My prince has come!
My, he seems angry. And he has a hook!
Now that crocodile has eaten him! He must have gone down well despite the hook and sword, that croc looks so cheerful! What’s that mysterious ticking noise?
The End
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Inspired by the amazing horticulture at Walt Disney World, Orlando, Florida. We have left the snow in New England, but we have found Snow White. 🙂 This was for all of you who’ve asked to see snaps from our trip…
joy radiates
in all directions at once
vacation week
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Hope you are all having great weeks!
Warmly, Brenda
Used with kind permission of Arthur Browne via Haibun Thinking
When I know a vacation is coming, I build castles in the sky of what amazing adventures are coming. Being a perfectionist, I imagine how it could be perfect, and work toward making it so, and worry about all the things that could go wrong.
My daughter was puking up her guts, going through copious bedding as the waves came, and then seemed to abate, and then returned, all through a very long night. The next day, Friday, was the last day of school before vacation week, and my older son tossed his cookies at school (yes, another vomiting euphemism).
Meanwhile, my laptop’s hard drive’s ever increasing crashing turned out to be its death throes. All weekend, I rotated the laundry and worked toward getting a new hard drive, integration of a new operating system and retrieval of all my work.
Still, I found time to continue dreaming of palm trees, blue skies, warm breezes and perfect, lazy vacation days. A snowstorm came through, dumping six inches. My kids were puking, the snow was falling, and my laptop was in the shop. And yes, I continued to aspire to the perfect vacation, especially while shoveling or driving to the apple store.
hope does not tire
dreams never leave
vacation, will come
Miraculously, vacation did arrive, a few days late. Saturday: endless snow, struggling with data retrieval, fighting off my own fever, preparing lots of invalid food. Sunday: on the phone with apple support for hours, successfully retrieved my data despite the backup partially failing, then ran a new backup for 12 hours. Monday: packing frantically, departing for the airport, long pacing at Newark Airport waiting for our connecting flight, getting in very late, exhausted kids and parents.
Here it is Tuesday, and we have lounged by the pool, seen lizards on palm trees, and drank champagne (ok, not the kids). We managed to get here in time for the best weather all week.
dreams blossom
green fronds unfold in sun
paradise found
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Inspired by the Haibun Thinking prompt and the photograph above by Arthur Browne.
Newark layover
pacing, dreaming of palm trees
sun sets slowly
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Music in the soul can be heard by the universe.
— Lao Tzu
When my oldest was an active, playful 18 month old, he asked: “Can I play violin?” That was one of his first full sentences.
We did not have a violin or piano in our home. I wondered how he knew what a violin was. I asked around, and other moms told me that children as young as three study violin. No one else I spoke to had a child asking to play an instrument.
During that time, we moved and I had our second son. When my oldest was three, I met a woman in my yoga class who was beginning a new group of 3- and 4-year old violin students in the fall. I asked her if I should take seriously his request despite his young age, and she said yes, of course.
I remember sitting outside in the sunshine on my deck, when I told my three-year old son that I was going to take him to see a lesson if he still wanted to learn. He said: “Mom, I’m sorry I’ve been so mean to you lately.” I was silenced.
My eldest sat calmly on my lap for 45 minutes listening to a chaotic double lesson with two siblings just back from a summer music camp in Colorado. He said not a word and barely moved, which was not his normal behavior at all. Eventually the teacher turned to me, and she said: “I forgot you were here, he was so quiet. That’s a very long time for a child his age, you don’t need to stay to the end.”
My son climbed down, walked up to the teacher and said: “That was the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard.” He had never heard live violin music before.
intense green eyes
unwavering on the strings
hearing with his whole being
My husband I had never studied music. Nine years after deciding to honor my young son’s wishes, my oldest and youngest play violin, my second son plays cello and drums, and all three play piano. My husband and I have learned some violin and piano as adults. In our house, we have three violins, a cello, a digital piano, a Yamaha piano, a marimba, a saxophone, a trumpet, an acoustic guitar, a sanza, a variety of drums, a cymbal. We have all played music together in several concerts.
The kids now see music as part of our lives. They are talented singers, in chorus and musicals, in addition to playing in orchestras. All three of my children make up their own songs and improvise by preference. Music has become part of the fabric of our souls. Perhaps it always was.
steel strings ring
my soul expands with each note
vibrating
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Inspired by the Weekly Ligo Haibun Challenge prompt, this one providing the quote at the top.
There is no key to happiness.
The door is always open.
— Mother Teresa
Love comes to the door,
Peeking through the keyhole
Slipping through the letterbox,
Making its demands,
Leaving footprints on your clean floor.
