
We bring flowers when we
love and worship
not threats and illegal detentions. Continue reading

We bring flowers when we
love and worship
not threats and illegal detentions. Continue reading
Have you ever sent someone a poetry postcard? I sent five this year (first time ever) and here the ones I got in return (Yay!):
Thanks Margaret Simon for the beautiful zebras and good advice:
Thoughtful promise:
Savor every life moment
adventurously

Ferocious Women
who never bring you coffee
dream in poetry Continue reading

At times sunset
comes down
like a fist,
clenched with
unsaid words,
storms forecast,
and even the color pink
becomes a
menace
of feminine power. Continue reading

Shoulder to shoulder
with people determined
to be heard,
holding up signs
in weary arms,
speaking in twitter-like tweets
to a man who cannot
turn his back
and ignore millions
around the country
and around the world. Continue reading

In honor of Donald Trump’s Inauguration Day, I find myself speechless, but I am resonating with:
Herman Melville’s Misgivings

forest fern
curled with cold
gathers sunshine
Copyright 2017 Brenda Davis Harsham
Notes: Yay to the New England Patriots who won a playoff last night! Woo-hoo!

Restless in winter, inside,
because of ice, afraid to fall. Continue reading

This gray day, I find myself at sea, as I read Herman Melville’s poetry. In his life, he suffered the fears and disappointments of writing for a living. The fickle nature of the sea symbolized his readers, who loved Moby Dick, but deserted him with their indifference to his later works, including stirring civil war poetry.
Here is an excerpt from his poem, The Haglets, that speaks to my fairy-tale-loving heart:
Imbedded deep with shells
And drifted treasure deep,
Forever he sinks deeper in
Unfathomable sleep —
His cannon round him thrown,
His sailors at his feet,
Where never haglets beat. Continue reading

maverick trickle,
still, icy rivulet takes
the path less traveled 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

Roses are red,
snowflakes are white.
The first snowflake,
like a crystal kite,
dances and drifts
in silver sunlight. Continue reading