Fall
Seedpods
Sticky Blooms
Carried by birds
Scattered by rainstorms
Sticking to animals
Silk expanding on breezes
Tiny hopes for the plant’s future
Carrying next year’s dreams, hearts aloft
Dormant all winter, waiting to burst forth.
Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: This poem is an Etheree, starting with one syllable on the first line and increasing to 10, one syllable per line.
Picture by Penny
Crabgrass can grow on bowling balls in airless rooms, and there is no known way to kill it that does not involve nuclear weapons. — Dave Barry
Crabgrass can grow without fertilizer, mulch, watering, edging and protection from other plants. It springs up in any crack or crevice in the walkway, in the middle of the lawn or between bushes and the house foundation where light shines for less than five minutes in a day. What if good thoughts were like that? Even if the day was dark and cold, with a stiff wind blowing the rain sideways. What if happy thoughts took root like crabgrass, growing deep roots, sending thick green arms in all directions, blocking all dark thoughts from coming near.
Peter Pan taught Wendy to concentrate on a happy thought, and she could fly with the help of some fairy dust. What could you accomplish if you concentrate on a happy thought? Picture it taking hold like crabgrass and nothing can kill that happy thought. Perhaps you could even smile, all day long.
I’m going to be the crabgrass. I’m concentrating on the ocean. My happy thoughts involve a waterfall, a volcanic valley, snorkeling and the best sushi I ever had in my life. Do you know where I was? I hope you have a happy thought that can take hold like crabgrass.
blue waves curl inside
lapping on the golden shore
of my memory
Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham
To find the prompt for the haibun, click on the Ligo Haibun Challenge.
A lovely magical poem from Scottishmomus, of the all-seeing eye. Here she beards a dragon in his lair. Happy long weekend! Brenda
A fire burns
Within this cave
And sulphur
Fills the air.
Exploration,
Through the mire,
Finds
The dragon’s lair
Where slumber’s rest
Holds still
His breath, flame now
Quietly quenched.
Wait, survey,
A quiet snore,
Now the time
To wrench
One scale from tail
Of beast of lore
Bless’d magic,
Glitter’d gem
Holds promise of
Imagination.
To brave only,
It is given.
Sahm’s idea of a dragon paves the way.
I was the maple
green, strong, making food from light,
Then came the changes.
Longer nights chilled me,
what cold did change, color and more,
Called forth a new me.
Who am I now, tree?
Or a lone leaf? One of many,
Many leaves falling.
Yes, falling alone,
Under this tree gathering,
Until the wind comes.
Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham
Lonely birch on shore
looking past the changing leaves,
Saying nothing more.
Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham
Willow’s magical post is a masterpiece, a precious ode to the moon. Have a great Sunday! Warmly, Brenda
Moon
Opal light
Opaque stone
Night almost gone
Such beauty to behold magic moon lit moments …………
Autumn is my favorite season. Summer is too hot, winter too cold, spring too rainy, but autumn is just right. When I was growing up, I enjoyed kicking leaves, walking to school by myself, hearing them crunch underfoot. I even liked to rake leaves, but, shh, don’t tell my dad. Continue reading
It takes a long time to become young.
— Pablo Picasso
Welcome to my hundredth post, a different kind of fairy tale today,
dedicated to someone well loved
who turned one hundred last Friday.
He was grumpy, nearly blind, taking small steps with a walker,
but still his blessings outnumber his age: Continue reading
Halloween’s coming:
Spooky sights, frights and delights,
Spiderweb and fog.
Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham
Blooms fade and turn brown,
Cold nights imperil garden.
Late blooms delight eyes.
Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham
“The world is mud-luscious…
[and] puddle-wonderful”
e.e. cummings
My neighbor greeted me mournfully with these sad words: “Your house always has that large puddle in front of it,” and she pointed. Sure enough, I could have laid down in that puddle, and it would still have been longer than me and wider, too.
“That’s okay,” I responded with a smile. “I have two small boys who will love that puddle.” She looked taken aback, but I was the kind of mother to take my boys puddle-stomping on a whim. We named that puddle Alligator Pond. Many times, we stomped there, in water shoes and rain boots, and found ourselves anointed with the magic waters.
Now we can see all the world in a puddle, earth, sky, trees and ourselves.
Puddle splash laughter,
Muddy knees, arms windmilling,
rainwater in boots.
Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: If you like the haibun poetry style (prose followed by haiku), and want to dip a toe, you can find this week’s prompt at Ligo Haibun.
Further Note: The puddle in the photograph is not Alligator Pond, which is much dirtier and much closer to the sidewalk.
Awaking, skies dark,
Raindrops beat time on my heart,
Still room for beauty.
Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham
Friendly Fairy Tales 