
yellow dots of bees
broken clouds, sewn with sun
wildflower-blue field Continue reading →

yellow dots of bees
broken clouds, sewn with sun
wildflower-blue field Continue reading

Freed,
treed,
high as a bird,
like a rising song,
with a need to climb
ever higher,
a girl can believe,
can succeed,
can belong. Continue reading

Thanks to Tabatha Yeatts, who channeled winter and the White Witch in her summer postcard swap. She sent me a poetic mashup of fairy tale, Narnia and politics. Continue reading

yellow yarrow clouds
like bits of solid sunlight
speak of summer Continue reading

Little fish, in the shallows,
where the sun turns
the soil to gold,
your round nest
blooms next to others,
forming a pattern
like dandelions on a lawn. Continue reading

Ruffled red petals,
taut with youth,
reveal, then conceal Continue reading

crowded, clustered
climbing an iron archway
tiny cottage roses
Copyright 2017 Brenda Davis Harsham
Our oldest love, our first love,
unfolding from our own birth,
grows as we take our first steps,
flows in our veins,
lodges in our fiber.
The love that makes us children again. Continue reading

Brother new, sister blue, I miss you.
Both lost at age four. Pain is evermore. Continue reading

Bound by the shared weight of winter,
the empty bird feeder and I
let down our neighbors, as our emptiness
lets in the cold, the sleet and the
wet indifference of early snowfall.
Where is our divinity, our seed,
our stored warmth and harvest? Continue reading

The first sparkling flakes
zip, zig and zag before landing
with soft velvet slippers
atop the last pink flowers,
a’drowse in the fading light. Continue reading

The orange oracle
hears the wind’s voice,
chilly with snow and ice
gathering strength.
But today,
it’s warm.
Today,
let’s dance. Continue reading