the path with me, and I want to thank all of you for your feedback and your support. My shoulder surgery is a few days after the conference. This may be my last post for a while, as I won’t be able to lift my laptop until my arm is useful again. I will miss all of you in the meantime. Keep writing! XOXO, Brenda
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Friendly Fairy Tales 