Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

January 24, 2016

Posted under

Humor, Photography, Poetry

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34 Comments

Juniper Jewels

Blue Juniper berries

Jewel-bright juniper berries
dangled like azure fairies
amidst needles unfurled,
seeking the eyes of every bird.
Berries stayed sugar sweet
until fermenting was complete.
Early spring, greedy bluejays
fell down tipsy over two days,
leaving feathers ruffled aft.
How the crows laughed.

Note: Some birds actually eat too many fermented berries and behave badly. Once I discovered that, I just had to write a poem about it. I also ran across a hilarious video of African animals overindulging on Marula fruit. A more serious poem about juniper berries is here. Have a great week!

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

January 19, 2016

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

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25 Comments

Tree Song

Two Tree limbs reaching into the sky like arms

Even in winter,
with nary a leaf,
trees hold up the sky,
cut the wind and
frame the stars.
Tall maples sing our future,
lament our past.
First, morning pianissimo
swells to workday allegro
but quickens to andantino
after a tangerine sunset.
A mad tarantella makes
Saturdays ache with dance.
Stormy days, we hear brass
crescendo of crashing branches.
Trees measure our lives.
Each season has its movement,
winter’s pianissimo alternating
with icy crescendo:
concertos made from time,
measured into beauty,
the melody our breath,
the bass our heartbeat.
Woodwind chords are
refined by strings.
In the tree song,
we find time
and healing.

Note: I hope you are hearing music. Have a great week!

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

January 16, 2016

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

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45 Comments

Dryad’s Eye

Thick oak in winter, trees brown and curled, with power lines running alongside, and the twisted trunk makes an eye

Sky gray as grave wrappings,
day dawns with the sullens.
Sodden leaf mold mingles
with the scent of coming snow.
Silent crows are drenched and dismal,
staring into the storm’s eye.
Oak leaves, brown and wilted,
make a damp chatter, as if they gossip.
Even the dryad shivers,
lissome and fair but cold in there.
She turns a shoulder to the icy wind
and hoodwinks the honest earth
into seeing a magic eye appear
gathering the light, shedding no tear.
The luminous gaze falls on the smallest
child, hopeful of seeing the first
snowflake spiral like a fallen star.
No frown can stay down in
the presence of wonder and hope.

Copyright 2016 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: A dryad is a nymph or goddess of a tree, often an oak. I make reference to a Sylvia Plath poem, On the Difficulty of Conjuring Up a Dryad, in which conjuring, Plath fails. Her “tree stays tree” no matter how she wrenches “obstinate bark and trunk/ To [her] sweet will”. Is she disappointed or triumphant when “no luminous shape/ Steps out radiant in limb, eye, lip,/ To hoodwink the honest earth which pointblank/ Spurns such fiction/ As nymphs”? She then observes that her cold vision “will have no counterfeit/ Palmed off on it.” My imagination is of a different sort than hers today. Where my eye scans, I see magic. May you have a magical day.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

January 13, 2016

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

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44 Comments

Connection

Connection,
reconnection,
lines entwined, aligned.
Squirrels use superhighways, and
information zips sideways.
Talk is the tendency when
winter’s in ascendancy.
Messages zing with arctic air.
Yet, summer’s there
in buds drowsing,
a promise of carousing
when summer’s scent
will rise from each branch, bent
from the memory of
winter’s icy love.
Seasons circle and dance,
hypnotic with romance.

Note: Are you finding the magic in the season? It’s harder in the winter doldrums, but keep your spirits up, the days are getting longer already! Cast your eyes on a Scottish stone circle formed from the earth’s oldest rock, and you’ll see winter romance, indeed, thanks to Seonaid at breathofgreenair.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

January 8, 2016

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

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59 Comments

Gray Magic

Stone Wall with phlox overhanging

Tinge of gray
on evergreen,
sparkly spray,
icy and clean,
fairy frost,
silver dance.
Summer’s lost
in hoary trance.
Winter sleep
casts its spell.
Blankets deep,
warm us well.

Notes:

Cold has tinged New England with silver. It’s the time of year to burrow under blankets or duvet. I hope you’re warm and cozy. My favorite thing to do this time of year is sleep late. What’s yours?

