leaves rain
tree tears spiral and tumble
mourning summer
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Tag Archives: Poetry
Bat Haunts
Text again, for text to speech readers:
Bat
haunts
dark trees
in leaf costume, hunting.
The full silver moon hides its eyes.
© 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: This is offered for the 5th Annual Halloweensie Writing Contest at Susanna Leonard Hill’s blog. Susanna is a children’s book writer, and she is offering awesome prizes for contest winners: critiques, magazines and books, oh my! I imagine mine is too short to be taken seriously, but if you have a 100 word or less story or poem, done by midnight tonight (I know, right? But I just found out about it half an hour ago!) with some form of the words dark, haunt and costume, then throw your hat in the ring.
Harvest Song
No cellophane or styrofoam
enclose vegetables that
ripen with deep roots in loam.
But tomatoes need attention
from sunshine and gardener —
saving seeds is an obsession.
A good soaking for the seed
then planting in warm soil —
water, fertilize, stake and weed.
Year after year, they grow
Are they fruit or vegetable?
They’re silent. They don’t know.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: I harvested the last of my tomatoes before the recent frost. They were a poor crop this year. Free roaming turkeys ate most of my garden. Ten roost in the maple outside my bedroom window, nearly invisible, except when coming or going.
Autumn Honey
Do rusty blooms taste bittersweet,
of summer gone, left incomplete?
Thick stems are braced for swirls
from wind, even hurricanes whirls.
Honey formed on shortening days
might fizz, pop and amaze.
Will a bit smeared on bread
come with warnings of danger ahead?
Perhaps tea sweetened with that nectar
would raise an unholy specter,
a white vision of winter coming,
icy, pale dreams thrumming.
I recklessly stir it into a cup,
unafraid of what might turn up.
The stillness of a perfect day
belies the storms headed this way.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Raspberry August
dusty driveway
carts with awnings
rainbow of vegetables
and fruit —
pick your own —
rows of green brambles
leaning on string
spiderwebs glinting
lemony scent of crushed clover
delicate red berries
hidden under leaves
stems sagging low
ruby juice on fingertips
eaten on vanilla bean ice cream
long for more
August
I miss you
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: Thanks to Andy, I’m adding a link to Daily Post — Happy Place. Serendipity is sweet as berries. I’m also adding a link to Poetry Friday, this week hosted by the lovely and talented Amy Ludwig VanDerwater at the Poem Farm.
Sisters Sing Madrigals
young sisters, grow
sing madrigals to summer
dance all the day
turn toward the starlight
chins tucked into dreaming
wayward thistledown
spirals one way then the next
chased by bluejays
more voices join madrigals
sisters betwixt and between
too close, bash heads
dreams shaken by storm wind
madrigals fade
one summer lasts a lifetime
starlight lasts even longer
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: This poem is arranged into three tankas. A madrigal is a either a medieval poem or a song without instruments in two or more parts. I like to think madrigals sung by flowers would be both poem and song. May your week be lightened by flower song.
Aglow
Aglow with new growth,
Aglow with joy,
Blood to pump
and thoughts to run,
toward the sky, afloat,
on high.
This is life,
in all its ups and downs,
magic pulsing,
sick then well,
in pain then resting.
Thanks for my breath,
free of pain,
thanks for sunshine,
warm on my skin,
for hugs from my kin and
another day to begin.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: I’ve recovering well from the surgery, and I feel the poetry coursing in my veins again. I hope the magic finds you, lifts you and makes your heart and imagination soar. XOXO, Brenda
Cider Sweet
In the green dappled shade, beneath
a cider-smelling apple tree,
is earth magic.
A white blossom in spring swells to
a tiny, green fruit in July:
summer magic.
I pull down the autumn-red fruit, and
its tart-sweet crunch in my teeth
is apple magic.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: The SCBWI conference was an inspiration and confirmed for me that I’m on the right path. My crazy fits with their crazy. 🙂 My surgery is in the morning, so it might be over before you even read this. Halleluja, may the worrying be past and the healing begun. Soon, I’ll be having more fun! Meanwhile, I have a bowl of sun-sweet Macintosh apples. XOXO Brenda
Open Door Haibun
When one door closes, another opens;
but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door
that we do not see the one which has opened for us.
