memories flash,
silver fish in the shallows
river-cold then gone
Copyright 2023 Brenda Davis Harsham Continue reading
In the Flow
Tag Archives: River
Along the River
wind in the birches,
a morning of dappled light
along the river
Copyright 2021 Brenda Davis Harsham Continue reading
Down the Valley
Down the valley,
churn and bubble,
runs the river
on the double,
flowing past
town and trouble. Continue reading
Moon River
shades of silver
moonlight on an icy river
frozen in time
Copyright 2018 Brenda Davis Harsham Continue reading
Riverwalk
early leaves furled —
brightest riverwalk blooms
dot sculling shells Continue reading
Moon Touched
A poet,
dismissed from Heaven,
trees truth Continue reading
Under it All
What’s under it all?
What secret rivers flow
through
dark cave systems,
home to blind fish,
white like the moon,
the color of wishing?
Where lie the bones
of the very last dinosaur Continue reading
Magic Mirror
“Mirror, Mirror, shining bright,
in that river to my right,
who’s the fairest in the land?”
River winked at Meadowland:
“You are, fairest lady Sky,
“whether you are wet or dry.”
“Best to keep her happy, dear,
else we’ll dry to dust this year,”
Meadowland agreed with River.
Then Cherry Tree gave a shiver:
“Silence, she might hear you, fools,
you know it’s Lady Sky that rules.”
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Vermont River Wishes
Clouds framed a glaring window,
where the sun failed to shine.
Winds loosed a hailstorm of pine cones.
The icy river churned and burbled,
depositing silt onto smooth stones.
Upriver, the dam released water slowly.
The waterfall below demanded rain,
but it lay heavy in the black clouds.
A few drops spattered in the gorge,
unnoticed by waders in the flats.
The river shrugged smooth shoulders,
showing its sharp granite bones.
Children chased fish downriver,
while parents soaked tired feet,
listening for thunder and
dreading the long climb out.
Canoers beached their boats,
donned yellow lifejackets,
and floated around the rapids,
bobbing in the slow side current.
Children pointed, laughed,
and longed to be in the thick of it.
I am the children. I am the river.
I am black clouds longing for release.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: These photographs are of Quechee Gorge and Ottauquechee River, Vermont.
Covered Bridge
River rambles and curves,
shallow then deep,
rocky or smooth,
changeable as the weather.
Under the bridge are dark places,
deep pools with hidden depths.
The biggest fish hide there.
Aquatic plants sway
in the current, roots unseen.
The burbling water
covers whispers made, but
sounds echo above,
in the dim covered bridge,
where magic dwells.
Gossamer webs hold fast
lingering traces of lovers past.
Children, clapping hands
and believing in fairies,
once danced here.
Their shadows remain
sweetening the breezes.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: These photographs were taken in New Hampshire in the White Mountains.
River Drifting
River blooms green
Between water lily stars.
Swans nibble
Tender water moss
While minnows
Dart amid the bobbing
Carpet of green.
Water striders flee.
A hush falls as
The great blue heron
Lifts its wide wings.
He beats the air from his
Driftwood perch.
A redwinged blackbird
Flashes red and yellow stripes
Among the elderberries.
Mrs. Mallard pecks at
Arrow Arum.
A Canada goose stands
On one foot in the shallows.
The current carries us
Ever onward
Toward the sea,
The light in our eyes.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: I’ve been boating with the kids for three days straight. They took to stand-up paddle boarding. They might never canoe again.
Flying Carpet
A yellow peony takes me
Flying through time
Back to another garden
Another day
In the hot sun
Footsore
Sweating
Hearing water trickle
From a waterwheel
Wanting to plunge into the river
Wanting shade
Wanting water
Wanting my mother.
At least I found shade.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: Memories aren’t always cheerful. Sometimes they hurt. Have you ever had an X-ray guided cortisone shot? I had one in my shoulder today, and I’m the girl on fire. So in honor of my shoulder, and its temper tantrum, I watched Hunger Games. At least I’m not in danger of being eaten by wild dogs. Hope your weekend is wonderful. And this post is also my contribution to Poetry Friday, hosted this week at Buffy’s Blog.
Friendly Fairy Tales 