Posted by

Posted on

March 19, 2015

Posted under

Comments

Spring Magic

And above all, watch with glittering eyes
the whole world around you because the greatest secrets
are always hidden in the most unlikely places.
Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.

— Roald Dahl (Minpins, 1991)

Drip,
Rain
Drop
Plops,
Spring will come
With black mud, bees
And crocuses beneath trees.
Baby robins will scatter shells.
Fairies will chant vernal spells.
Birds will sing madrigals at dawn
To wood violets blooming on the lawn.
Foxglove’s speckled trumpets will play
With snowdrops and magnolias in May.

snowdrops

Ours shall be the gypsy winding
Of the path with violets blue,
Ours at last the wizard finding
Of the land where dreams come true.

— Lucy Maud Montgomery (from Spring Song)

Note: My poem, Spring Magic is a concrete poem, taking the shape of a drooping tulip or possibly a lily of the valley bell as suggested by Matt Forrest Ersenwine. Thanks, Matt! Happy Spring! This post is an ode to Spring in honor of the Vernal Equinox which is at 6:45 p.m. here on March 20, 2015. And a happy coincidence, also in honor of Poetry Friday, hosted this week by Catherine Flynn at Reading to the Core who shared a wonderful original poem for World Folk Tales and Fables Week. I hope you have time to visit her. The photographs were all taken last spring — this year the ground is covered by a knee-deep sea of receding white ice.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

March 17, 2015

Posted under

Holiday, Poetry, Tales for Kids of All Ages

Comments

32 Comments

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

You’ll find no green beer here
Or stories with a jeer here
about shamrock socks
or leprechaun jocks;
The Irish won’t get a smear here.

I pass along this fantastic
idea, not sarcastic,
not as a joke
about wee folk,
But with thought enthusiastic:

Storytelling is an art
that makes the Irish a part
of words unfurled
joining the world
To one growing literary chart.

Note: The foregoing are my limericks three, to frame my respect for my Irish heritage. The shamrock is a work in progress by my daughter and I. To celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, here are few treasures by Irish authors:

While mantling on the maiden’s cheek
Young roses kindled into thought.

― Thomas Moore

The Lake Isle Of Innisfree

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

― William Butler Yeats

My body was like a harp and her words and gestures
were like fingers running upon the wires.

― James Joyce, Araby

Of the things which nourish the imagination,
humour is one of the most needful,
and it is dangerous to limit or destroy it.

― John Millington Synge

I think of the bog as a feminine goddess-ridden ground,
rather like the territory of Ireland itself.

― Seamus Heaney

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

March 13, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

49 Comments

Sounds of Spring

Thwomp-Boom, ice dams fall.
Birds sing as sunshine strengthens.
Drip, drip, icicle lengthens;
When will the snow go?

Canada Geese waddle into traffic,
Honking: Where’s the ground?
Where can food be found?
When will the snow go?

Cars honk back; engines roar.
Traffic stalls and goggles at geese.
Is it spring despite me wearing fleece?
When will the snow go?

This Poetry Friday is wrangled by Author Amok. May your inner child be joyful this weekend!

Note: I was driving back from the pediatrician with my son, who clonked his head on the ice Sunday night (he has a mild concussion and will be fine), when two prosperous-looking Canada Geese waddled right across the busy road. The sight of them in the road is unusual, they generally congregate on grassy lawns. It reminded me that the wild things are even more inconvenienced by the remaining mountains of snow than I am. And that spring is nearly here!! Woo-hoo! The geese have returned! Given I was driving, I didn’t get a picture of them.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

March 11, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

30 Comments

Remembering Leaves

With puddles and ice
Lining sidewalks and streets,
I remember leaves.

First, the tease of buds.

Then the unfurling of
New leaves, palest green,
Sidewalks awash in bud casings.

Leaves as backdrop to the blooming of
Dogwoods, tulip magnolias, pink cherries,
White pear and apple,
Mauve plum and citrine cassia.
Continue reading →

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

March 8, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

39 Comments

Calla Curl

Pink
Twirl,
Calla curl,
Silky swirl.
Snow may hide
New England’s color,
But trucked-in treasure
Startles and entrances,
My heart dances —
A wild whirl.