I’m attending a Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators conference in a few days. I’ve written three children’s books, and SCBWI is an invaluable resource for improving craft and making connections.
molding words like clay
making characters breathe,
dream
When I say I’m writing books, the first question anyone asks me is have I been published. Yes, I’ve been published in the past and recently in on-line zines and on my blog, but their questions really mean has any publishing company paid money to publish my work. Not yet. I’m looking for an agent. Most editors want agented submissions. Agents have become the first gatekeepers. To get through that gate is my immediate goal.
hands on the gate
splintery wood is rough
words can smooth
I wrote “Author” for the first time as my occupation recently. I learned the poet Emily Dickinson was rejected for publication during her lifetime. She was never published until after her death. Was she an author? I would say yes. If she was an author during her life, then I am, too.
To quote Maya Angelou: “Success is liking yourself, liking what you do, and liking how you do it.” I am already successful because I love writing novels.
This is a new career for me, and publication will take time. I’m on the path, I have passed through the first door — I believe in myself. Next, I hope to pass through the gate.
words soar like birds
song echoes over lake water
feathers fall, they float
I know many bloggers are on the path with me, and I want to thank all of you for your feedback and your support. My shoulder surgery is a few days after the conference. This may be my last post for a while, as I won’t be able to lift my laptop until my arm is useful again. I will miss all of you in the meantime. Keep writing! XOXO, Brenda
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Fairy Dust Haibun
To step amongst giant phlox, rudbeckia and Russian sage is to enter a suburban fairyland, a small oasis surrounded by the desert of houses, concrete and asphalt.
meadow blooms
sharp fragrance intoxicates
fingers sap-sticky
Goldfinches feast on spiky echinacea seeds, while redheaded woodpeckers knock on fence posts. Sparrows dart under eaves. Day lilies bob, and a rabbit emerges from the grassy leaves, smug and plump. The gardener is the majordomo.
crickets stir
hundreds of insects hum
spiders spin
A shady spot provides a view of an apple tree, too young to bear fruit. At its feet, the profusion of jeweled blossoms is blinding. Magic floats past in the sunbeams. Time slows to this one perfect moment.
Fairy dust gilds bees and
sparkles on flower petals.
Dragonflies hover
like hummingbirds,
held aloft by magic
or science
or faith.
Sudden breezes
bring a rainstorm
of fairy dust,
dried to pollen
by the hazy sun,
solar fast.
But even magic
cannot make summer last.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: A haibun is a Japanese form of prose alternating with poetry, often haiku. It’s often a recollection of one’s day, in present tense. A few moments in a garden, and suburbia drops away. These photos and memories are from Bronxville, New York, where I happily helped a friend celebrate his 60th birthday. Bronxville is a village of Westchester County, part of the Tri-State Area that surrounds New York City. People commute to Manhattan in half an hour. Have a magical weekend!
Color Pirate
Seize every color
from the trees to the leaves
from the houses and the breeze.
Embrace a flower’s bold hue
and each neutral tone made,
for all of it matters, each shade.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: A Painted Lady is a Victorian house with at least three colors of paint used. Wikipedia allows Edwardian and Queen Anne houses, too. I’m lucky enough to live in a town with several bold ones. I wrote this poem after reading many September 11 posts, and remembering the day myself. If only we could all see the beauty in the rainbow of colors around us and stop hating and blaming each other. Build, preserve and celebrate rather than destroy. If words have magic, and I believe they do, then let peace increase!
Gold Star Summer
A gold star for the summer,
stargazing, hiking, swimming —
so many fun things done.
Wobbly knees and a sore shoulder
didn’t make me stagnate or molder.
Traveling, dozing, lazing, crazing —
good memories, hard won.
Of these things are people made,
good and bad, I wouldn’t trade
memories for anything under the sun.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: I’m sad to report my shoulder requires rotator cuff surgery later this month. I’ll be busy getting my family ready to weather my disability. But I’m going to keep writing posts and visiting your blogs, whenever I can manage it. It might not be my most cheerful fall. 😉
Friendly Fairy Tales 