softer
snowfall
in April
a winged angelic and feathery stillness
heralds divine music from above
the icy confection
reminds of protection
brings a sense of peace
contemplating movement
making art turn into magic while
overhead fly Canada geese
Copyright 2016 Brenda Davis Harsham Continue reading
New snow,
pure and white,
softly falls and
outlines every tree limb
with its sharp contrast.
Blizzards stick to windows,
narrowing the view.
Each flake whispers,
Stay at home; stay inside.
The wildwood looks halved,
dark below but the white above
merges with the sky.
Snow settles, white as wishes,
paler than low clouds,
whiter than frozen breath,
pale as goose down
clinging to puffy coats.
The world is muffled
by the whitewash.
Sounds are muted and
traffic has ceased.
Wind whips crystals
into snow devils,
spinning like memories
of childhood past.
Thunderous snowplows
transform white into
salty mounds.
Each frozen drop
feels like summer’s tears.
We’re frozen into place,
housebound and
remembering.
Copyright 2016 Brenda Davis Harsham
Notes: Welcome to Poetry Friday, this week hosted thanks to Donna Smith at Mainely Write. She has posted a wonderful rhyming poem, perfectly setting out the in-between place today holds, adrift between holidays, seasons and weather. I hope you have a moment to visit her, even thought it means a jaunt out of WordPress and into the wilds of Blogspot.
I recently realized that being housebound during a snowstorm is not a thing everyone has experienced, strange as that concept seems to me — having life-long experience of blizzards and hurricanes. I thought about what being housebound during a blizzard means to me, and this poem emerged. Maybe you can share your own memories of being housebound, if it’s a thing that’s happened to you.
The colors of life,
of all things growing,
form a complex rainbow
in any season.
They linger as autumn
slips seamlessly into winter. Continue reading
Sky gray as grave wrappings,
day dawns with the sullens.
Sodden leaf mold mingles
with the scent of coming snow.
Silent crows are drenched and dismal,
staring into the storm’s eye.
Oak leaves, brown and wilted,
make a damp chatter, as if they gossip.
Even the dryad shivers,
lissome and fair but cold in there.
She turns a shoulder to the icy wind
and hoodwinks the honest earth
into seeing a magic eye appear
gathering the light, shedding no tear.
The luminous gaze falls on the smallest
child, hopeful of seeing the first
snowflake spiral like a fallen star.
No frown can stay down in
the presence of wonder and hope.
Copyright 2016 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: A dryad is a nymph or goddess of a tree, often an oak. I make reference to a Sylvia Plath poem, On the Difficulty of Conjuring Up a Dryad, in which conjuring, Plath fails. Her “tree stays tree” no matter how she wrenches “obstinate bark and trunk/ To [her] sweet will”. Is she disappointed or triumphant when “no luminous shape/ Steps out radiant in limb, eye, lip,/ To hoodwink the honest earth which pointblank/ Spurns such fiction/ As nymphs”? She then observes that her cold vision “will have no counterfeit/ Palmed off on it.” My imagination is of a different sort than hers today. Where my eye scans, I see magic. May you have a magical day.
Catkin young,
Soft, sage and fuzzy,
Catkin brave,
No leaves are open,
Catkin cold,
Snow freezes toes.
Catkin grow!
Early sign of spring.
Catkin open:
When ripe but soon!
Catkin bloom:
Bring back the birds.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: Fingers crossed for spring here. Someday soon, we’ll have blooms here, and lots of spring-green shoots! For another catkin poem, see Catkin Fuzzy.
pink morning light
gilds young trees, knee-deep in ice
thousands of diamonds
break light into rainbows,
blinding me to spring
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: Tanka is defined in Oak Leak Tanka. This photograph was taken this spring. You can compare it to a picture taken last winter of the same trees in Five Brothers Tanka. This poem is in honor of Poetry Friday, hosted this week by Check it Out.
What slumbers on
Evergreen boughs —
Snow? Or is it more?
Are they angels slippers
Left as tokens of love?
Are they lacy linen
For mountain troll tea?
Or dryad eiderdowns?
Maybe royal cloaks swirled
Round highland princelings.
Or white fairy dream-dust,
Spun from dancing and mischief.
Perhaps each icy crystal is a
Frozen wish, yet to be granted.
The clouds have floated down
To kiss the children of earth,
Pausing to embrace entwined trees.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: More snow is due tonight. I hear Northern Maine has over eleven feet and counting. Makes our eight feet seem paltry. I hope you are warm and safe and having magical thoughts.
Fingertips of trees
Gusts of wind bear thistledown
Symphony in gray
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
One hundred inches* of snow has fallen!
That’s 8’4”. Taller than the world’s tallest person. Taller than Big Bird!
Shorter than some of our icicles!
We’re exhausted from beating icicles off our houses and from launching newly fallen snow to such towering heights. But we’re still smiling and planning the next party (going to one this afternoon in fact).
So woo-hoo to all of you!!
Warmly, Brenda
*Note: For the rest of the world, that’s just over two and a half meters — so much less impressive written that way.
Snowy trees up to their knees
In a snow-packed deep freeze.
Bend, creak, snap and sneeze,
Branches speak with the breeze.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
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.
Berry Cordial,
Cherry Pie,
Wild treats
Made under the sky.
Winter crimson,
Sudden and rare,
Makes me imagine,
Makes me stare.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
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.
Snow
Flakes fall
On Rhodie,
Making leaves droop.
Pulse slows, goes dormant,
Warm heart retreats in,
Waiting for summer thaw.
Sees children building snowmen:
Hears laughter bloom like spring time.
Small girl shrieks as boots fill with snow.
An icy silence falls as doors slam.
The snowman’s crooked smile: winter joy.
Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: This poem is an Etheree, increasing by one syllable in each line, with a syllable count from one to ten. This poem is to connect with Poetry Friday. This week, the meme is hosted by These 4 Corners.
Friendly Fairy Tales 