Happy Poetry Friday to all kid litters! Thanks to Tabatha Yeatts for hosting this week at the Opposite of Indifference. Thanks for reminding us that the “opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it’s indifference.” ~ Elie Wiesel

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

December 21, 2015

Posted under

Holiday, Photography, Poetry

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61 Comments

Note: I wish you all that’s happy, whatever you do or don’t celebrate. We are all brothers and sisters in the mystery of life, all stardust in the universe, all hungry for love and joy. I’ll be taking some time with my family the next few weeks. A million warm holiday hugs!!

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

December 19, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

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18 Comments

Fish Grin

Blue fish grins.
His scales gleam with
labyrinthine markings.
Perhaps lady fish
get lost, tracing their
path through the bends.
His charm bewilders
and intrigues, and we stare
at each other through
the ocean tank glass.
Close, but not connecting.
Near, but breathing
different elements.
Each puzzled by the other.
His liquid gaze and citrine eye
as mysterious and fleeting
as a golden leaf on a tree.
What does the leaf remember,
hanging there for one last day?
What does the fish see?
A swish of his tail and
he’s gone. A cypher,
a code of the universe,
a mystery to contemplate.

Note: I’m surrounded by swirls of wrapping paper, twinkling lights and the smell of brownies. I’m planning to make brownie Christmas tree cookies. If they turn out well, I’ll put up a picture. And my husband just bought girl scout cookies. I hope you’re having a wonderful weekend!

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

December 9, 2015

Posted under

Humor, Photography, Poetry

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28 Comments

Riddle Me

I fly, I glide,
my worries hide.
I rise, I dive,
I feel alive!
I eat, I sleep,
I scout the deep.

Who am I?
I’m not dry!

For 80 years
I’ve shed no tears.
I eat squid —
I would not kid.
I’m a turtle,
Yes, I’m Myrtle.

Myrtle the Turtle swimming, flapper flying

Note: I took this photo on a recent visit to the New England Aquarium. Myrtle is a Green Sea Turtle who’s lived at the aquarium since 1970. She’s about 80 years old and 500 pounds! In addition to squid, she eats lettuce and cabbage and is particularly fond of brussels sprouts. She can have mine!

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

December 5, 2015

Posted under

Humor, Photography, Poetry

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35 Comments

Mushroom Hug

Mushroom smiles,
arms akimbo,
for a mushroom hug.

Hey, don’t shrug!
Really.
It’s a mushroom hug.
Can’t see it?
Don’t throw a fit.
Smile wide as me,
and you’ll see it,
lickety-split.

Note: I hope you see the hug, same as me. 🙂 My rhyme is disorganized, perhaps I should call this rhyming ADD. My words have executive function issues, but as my eldest would say, Who cares? It’s a brave new world of “whatever works.” But does it work? Hope you’re having a great weekend!

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

November 30, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

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32 Comments

Trees and Memories

Here in the woods,
the light doesn’t quite shine.
In the deeper quiet, I
hear only the wind and
the laughter of leaves.
The sunshine is distant.
Here in the twilight,
I can think my thoughts,
without its brightness,
blinding my eyes.

Note: This poem is part of a longer poem. Is there a place where you can be yourself? Where you can be free, use your outdoor voice, sing or dance or remember?

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

November 19, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

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68 Comments

Season of Thanks

Thankful for summer —
fragrant with cottage roses
climbing a stone wall.

Thankful for autumn’s
brilliant multi-colored leaves
that spin, curl and fall.

Thankful for winter —
sledding and skating on mill ponds,
made smooth with ice.

Thankful for spring
when bulbs and roots create
flower paradise.

Note: Here is a thankful poem in recognition of Thanksgiving, a time when we celebrate what the earth gives us. This is my contribution for Poetry Friday hosted this week by Miss Rumphius Effect.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

November 17, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

24 Comments

Purple Sage

fragrant leaves
rough with musky spice
song of summer

Note: This is a good-bye to my herb garden, which spiced my soups and stews this summer and fall. Pictured are two varieties of purple sage, which are not culinary. I also grow lavender, green sage, thyme, oregano, basil, parsley, tarragon, mint, chives and rosemary. When my herb garden goes dormant for winter, I’ll be waiting for spring. Only the basil and rosemary won’t come back.