sunlight on grass
spun into gold before me
we are all stardust
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Tag Archives: poem
November Rose
pink November rose,
sweet-smelling fragrance rises
perfumes dreams of spring
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: The snow has arrived, and we are eating chocolate-chip oat cookies and apple crisp. We taught the boys to play hearts, and having fun. I hope you are, too. Blessings to all!
Note 2: Unbelievably, I wrote this post yesterday, and I ran out of time to post it before other duties called. Then Michelle Marie wrote her post for me, that I reblogged today, and it’s as if she knew!! She is psychic!
Giving Thanks
Once we accept our limits, we go beyond them.
storm wind gusts
shakes leaf from its anchor
it falls, giving thanks
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: Happy Thanksgiving to those in the United States, and Happy Fall to everyone else. This was inspired by the air spirits in the Carpe Diem #611 Haiku challenge, Sylph.
Catkin Fuzzy
Catkin fuzzy, catkin round,
Hiding there without a sound,
Are you there to amuse
Or are you there to confuse?
You look like a tiny teddy bear,
Huggable and light as air.
Perhaps you hide baby fairies,
Sleepy from eating mulberries?
Does a woodpecker tap tap tap
Or just perch there for a nap?
Would you rather be a dogwood tree
With spiky fruit and tree esprit?
You cannot be just a shrub!
You keep your secrets, that’s the rub.
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: I have been trying to get a catkin in focus in a photograph for over a year! Woo-hooo!!
Crowned Cats
Echinacea seedpods,
Ruffled and out of sorts,
With your cat faces,
Squashed by snowy caps.
Snow is still thin,
Yet will come thicker soon.
Eventually you will win,
Another spring will come.
Your roots will labor and birth a
New crop of seed pods,
Born to wear snowy crowns.
So the seasons go around.
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Tiny Tree
Tiny baby tree,
No higher than a fairy’s knee,
What do you see
In that pool of black tea?
Starting out small,
That’s true for me and for all!
Good luck to you,
And to all the other tinies, too.
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Blaze of Glory
Oak
Leaves bloom
Fiery Red
Artful couture
Fall
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: This poem is a lantern poem (also spelled lanterne), a Japanese form, in the shape of a lantern, with five lines and a syllable count of 1, 2, 3, 4, 1.
It is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
Foggy Bottom
Cold
Misty
Walk beside
Foggy bottom,
Disappearing pond,
Where has all the blue gone?
Birds are silent, and I
Search the shore alone,
People are gone.
No chatter,
Nothing
Found.
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: This is my version of a Dynamic poem. This form creates a crescendo in two verses with mood and syllable count, starting with a crescendo syllable count, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 then a decrescendo of 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. It’s similar to a ninette, which has the syllable count, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 (see some examples of ninettes here).
Birdbath Central
A still pool of rainwater,
Kissed by garnet and citrine maple leaves,
Reflects the cool Autumn sunshine.
A bluejay shakes his wings,
Scattering crystal gems of water.
Wild turkeys gather fallen seeds below;
Their plumage blends into the
Brown, rust and orange leaves.
A juvenile robin dips a toe and shivers.
The damp smell of wet leaves
Rises into the warming day,
Mingling with the scent of cedar and pine.
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Squirrel Superhighway Haiku
Squirrels skitter past
On the treetop Autobahn
Catch a fuzzy glimpse
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Dragon Dreaming
“He had turned into a dragon while he was asleep.
Sleeping on a dragon’s hoard with greedy, dragonish thoughts in his heart,
he had become a dragon himself.”
― C.S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
He napped on the wealth of the world,
The heart of the wildwood beating in his ears,
But his sleep outlasted the wood itself.
Over the years, earth and twigs covered him,
Turning his sunny glade into a fairy mound.
When he woke, his scales were soft as bracket fungus,
And his hide was frayed like the bark of a fallen spruce.
All around him, houses stared down with blank eyes.
A bridge crossed a brook where children swung on bars,
Screamed and chased each other around plastic cars.
The sweet smells of red woolen sweaters, sticky candy fingers,
Grilled cheese breath and ripening juniper berries
Teased his nose, so different than leaf mold and lichen.
He remembered the beating of the wildwood heart,
Loud as thunder, steady as rain, but he could not hear it.
His greedy heart stirred. His claws churned the earth.
Clink, clink, his treasure was safe. Gold gleamed below him.
Its musical ringing soothed him. He remembered winning it,
When the forest were young, kings foolish, and no amount
Of stone or brick could hide the scent of gold from him.
His youthful memories brought dreams and in the gloaming,
He dozed again, his green eyes dimming, his breath stilling.
The woods would return one day: the seeds were there.
The day of the dragon would return with the wildwood.
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: Were you the kind of child that imagined dragons under the hills and fairies inside the flowers? If not, maybe it’s not too late to be that child now. What would you think about, if you were a dragon awaking in suburbia?
Party with the Late Blooms
Autumn is under way
Come party with the late blooms
Dance till Jack Frost comes
Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: Despite having snow flurries on Sunday, we still have blooms here and there. This poem is a haiku, with five, seven and five syllables on each line.
Friendly Fairy Tales 