Ode to a Snowday

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Oh the excitement! A storm is coming,
Weather forecasters are so seldom wrong,
Rumors are flying, and nerves are humming.
Even teachers smile at the hopeful throng.

Internet weather searches are many
The night before a major storm comes through.
A young child’s face shines like a new penny.
Even parents hope, at least one or two.

The first flakes fall unnoticed in the dark,
Stars hidden by clouds, snowflake stars falling,
Lightly, but thickly, on tree, road and park.
Schools are closed only after some stalling.

Parents and kids sleep in past the gray dawn.
Parents sleep longest, quiet kids watch cartoons.
Mom comes down to breakfast with a yawn,
Dad flips pancakes. Kids eat peaches with spoons.

Weather is perfect, just below freezing.
Snow is heavy, wet, perfect for packing.
We play outside all day without sneezing.
Children roll giant snowballs for stacking.

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Seedpods make spiky eyes and twigs form arms,
Meanwhile, two boys sling snowballs from sled forts,
Pink-covered smallest makes snow angels farms,
And we sled until we’re soaked to the shorts.

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Dry clothes and cocoa with marshmallows untold,
Help finish shoveling, board games to play,
As the plows finally clear our back road.
Oak leaves dangle forlornly with snow’s weight.

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Tired children fall into their warm beds.
Coats drip dry by radiators, thumping,
Parents mop up water and shake their heads,
Pray for sunshine before tired slumping.

Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham

Inspired by Painttheworldwithwords weekly poetry prompt, and her helpful post defining an ode, with links to, among other great odes, Keats’ Ode to a Grecian Urn, Shelley’s Ode to the West Wind, and Creeley’s America.

Weather Witch

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Tempers ran high when the snow started to fall.
Frog would not come out of his palace at all.
Orla Fairy drank cup after cup of tea.
Jake the Forest Snip, belligerent was he.

Down the slippery village road he stalked.
Approaching all the closed doors: Bang! bang! he knocked.
A Siberian tiger paced and snarled,
Snow piled onto his fur, nails old and gnarled.

Forest Snip banged on the Weather Witch’s door,
Calling out, “What are you thinking, you great bore!”
“You tell her,” said the old tiger with a grin.
“Stop your banging!” came a shrill voice from within.

Out with demands came a magnificent mouse:
“Stop making a racket in front of my house!”
“We all talked and decided, it would be spring!”
Jake the Forest Snip’s words had a rousing ring.

Fairy Orla put down her tea, now resigned.
Outside, she said: “Mags, an accord was designed.”
“Don’t you dare call me Mags,” the Weather Witch grumped.
“But why did you change your mind? We are all stumped,”

Fairy Orla inquired. “Dear, we all see snow.”
“Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow, you know!
How can I ignore that?” asked the Weather Witch.
The tiger’s black and white striped fur gave a twitch.

He growled: “Don’t tell me we have to wait six weeks!”
Fairy Orla sadly brushed snow from her cheeks.
“All this cold for a Pennsylvania rodent?”
Fairy Orla snapped, ending quite despondent.

The witch scratched her mouse whiskers with tiny nails.
“There might be a way, but if done wrong it fails.
Gather some helleborus, ginger root, moss,
Shrew coat clippings, raven feathers, grassy floss,”

The Witch listed, hugging her pink coat tightly.
“Gather all that, my friends, gather it sprightly.
A brew will I prepare that will end this storm,”
Gravely she spoke, looking at snowflakes, forlorn.

All but the ginger root came quickly to hand.
Not one could be found on fairy village land.
They bartered for roots with five passing tinkers,
But Forest Snip lost them dicing with drinkers.

Now all were snarling at Jake the Forest Snip.
He left to go south on an extended trip.
More and more snowflakes drifted quietly down.
“Each thing has its time,” quoth the mouse with a frown.

Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham

White Witch in Winter

Winter Berries

Conjure me a warm day;
Bend holly into a wreath.
Leave trinkets where they lay,
Intertwine grasses from the heath.

Weave in some dried lavender,
Intersperse some winter berries,
Neglect not magical provender,
Add a curl of thyme for the fairies.

In the gloaming, carry it nigh.
“With some warmth, you’ll be blessed,”
Spake the White Witch’s soft sigh.
“I take with joy these things for my nest.”

Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham

Notes: Inspired by the Sunday Whirl, Wordle 144.

We’re not scared!

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To the drooling snow monster,
who swallowed my thoughts of spring whole,
the sun will be coming for you,
in a month or two.

A few budding artists were inspired to draw their own snow monsters:

By M.H., aged 5, via his mom at Complexity through Joy

By M.H., aged 5, via his mom at Complexity through Joy

Coloring Page by Kyle H., aged 9.

Coloring Page by Kyle H., aged 9.

Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham

Note: Thanks to Janna at Complexity through Joy for the kind permission for use of her snow monster.

The church is near but the road is all ice; the tavern is far but I’ll walk very carefully. Russian Proverb

The Best Evening Look

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A look that never goes out of style: the classic sunset.
Each tree takes her time dressing,
Wrapping herself in an ermine stole for a winter fete,
Mother Nature extends each a blessing.

Continue reading

The Dragon and the Phoenix

Yangshao never knew what woke him from his thousand year sleep under the frozen taiga. His muscular, golden legs and long limber back snapped and creaked. His lungs filled with crisp, clean air, as he emerged from deep under the ice. Brilliant lights at the far horizon drew his sharp dragon eyes south. The night sky filled with swirling reds, yellows and oranges, and these colors reminded him of his best friend, Xin-Yin, the Phoenix. Brilliant blue star shapes expanded, filling the sky as the other colors faded.

Yangshao’s back rippled side to side like a snake as he flew up and over the larch and birch forest, his vertebrae cracking like saplings in an ice storm. His golden claws clenched and released, easing their stiffness, then reached up to itch between his horns. His whiskers trembled in the cold wind, and he started to feel alive, his senses filling with the forest fragrance. He brushed the tips of snow-laden spruce trees for the joy the showering powder gave him. He felt his magic renewed from his long years of slumber.

His senses expanded over the lands searching for Xin-Yin. Where was she? Continue reading

Red Pajamas Shadorma

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Little leaves
Buried in the snow,
Peeking out
Like children,
Dressed in their red pajamas,
Throwing off covers.

Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham

Note: This poem is called a Shadorma, which is a rhythmic six-line poetry form, each line having specific syllable counts of 3, 5, 3, 3, 7 and 5. It may be modern; it may be a revived older poetry form. Some attribute it to Spain, although to me it sounds Indian, for no other reason than it rhymes with Lamb Korma. No authority I found gave it a definitive origin, and I offer it to you as a beautiful form, allowing a licentious 26 syllables instead of the austere 17 permitted by haiku. It’s a heady freedom!

References:

http://risinghawkspeaks.wordpress.com/2013/12/22/noreaster/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shadorma
http://www.poetrypages.com/phpBB3/viewtopic.php?t=16872
http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/poets/shadorma-a-highly-addictive-poetic-form-from-spain
http://popularpoetryforms.blogspot.com/2013/01/shadorma.html
http://caraholman.wordpress.com/tag/shadorma-poetry/

Winter’s Jewels Haiku

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golden pine droplets

fairy cobblers harvest

resin slippers shine

Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham

Cabbage-Iris Haiku

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summer blooms faded

vivid winter iris glows

some consolation

 

Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham

Seasons Intersect Haiku

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buds waiting for spring

reluctant leaves enduring

 dreaming of summer

Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham

Dark Spaces Haiku

Snow on Branches

golden sunshine glows

fae hide in the dark spaces

writing to Santa

Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham

Sonnet to a Cabbage

Cabbage in Snow

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s bloom?
Thou art more hardy and vivid in snow.
Over charming cabbages, dark clouds loom,
Soft fall winter’s tears on curled leaf below.
Coldest days, the white sky fills with snowflakes
Their white color enhances your bolder.
The distant sun peeks, an opening makes,
Crystal sparkles enchant the beholder.
And yet, the blindness reminds of regrets,
Summer sprite and fae gardens are no more.
Gnomes and dwarves hibernate in cabbage beds,
Violet leaf consoles as we adore.
   Even when we wearily shovel snow,
   We are buoyed by your vibrant purple glow.

Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham
Note: Inspired by Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18 (one of my favorites), after learning one of my readers had not read Shakespeare.