Wet-Toes the Rabbit

Rabbit tracks on blue snow

Wet-Toes the rabbit hops,
scrapes snow from grass,
dodges grumpy crows,
and wriggles his cold nose.
Blue day breaks the dark,
and newcomers arrive.
Lop-Ear, he knows,
but following him is Rose.
Lop-Ear’s sister is peachy pale,
with silky fur and eyes of blue.
The sharp Nor’easter blows,
but does he feel it, old Wet-Toes?
Enchantment is all he knows.
Warmth has the name of Rose.

Copyright 2016 Brenda Davis Harsham

chaos of rabbit tracks

Note: Do you ever see a story in the snow, hear romance in wind song or imagine characters from thin air?

“If you never did you should.
These things are fun.
And fun is good.”
— Dr. Seuss

Thanks to Dr. Seuss for his whimsy, rhyming, hokey bunkum, soft soap, hullabaloo and malarkey. Most of all, thanks to him for making the world a better place.

Happy Birthday, Theodor Seuss Geisel!!

Last Berry

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To the final berry,
trembling and silent,
life is scary.
Unchosen,
unpicked,
half-frozen.
Squirrel-missed,
bird-pecked,
sun-kissed.
Little, red and round,
when the snowdrops bloom,
I’ll plant you underground.

Brenda Davis Harsham

Note: My son was at the ER this weekend. My internal compass has been swinging left to right and back again. Upheaval, danger, chaos, progress, crisis. Spring will bring me back into the garden, and life will resume it’s course: toward magic and joy. I hope you are having a magical week. Warmly, Brenda

A Grain of Sand

Boy making a sandcastle on turtle-back

Used by Permission of Artist Sath

Children dig sandcastles,
atop the swimming World Turtle,
until the tide smoothes the canvas.
Worlds change, drift out of time,
afloat currents ever moving
from ancient times, like thoughts,
like words or art, like life itself.
We swim in rainbow-hued oceans with the
World Turtle and sift ideas like sand.
Each sparkling grain holds a child’s song,
a collision of stars, a galaxy of possibility.
The oldest tree was born in prehistory.
Its innermost ring is the world’s oldest writing.
Its roots entwine eternity, holding it fast,
watching us blink in and out like candles.
Although we shed our light briefly,
we are part of the world’s ebb and flow,
and all things that come after
will find our sand, our songs, our stars
still living, infinite and immortal.

Copyright 2016 Brenda Davis Harsham

Notes: I reference William Blake’s famous quatrain:

“To see a World in a Grain of Sand 
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower, 
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand 
And Eternity in an hour.”
(Auguries of Innocence)

Resa Swork is devoting a month to kids at her site, Graffiti Lux and Murals. Her post, SOM-RIU, inspired this poem. Thanks to urban artist Sath, Aproscom Fundació and the Joan Mesquida Special Education Center, a school for people with intellectual disabilities located in Manacor (Mallorca). They are crowd funding a project to bring Sath from Thailand to teach students how to express themselves in murals and to make their environment a beautiful, living work of art. Elsewhere, Sath’s art frames the streets with vibrant humor and irreverence. The crowd funding project has less than a month remaining and has not quite gotten halfway to its goal of € 5.500.

Update: Sath‘s site is up and running. Apparently server trouble blocked access temporarily. I hope you can visit him.

Poetry Friday Badge

This post is my contribution to Poetry Friday, hosted thanks to Elizabeth Steinglass, a wonderful poet.

For the grammatically conscious in the crowd (or anal – I happen to be anal about grammar), I chose the verb tense spelling for “smoothes” without thinking it over, but then after reading and rereading so many times, it looked wrong. I looked it up, and apparently there’s quite a controversy. I attached the link to the word if grammar disputes are your cup of tea, but the short answer is that that spelling is in ascendency.

Have a magical weekend! Warmly, Brenda

Heaven in a Wild Flower

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This cold, blustery day, I dream
into being another spring day.
This one is mountain-flavored,
nearer to heaven than the sea,
far away from here, far from me.
A mountain meadow blooms
as far as my eye can see:
pink heads nod their approval,
as if they like what they see.
I’m atilt, upright on this slope,
keeping my feet, holding out hope.
Pollen coats my skin in gold dust
and I run as lightly as a wind gust.
I lift my arms to the sky,
I’m not a gazelle, but I can fly!
l reach the dim of the tree line,
and each leaf sings harmony with me.
Part of me dwells there, in that perfect hour
when spring is eternal: sweet, soft air and
cool breezes. Infinite beauty. Birds sing,
deer graze and rabbits nod to the grass.
The scent of wildflowers is heaven.
Heaven is in our memories.

Note: The title is from a quatrain that has been niggling at the corners of my attention all week. I decided to embrace it, celebrate it. This is the first of two posts about it. Do you know it already? It’s this one:

To see a World in a Grain of Sand

And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,

Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand

And Eternity in an hour.” 

William Blake, Auguries of Innocence

Spring Dreaming

Cherry blossoms

close dreaming eyes
fragrance of cherry blossoms
intoxicates, breathe

Note: Dreams are magic. I dreamed spring into being today as I soaked up the lemon winter sun. The park may have been wet with snowmelt and smelling of mud but I was remembering cherry blossoms.

