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August 18, 2015

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Green Path

Visit the hidden places,
hear the river speak rapids,
follow paths winding into wilds.
Find bear tracks, see fish glint,
and listen for moose.
Live in harmony.
Pitch your voice’s timbre
to meld with wind,
soughing in pines,
distant thunder’s grumbles and
crows, complaining blackly.
Hear sparrows gossip.
Match your silence to
the joy of sunshine
on all growing things.
Follow the green path,
and your voice,
unheard in the wilds,
will be thick with thoughts,
sprouting like mushrooms
in the dark, fertile places.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

April 2, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

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33 Comments

Ghost Leaf

Oak leaf rimed,
Bleached winter white,
Stark skeleton aglow.

A bit of starlight,
Its light grown white,
A transient in the universe,

The writing is plain:
An early calling card
Of Lady Spring’s visit.

Perhaps I’ll pour the tea,
Remembering heat,
Wishing for sunlight.

Note: I’ll lift my teacup in a toast to Lady Spring, whose velvety green cloak will swirl around us any day. And I’ll dedicate this ghostly post to Poetry Friday, this week hosted by a wonderful children’s poet, Amy Ludwig VanDerwater, at her blog, The Poem Farm. It’s National Poetry Month, and the kidlitosphere is lit by the radiance of many special events, some listed by Jama, the Poetry Potentate. If you like poetry, you can dine until sated this month!

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

March 30, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

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40 Comments

Sycamore at Sunset

Winter light dwindles to a pale sunset.
Sycamore bark peels in patches.
Ever on sentry duty, an eye on the horizon,
Glowing like a desert landscape,
The silent tree watches for
Spring, as winter melts away.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

March 26, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

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41 Comments

Diamond Snow Tanka

pink morning light
gilds young trees, knee-deep in ice
thousands of diamonds

break light into rainbows,
blinding me to spring

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.

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Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

March 19, 2015

Posted under

Holiday, Photography, Poetry

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55 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 11, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

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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

February 23, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

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38 Comments

Winter Symphony

Fingertips of trees
Gusts of wind bear thistledown
Symphony in gray

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

February 16, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

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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 6, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry, Tales for Kids of All Ages

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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

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

November 17, 2014

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

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22 Comments

Tiny Tree

Tiny baby tree,
No higher than a fairy’s knee,
What do you see
In that pool of black tea?
Starting out small,
That’s true for me and for all!
Good luck to you,
And to all the other tinies, too.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

October 8, 2014

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

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25 Comments

Journey of the Rainbow Leaf

Citrine, amber, sage, russet, claret,
Green of tree and brown of earth:
Every autumn shade gleams
Between its yellow veins.
Tiny fairies ride wind swells on it:
A magic carpet to buzz bushes and skim ponds.
Three baby hedgehogs with shivering quills
Hide beneath it, from a cold rain.
Then it’s sewn into a cape for the Harvest Queen,
She of the forest and glen,
It swirls like an autumn rainbow.
Its folds flash between dancing courtiers,
As all the fairies make merry.
Soon the bitter winds will blow.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

October 3, 2014

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

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43 Comments

Sycamore Lace

Crazy-quilt Sycamore tree,
One leaf, no longer perfect.
Yet the leaf shines with green,
Making oxygen for me,
And sweet sugar sap,
Flowing slowly into the tree.
The leaf scars show a beetle’s feast,
But those same imperfections
Are where the light shines through.

Note: I am often reminded of my own imperfections, my scars and my secret sins. I accept these things about myself as I accept them in the ones I love. I wrote once before about finding beauty in scars, a post called Beauty in the Broken Places. Today, Line and I were talking about imperfection and perfection being like two sides of a spinning coin, always rotating between the two.