Fairies dance and twinkle,
mixing with fireflies.
Lilac skies reach toward
lavender lakes.
Goldenrod nods
farewell to the sun.
Mountains darken
and trees disappear in
the dimming light.
Still the dragonflies hum.
Children seek the first star,
the first wish.
They believe in magic.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Bear stopped for raspberries at Kent Pond.
Turtle basked nearby.
“You look delicious,” Bear sniffed. “Yum!”
His claws swept out.
Turtle disappeared, and his shell bounced.
It rolled like a stone.
Bear knew that stones hurt his teeth.
He lumbered away.
Turtle poked out his head, grinning.
“Works every time.”
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Clouds framed a glaring window,
where the sun failed to shine.
Winds loosed a hailstorm of pine cones.
The icy river churned and burbled,
depositing silt onto smooth stones.
Upriver, the dam released water slowly.
The waterfall below demanded rain,
but it lay heavy in the black clouds.
A few drops spattered in the gorge,
unnoticed by waders in the flats.
The river shrugged smooth shoulders,
showing its sharp granite bones.
Children chased fish downriver,
while parents soaked tired feet,
listening for thunder and
dreading the long climb out.
Canoers beached their boats,
donned yellow lifejackets,
and floated around the rapids,
bobbing in the slow side current.
Children pointed, laughed,
and longed to be in the thick of it.
I am the children. I am the river.
I am black clouds longing for release.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: These photographs are of Quechee Gorge and Ottauquechee River, Vermont.
Footsteps echo like ghosts.
Dust clogs the air, and
breezes rattle webs then
spin brown leaves
into dry devils.
Sentry swallows
dive from eaves,
startling us into
thumping dance steps:
one forward and two back.
A tiny beak chirps
from a mud cup.
The mother snaps
mosquitoes from midair,
hovering by the nest
like a tiny dragon,
eyes aflame with purpose.
We pace forward cautiously,
no longer sure of our primacy.
We emerge in sunshine,
glad to walk quietly.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: We may build the bridge, but the folk who live there own it. Do you ever feel the past hanging heavily over a place?
Find dragons in trees, fairies in running brooks,
Dwarves in stones and magic in everything.
— Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: My quote is a baldfaced repurposing of an older quote: “Finds tongues in trees, books in running brooks,/ Sermons in stones, and good in everything.” Can you guess who it is? William Shakespeare from As You Like It. It reminds me of C.S. Lewis, though.
Tears fall from dark clouds,
spit spatter splash!
Thunder rip roars!
Wipers swish swash!
Fog swirls on the mountainside
then descends like ghostly legions.
Blue mountains disappear
behind a blurry sky.
Whoosh,
the car emerges
into sunshine.
Only the leaves prove
the rain danced.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
sugar sweet fragrance
berries form beside blooms
even bears hunger
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Hungry plants stretch
toward the dwindling light
along Kancamagus Highway,
a tongue-tying, twisting
New Hampshire byway.
The setting sun gilds
wildflower meadows.
The air is crisp and cold.
Birds and squirrels nest;
mosquitoes buzz and
dodge dragonflies.
Beetles scurry for rocks
and porcupines waddle
through ferns, quills tucked.
A stork pauses in the shallow river
alongside the cars, eying the current.
The water is aflame with sunset,
in shades of rose, umber and carmine.
Pine scent intermingles with
blooming goldenrod and early asters.
Blue mountains fade to gray.
Tomorrow is another day.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Seeds sown wide
scatter color to the wind.
July is hothouse
blooms and wildflowers:
Coreopsis gold,
Cosmos pink and purple,
Day lilies and moonflowers.
Bees, flown off their knees,
crumble dust to honey.
On that perfumed air,
dreams ride Scotch Broom,
trip on witch hobble
and snatch blueberries.
Bee balm bursts into fireworks.
Dragons doze in glades,
and little boys whistle up storms.
Thunder rides stallions
behind black clouds.
Summer is a fairy tale,
wild and free.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
This post is part of Poetry Friday, this week hosted thanks to Keri Recommends.
Bugs may nibble,
and the rain drizzle,
but my color flares
for you.
Heat may wilt,
or age bring a droop,
but my petals widen
for you.
Your smile holds the sun;
your scent perfumes the air.
Always I dream
of you.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Used with permission of Diary of Dennis
lavender longing
nothing else matters
ahhhh
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: Thanks to Dennis for letting me use this photograph of his — it inspired my haiku. Please visit him for advice on photographing insects, which was above my head. If my iPhone can’t do it, I’m out of luck.
Bianca Belle knew full well:
A Belle wears white, plain and bright,
To her first ball within fairy Hall.
She wanted to rebel, shh, don’t tell!
She fought, ignoring all she’d been taught,
And did her own thing, finding her inner bling.
She added orange beads, like tiny seeds,
Dangling on citrine fringe: a wild color binge.
Bianca was one in a million at the cotillion.
She set a new trend by refusing to bend
To her parent’s tradition, creating a mission
Of being unique, true to herself, bold and chic.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Friendly Fairy Tales 