
Time to celebrate,
time to remember,
but also
time to put away.
Copyright 2021 Brenda Davis Harsham Continue reading
Time to celebrate,
time to remember,
but also
time to put away.
Copyright 2021 Brenda Davis Harsham Continue reading
short, dark days
let the fairy lights shine,
long and bright
Copyright 2020 Brenda Davis Harsham Continue reading
The
leaves
whirl, swirl,
frisk and flutter,
before settling into
honey and russet blankets,
beech, maple, birch, oak, cherry. Continue reading
Thankful for family,
the four who stay with me
despite this year of separations. Continue reading
autumn rain
slapping five with maple leaves,
pitter-pat splats
Copyright 2020 Brenda Davis Harsham Continue reading
When doors slam,
things look tough, or
your heart is drumming it,
Remember you’re
the AMAZING YOU
and keep humming it. Continue reading
a palette of earthtones
paints hillsides
with Autumn song
Copyright 2016 Brenda Davis Harsham Continue reading
Once upon a time, Ruth grew into
a woman who refused to let others
put her in her place. She made
her own place, a place where
hard work, talent and persistence
would carry her across battlefields
of books, opinions, and gavels, where
great minds clamored and clashed. Continue reading
Write your story
for words are
perfect petals
that bring color
to the world.
Copyright 2020 Brenda Davis Harsham Continue reading
yellow manes,
faces tilted toward the sun
ROAR of color
Copyright 2020 Brenda Davis Harsham Continue reading
Time,
present and past.
Frozen moments,
remembered and forgotten.
Beauty,
ordinary and extraordinary.
Photographic power
reveals in light and dark
what my mother looked like as
a young girl,
or my father as
he welcomed me to the world,
or myself
as I smiled between
brother and sister
whose faces are only visible
in black and white now.
Lost faces, missed warmth, people
linger in shades, lines, and shapes,
like hieroglyphics of the past.
Copyright 2020 Brenda Davis Harsham
Notes: For World Photography Day today, I offer this ode, in gratitude for how concrete my memories are, of times past.
I won’t focus on shadows.
I won’t hide my head.
I’ll open to the sun
like the tiny phlox
that blooms,
even on cold days, Continue reading