Life is never the same.
Happiness follows with friends:
Laughter, feelings of flying,
Stomach turns somersaults,
Spinning in dizzy, dancing circles.
Then those friends grow up with you,
Happiness turning into contentment,
Laughter growing into smiles.
Spinning somersaults drift into a slow waltz.
Love settles into sharing and commiserations galore.
First our hearts are on our sleeves,
And then they are on our door.
In secret, they flutter still, quietly.
The sound of a roughened voice,
The slide of stubble against a smooth cheek.
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Happy Valentine’s Day !!
To all those who love and are loved, whatever makes your heart flutter,
It’s a day to pause and be grateful for those tiny wings. 🙂
Warmly, Brenda
dancing light
penetrating the dark places
reverie on joy
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Last night in my email, was another writer’s bane, the let-you-down-gently words that sink in like thorns. I didn’t have high hopes, how can one in my place? I have time for writing, time for dreams, time for children-rearing, but no time for marketing.
Another so kind rejection in the mail.
How can I go on when to go on is to fail?
It’s nicely worded, not harsh at all,
And yet, it’s kind words hurt like an icy fall.
Why do I need for my words to be heard?
Why not chirp quietly on a branch like a bird?
Oh, hope, so fragile, so easily flown away,
Will you come back soon, stay for another day?
Why do any of us write? We have words inside us, needing to come out. It’s that simple. When my boys hit age three, they had to run. They ran and ran, circling me like dolphins around a boat, chirping and loving, laughing and falling. They ran because they had to, and I did not stop them. I tried to keep them safe.
Can I parent myself, the young writer? How would I do that? I know I need to write, and so I will. I will let myself write, and as I send my words into the world, I will try to keep myself safe.
Not everyone has to like what I wrote. I write for my own reasons, and I share magic and joy where I can. Even if only one person is touched, has a better day, feels the magic, then that’s enough. My work is enough. My words are enough. I will keep sending my words into the world.
As for my kind rejecter, I will smile, and I will remember that that person’s day is too long, too busy, too full to take on my words. That’s okay. She has a busy life, too, and only so many hours in it.
sycamore grows in summer
its roots leave words in the soil
the leaves read the shining sun
Note: A Monody is a lament, a dirge or an elegy for someone or something departed. A Haibun is prose, culminating in poetry, with its heart beating in the natural world. This was partly inspired by a series of recent rejections, by the weekly poetry prompt by painttheworldwithwords to write a monody and by the weekly Haībun Thinking prompt, with a freestyling example by Al.
References:
http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/monody.html
http://painttheworldwithwords.wordpress.com/2014/02/11/poetic-form-of-the-week-monody/
Anybody seen my other eye?
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Oh the excitement! A storm is coming,
Weather forecasters are so seldom wrong,
Rumors are flying, and nerves are humming.
Even teachers smile at the hopeful throng.
Internet weather searches are many
The night before a major storm comes through.
A young child’s face shines like a new penny.
Even parents hope, at least one or two.
The first flakes fall unnoticed in the dark,
Stars hidden by clouds, snowflake stars falling,
Lightly, but thickly, on tree, road and park.
Schools are closed only after some stalling.
Parents and kids sleep in past the gray dawn.
Parents sleep longest, quiet kids watch cartoons.
Mom comes down to breakfast with a yawn,
Dad flips pancakes. Kids eat peaches with spoons.
Weather is perfect, just below freezing.
Snow is heavy, wet, perfect for packing.
We play outside all day without sneezing.
Children roll giant snowballs for stacking.
Seedpods make spiky eyes and twigs form arms,
Meanwhile, two boys sling snowballs from sled forts,
Pink-covered smallest makes snow angels farms,
And we sled until we’re soaked to the shorts.
Dry clothes and cocoa with marshmallows untold,
Help finish shoveling, board games to play,
As the plows finally clear our back road.
Oak leaves dangle forlornly with snow’s weight.
Tired children fall into their warm beds.
Coats drip dry by radiators, thumping,
Parents mop up water and shake their heads,
Pray for sunshine before tired slumping.
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Inspired by Painttheworldwithwords weekly poetry prompt, and her helpful post defining an ode, with links to, among other great odes, Keats’ Ode to a Grecian Urn, Shelley’s Ode to the West Wind, and Creeley’s America.
Cold birds hopping,
Raindrops plopping,
Gathering seeds today,
Thaw is underway.
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
my daughter’s boots
snugged beside her daddy’s,
new footsteps following
Note: Inspired by the Weekly Photo Challenge: Juxtaposition by the Daily Post.
Friendly Fairy Tales 