My Italian Sonnet

Hi everyone,

Inspired by Steven Withrow’s sonnet,steven_withrow and spurred on by Jane Yolen’s witty example.

Comes now my contribution to the cause.David as bookends IMAG2753
Honeybee
by David L. Harrison

Honeybee, a vibrant buzzing thing,
Humming through the sultry summer hours,
Dipping in and out of willing flowers,
Sipping, pausing, sipping, taking wing,
Known more for her industry than sting.
Nature-blessed with honey making powers,
Performs her alchemy in hidden bowers,
Spinning gold with sisters as they sing.
Honeybees for twenty million years
Have met their fated daily rendezvous,
Pollinating blossoms in return
For smuggling pollen home to feed their peers.
So much depends on what the humans do,
And if the greatest predator will learn.

Jane Yolen
The little honeybee has buzz.
A taste for something sweet and runny,
Like a clown, she seems quite funny.
Body’s mostly stripes and fuzz.
She’s looking as she always does.
When she sells her cache of honey,
Her golden glow, bespeaks of money.
Why do we love her—just because.

But ask the little bending flower
Who gives up her hard-earned pollen
Whether she feels raped and fallen,
Or is filled with certain power.
There she is, all pollen laden
Virgin, violet violated.
By a bee much recreated,
Set aside, nor more a maiden.

(c) by Jane Yolen; all rights reserved

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A pleasant reminder

Hi everyone,

Yesterday I received a nice note from Chong Yiu Hei Yom, a reader in Hong Kong about a poem of mine from THE PURCHASE OF SMALL SECRETS that appears in a textbook there. It’s called “Leaving Corky” and I talked about it in 2012. Here’s the link to that post.
https://davidlharrison.wordpress.com/2012/10/24/leaving-corky .
CCI11172015_00001
I seem to be on a dog and cat roll this week. Well, that and spiders of course. I’m glad to know that my memory-based poem about the day I had to leave my cat is still alive and well in another part of the world. Corky always did get around. I’m grateful to Chong Yiu Hei Yom for letting me know.

FYI, today I’m not working on dogs or cats or spiders. Today it’s the king cobra. More about that some other time.

My Word of the Month poem for September

Hi everyone,

Here’s my poem inspired by SALE.

Sale
By David L. Harrison

Rows on rows
of strappy heels
and open toes.

Boxes stacked,
more coming,
more unpacked.

Bins with dumps
of flip-flops, wedges,
sneakers, pumps,

Flats, thigh-highs,
lace-ups, loafers,
every size.

Oxford, suede,
every fabric,
every shade.

Half off sale
and half of half —
the holy grail.

My old friend

Hi everyone,

An Ode to Me
by David L. Harrison
IMAG2161I shiver when the winter flays me bare,
But ahh the joy when leaves renew in spring!
People walking by are prone to stare.
They can’t believe I’ll have another fling.

IMAG2174To compensate, as aging trees will do,
I make up for my dissipating strength
By lightening my limbs with beetle holes.
My friends I offer this advice to you,
Trees with grit will go to any length.
Never underestimate our souls.

20150613_111200_001

Two favorite poems by Charles Ghigna

BULLETIN: Please see additional poems by Charles Ghigna, which he supplied and I added after this post went up this morning.

Hi everyone,

I’m glad you enjoyed getting better acquainted yesterday with Steven Withrow. My thanks again to Steven for his informative essay. I look forward to seeing more of his work.

charles ghigna
Today I continue the series of bringing you poems selected from the titles I bought at the recent Friends of the Library book sale in Springfield. ANIMAL TRACKS, WILD POEMS TO READ ALOUD was written by well known poet Charles Ghigna and published by Harry Abrams in 2004. I featured Charles waaaaay back on May 7, 2010 ( https://davidlharrison.wordpress.com/2010/05/07/charles-ghigna-today ).

I’ve chosen two brief poems to share, “The Snail,” and “Fly Swatter.” My thanks to my friend, “Father Goose,” for letting me share his work.

THE SNAIL
by Charles Ghigna

Though he has no hands,
Only a tail,
Do not pity the lowly snail.

Though he has no pencil,
Or pen,
He leaves a message wherever he’s been.

(c) by Charles Ghigna, all rights reserved

FLY SWATTER
by Charles Ghigna

The house is full of flies again,
I swat them for a penny
Until there aren’t any.
Then I open the door — for more.

(c) by Charles Ghigna, all rights reserved

Hi again,

Charles answered the question concerning his total output of poems. He has now passed the 5,000 mark!!

He also asked if I would post the following three poems as examples of his more recent work. Gladly, Charles. Here they are:

My Tree House
by Charles Ghigna

Welcome to my tree house,
my free house,
my me house,

where I come to ponder,
to wonder,
to look up at the sky,

where I come to daydream,
to play dream,
to watch the clouds roll by,

where the air is fresher,
no pressure,
where treetops swish and sway,

where I come to look at
the books that
take me far away.

(c) by Charles Ghigna, all rights reserved

* * *

The Poet Tree
by Charles Ghigna

Among the tops of tulip trees
whose branches dance each spring,
there is a place of purple lace
where words like birds can sing.

Upon the breeze that stirs the leaves
in whispers made of air,
poems rise above the clouds
like songbirds singing there.

And if you listen close enough,
you can hear them too.
The trees are full of poetry
each time the wind blows through.

(c) by Charles Ghigna, all rights reserved
* * *

The Poet Tree House
by Charles Ghigna

Let’s build poems
made of rhyme
with words like ladders
we can climb,
with words that like
to take their time,

words that hammer,
words that nail,
words that saw,
words that sail,
words that whisper,
words that wail,

words that open
window door,
words that sing,
words that soar,
words that leave us
wanting more.

(c) by Charles Ghigna, all rights reserved