Housebound

Snow covered trees, including one bent and twisted

New snow,
pure and white,
softly falls and
outlines every tree limb
with its sharp contrast.
Blizzards stick to windows,
narrowing the view.
Each flake whispers,
Stay at home; stay inside.
The wildwood looks halved,
dark below but the white above
merges with the sky.
Snow settles, white as wishes,
paler than low clouds,
whiter than frozen breath,
pale as goose down
clinging to puffy coats.
The world is muffled
by the whitewash.
Sounds are muted and
traffic has ceased.
Wind whips crystals
into snow devils,
spinning like memories
of childhood past.
Thunderous snowplows
transform white into
salty mounds.
Each frozen drop
feels like summer’s tears.
We’re frozen into place,
housebound and
remembering.

Copyright 2016 Brenda Davis Harsham

Notes: Welcome to Poetry Friday, this week hosted thanks to Donna Smith at Mainely Write. She has posted a wonderful rhyming poem, perfectly setting out the in-between place today holds, adrift between holidays, seasons and weather. I hope you have a moment to visit her, even thought it means a jaunt out of WordPress and into the wilds of Blogspot.

Poetry Friday Badge

I recently realized that being housebound during a snowstorm is not a thing everyone has experienced, strange as that concept seems to me — having life-long experience of blizzards and hurricanes. I thought about what being housebound during a blizzard means to me, and this poem emerged. Maybe you can share your own memories of being housebound, if it’s a thing that’s happened to you.

Winter Color

Red and Green plant

The colors of life,
of all things growing,
form a complex rainbow
in any season.
They linger as autumn
slips seamlessly into winter. Continue reading

Love is a Kite

Love is a Kite

Love is a kite.
It carries you up
to a terrifying height
until you can see
the future, the past and now.
Love is art.
Only the heart
can hold steady,
ride the wind,
dance aflame and remain the same.

Copyright 2016 Brenda Davis Harsham

Note: My 6 year old daughter and I spent the afternoon making Valentine art. You see mine above. My hubby asked if I planned to put it on my website, and I said no. He said, you should. So I listened, with my heart, and here it is. I hope it lifts you up, as it did me. Happy Valentine’s Day! Warmly, Brenda

Spun Sugar Trees

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spun sugar trees
limbs bent to the knees,
white with delight

Copyright 2016 Brenda Davis Harsham

Notes:

This is a rhyming haiku.
It’s something to do.
Want to try one, too?

Poetry Friday with kids

Happy Valentine’s Day and welcome to Poetry Friday, this week hosted thanks to Kimberley Moran at Written Reflections.

Still a Twig

Broken tree bent in half and blocking snowy, forest path

I may be old, bent and broken,
entirely blocking your path,
but inside where it counts,
I’m still a twig, leafy and new.

Copyright 2016 Brenda Davis Harsham

Tickle Proof Sharks

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If I had fins, I could swim
as sharks do, with a ripple
of my muscled back,
eyes open, never sleeping.
I’d never brush my teeth,
I’d grow new ones.
I’d smell my brothers coming
and swim the other way.
Even if they caught up,
my diamond-tooth skin
would be tickle proof.
I wouldn’t have to walk
down dark hallways,
my way would be lit
by phosphorescent fish.
I’d never have to sleep
alone in my room
with only a bear.
I’d stay on the move,
snacking between meals
whenever I choose.
Mom busses my cheek
and tucks me in.
My mouth tastes minty.
Bing-Bong, my bear,
fits into my elbow,
just right.
Sharks can’t dream
if they never sleep.
I wonder what
I’ll dream tonight.
I’ll be a shark in the sea!
I’m glad I’m me.

Copyright 2016 Brenda Davis Harsham

Note: For all the people who long to be sharks, may you swim in dreamland tonight. This poem is also for the kids’ literature folks at Poetry Friday. Thanks to this week’s host, Catherine, a talented teacher and poet, at Reading to the Core. Michelle Heidenrich Barnes at Today’s Little Ditty published a wonderful collection of poetry about nothing, and she even included a poem of mine that doesn’t appear on this website. If you want to submit your poem about nothing, you can visit her site for details. She enters all participants and commenters to win an autographed book, too!

Poetry Friday with kids

Holly Flower

Six holly leaves surrounding a pink stem

Petals fall away,
leaving the leaves
to spiral inward
like a rose in
full bloom,
laced with thorns but
with a stem too woody
for easy conquest.
The strawberry center
remembers the tease of bees.
The rain drains away,
leaving a few drops to
glisten like diamonds.
Whoever says winter
has no flowers
hasn’t seen the holly
as I have.

Note: I snapped this photo a few weeks ago before the first snow. I can’t help looking for flowers even in winter. Holly has been incorporated into many belief systems over the centuries. People planted holly as protection against thunder or to ward off witchcraft. The holly flowers in spring, and its four tiny petals form a cross, making it a common symbol for Christianity. It also represents the waning light of the year from Midsummer to Midwinter in the Celtic faith. May it help your imagination flower.