Notes:

On the poem: This is a concrete or shape poem, meant in this case to take the shape of a calla lily.

On the weather: We’ve had one day of sunshine, with temperatures above freezing. Old Man Winter is not gone, but at least he’s growing sleepy. The Calla Lilies are from Trader Joe’s, where the floral section is a summer garden. Here is a picture better reflecting what it still looks like outdoors here:

On Poetry Friday: super-late this week, but life gets in the way at times. Thanks to Robyn Campbell, Kids Author and Poet, for hosting!

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

February 23, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

38 Comments

Winter Symphony

Fingertips of trees
Gusts of wind bear thistledown
Symphony in gray

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

February 19, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

52 Comments

Speak for Compassion

On this bench, many times I have contemplated skinned knees, heard stories of woe or watched battles royal fought by three- and four-foot folk. Now the snow and cold drives us indoors, where children’s pains seem more internal as well.

Speak softly
Without haste,
For a word,
Ill-placed,
May strike a blow
To one hurt
On the inside.
This we can avert.

Reflect on any
Plans or actions.
Evil arises from
Creation of factions.
Harsh words divide,
Conquer and defeat.
Imagine being the other.
Use compassion. Repeat.

Whether we are talking about children, adults, religions, towns or countries, we all need to pause and reflect. To imagine life as the other.

I don’t like to moralize,
Or antagonize,
But in the face of evil
Speak I will.
Choose an action
From compassion.

Note: The combination of poetry, interspersed in prose, is called a haibun. This recent rash of school shootings, terrorism and racial and religious violence moved me to speak together with many others, in a movement started by Yvonne Spence. Let’s create a better world for our children, a magical, safe world where differences are celebrated rather than used to divide and ridicule.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

February 16, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

60 Comments

Snowy Trees

Snowy trees up to their knees
In a snow-packed deep freeze.
Bend, creak, snap and sneeze,
Branches speak with the breeze.

Note: New England has been blessed with about 90 inches of snow in three weeks. Roads are narrow and icy. Snow banks along driveways and roads are mammoth. Visibility is nil. The White Wizard has sent a blizzard unlike any we have ever seen.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

February 13, 2015

Posted under

Holiday, Photography, Poetry

Comments

25 Comments

Sunsets Burning

I have seen from my window
the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.

Sometimes a piece of sun
burned like a coin in my hand.

— Pablo Neruda, from Clenched Soul

Black-fingered trees
Yearn to touch the sky’s palette
Aglow with sunset

Icy winter dormancy
Kindled by sunset passion

This Tanka poem was inspired by Valentine’s Day, sunsets and Poetry Friday, this week hosted by Merely Day by Day. Happy Valentine’s Day!

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

February 11, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

25 Comments

Very Red Berry

Berry Cordial,
Cherry Pie,
Wild treats
Made under the sky.
Winter crimson,
Sudden and rare,
Makes me imagine,
Makes me stare.

Note: We are buried in snow in NE. An ocean of snow as far as the eye can see, walls of snow over our heads. And it’s snowing!! With more to storms predicted for later this week. It was all fun and games until the snowblower broke.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

February 8, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

43 Comments

Wild and Stormy

Snow creatures fly through the night,
Swat the tree and stick there tight.
The storm is wild; the creatures light.
Next day they remain, mossy and white.

Note: I hope to catch up on your blog posts tomorrow when my traveling is done. Hope you have a great week ahead, all my friends! Warmly, Brenda

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

February 6, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry, Tales for Kids of All Ages

Comments

33 Comments

Three Tree

Fairies rocket down the Three Tree,
On zooming toboggans, happy as can be.
Can you see them tumbling and swerving?
Oh to be tiny, magic and free. Yearning.

Note: This poem is offered as part of Poetry Friday. Thanks to Elizabeth Steinglass for hosting this week. I am out of town, but I will be back in a few days. I look forward to catching up with all of you when I’m back. Warmly, Brenda