Rosy-hued curls, arranged in whirls,
remind me of a clock, stopped.
The minute hand is stuck at twelve.
The hour hand spins too fast to see. Continue reading
Tag Archives: photograph
Holiday Brunch
Happy Memorial Day! I recently attended a poetry breakfast at Jama’s Alphabet Soup. In honor of Jama, this morning my daughter and I wrote poems to our coffee cake. Continue reading
Lily of the Valley
stained glass frames
white bells, here and gone,
nature’s embroidery Continue reading
Is Twitter Therapy?
This morning’s trending #IDidntAskForHelpBecause struck a nerve, and I tweeted:
“#IDidntAskForHelpBecause I was taught that getting help was cheating. It confirmed you are worthless. Another thing NOT to pass to my kids.”
It made me think.
How did I learn this? Why do I attach shame to asking for help? Am I alone? The more tweets I read, the more echoed mine. I remember the moment I learned this.
Before and After
I woke. I groaned.
I clenched my eyes,
but the sunlight
had no mercy. Continue reading
Colonize
We’re overcrowded,
we’ve no room, Continue reading
See Pink
For anyone in need of a little PINK today!
Is there a fairy hiding behind there? I can’t say. 😉
Honeysuckle Magic
sudden magic of
honeysuckle scent takes me
back to hide-and-seek
beside winding brook
glimmer of tadpoles
tiny almost-legs dangle
my inner child is
still ready to hide and seek
ready or not!
Copyright 2016 Brenda Davis Harsham
Notes: These three haiku are in answer to Ronovan’s Weekly Haiku Challenge: Magic and Glimmer. How could I resist writing something? Can you?
I was also inspired by Annette Rochelle Aben’s ballet poem to look into my own past for inspiration.
In writing haiku, I don’t follow a strict 5/7/5 syllable count. I view that more as a maximum rather than a goal. My goal is instead to record a moment of realization or wonder.
Dogwood Dizzy
dogwood fragrance
a cool spring breeze flutters trees
dogwood dizzy
Copyright 2016 Brenda Davis Harsham
Underfoot
thoughts like thorns
underfoot
step cautious
even flowers
have dreams Continue reading
Under it All
What’s under it all?
What secret rivers flow
through
dark cave systems,
home to blind fish,
white like the moon,
the color of wishing?
Where lie the bones
of the very last dinosaur Continue reading
Driftwood Phoenix
Laid
bare,
barren,
broken down,
but pieces form art.
Driftwood rises above its end
forming a bird of legend with magical power,
spinning ashes to art, renewing the forlorn and forgotten, even transcending.
Copyright 2016 Brenda Davis Harsham
Notes: This is a Fibonacci Poem (0r “fib” for short). Each succeeding line is equal in syllable length to the total syllables in the preceding two lines, or: one, one, two, three, five, eight, thirteen, twenty-one, thirty-four, etc. I’ve written two other fibs, Star Fairy and Fairy Ball.
This poem will be my weekly Poetry Friday tiddly-wink of word play. Thanks Violet Nesdoly for hosting and posting that moving photo and poem about forest fires. My heart goes out to the people of Fort McMurray, Canada. And to the wildlife equally homeless. May everyone have a safe and magical weekend. Warmly, Brenda
Friendly Fairy Tales 