Loop Poem · Original Digital Art

Labyrinth

This is a loop poem with the rhyme scheme of ab, cc, defg, hh, ii, jklm, nn, oo. 

Some days I just want to be alone

alone with my soul and sacred things

 

sacred things like collages, crystals and prayers

prayers holding grace up heavenly stairs

 

stairs that wind higher into vast space

space is the matrix of light and dark matter

matter enfolds all dimensions and souls

souls resound songs of different vibrations

 

vibrations shimmer with tones in the light

light flares rich hues from the dark to the bright

 

bright is the source of all in creation

creation is God/ Goddesses awesome play station

 

Playstation sells games that aren’t on my shelves

shelves are my places for books and dear treasures

treasures hold gold in my heart and my home

home is the place I escape all life tensions

 

tensions create anxiety and fear

fear is a captor that’s not of good cheer

 

cheer is the reason I remain the sacred

sacred time with my soul will never be wasted.

 

©Barbara Harris Leonhard, extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Digital Image: ‘Labyrinth’  ©Martha Harris, Martha’s Artistic Flarings, artisticflarings.blog

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bagua · Poem · Poetry · Qigong · Tai Chi · Xing Yi

Tao Play

 

When they come to the temple,

they are but broken warriors,

seeking redemption

in Tao play.

 

They enter the temple gates

out of the shadows of their lives

in the light of the sun

rising on the horizon.

 

They are vessels receiving and

giving sustenance from the ball of life that

lifts them out of their birth place and

roots them to solid ground.

 

Taking their positions,

they center in Wuji,

spread and cool the white crane’s wings, and

grasp the sparrow’s tail.

 

They take to quarrels

with monkeys and prevail,

warding off their fears and sending them

flying with swords and fans.

 

They find the balance

in all Forms, which,

when done to perfection,

will make them immortal.

 

Rev. 10/7/2019 from an earlier version on WordPress in June 2017.

©Barbara Harris Leonhard, extraordinarysunshineweaver,blog

Art Doll: Inessa Morelock

Yin/Yang Image: Lisa Ryan

 

 

Poem · Poetry · Quadrille · Recognition/ Honor · Writing

Sunday Best: Cocoon — FREE VERSE REVOLUTION

I feel honored my poem “Cocoons” was one of the top three submissions this week. Most grateful! Check out the other great entries and follow Free Verse Revolution for other opportunities to feature your work.

Dear reader, Thank you for all of your support this week; the stats have been booming and so much love has been shown to this week’s contributors. If you missed anything, catch up below: Tuesday – Jimmi Campkin Wednesday – Yacoob Manjoo Thursday – L. E. Friday – Basilike Pappa Saturday – Bojana Stojcic This […]

via Sunday Best: Cocoon — FREE VERSE REVOLUTION

Poem · Poetry

A Fine Coat

Grief is a tailor.

Each garment made to suit,

buttons attached each year,

hems altered,

seams made strong by

threads of time,

pockets lined with truth.

 

Grief takes threads of every color

in and out.

Rage-red borders blend

flecks of gold.

It makes a fine coat

so soft to the touch.

 

How surprising.

This linen is a close friend

worn to ragged shreds,

worn to the bone.

Death is a companion

with us since birth.

 

There is no void, only Death,

swaddling us, yet

taking us little by little.

For this we grieve.

One day a babe greeting us

from the womb with tears,

and later, sharing tears for our passing.

 

We are dressed in Grief,

tailored memories of

laughter and sorrow;

joy and despair;

guilt woven into forgiveness;

grief into love.

Why do we fear?

We are comforted by this lavish coat.

 

Grief is a tailor

hired at birth

to clothe our lives,

worn to tatters with threads

left to line our souls.

 

(This poem is a revision of Grief: A Weaver, which I published on WordPress in June 2017.)

©Barbara Harris Leonhard, extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Image: Pixabay.com

Ekphrastic Poetry · Poem · Poetry

River Grass at Summer’s End

Seedlings in spring,

tall grasses in summer sun,

we scan life on the lapping currents

at our river’s edge.

 

Clinging to trees, cicadas call out an endless shrill.

Water striders mate and die. Widow Skimmers dance

on the waves. A turtle basks on a dead limb

caught in a root wad along our bank. An eagle keeps watch

from a lofty sycamore perch.

 

Clouds darken the face of the sun. A kayak floats

downstream in shadows. A warm gust lifts and sways us

on the shore, and we wave at the paddler drifting by.

 

The paddler succumbs to rain. The wind stirs wakes as

an Asian Carp pounds into the boat. The beaver

makes it to shore first in the storm. The river bank is

summer’s bed of sand at our roots.

 

In the bluster of early autumn, we bear our seeds at water’s edge.

They scatter like startled bees in the falling light.

Our ravaged arms reach for the falling light at dusk.

The glassy river reflects our age as colors fade.

Our stems bend, thirsty for noon.

 

This Poem is a revision of “Summer’s End”, which I put up on August 31, 2019.

 

©Barbara Harris Leonhard, extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Image: “Sunset on Missouri River” ©Dierik Leonhard

 

Loop Poem

In Autumn (Two Drafts)

This is a loop poem, in which the last word of a line begins the next line. This first draft seemed bland to me, so I revised it by adding details and being looser with the rules for loop poems. I feel the looping can create unnecessary repetition and restrict exploration unless I can loosen up and stretch the boundaries of the form. What do you think?

Draft 1

Autumn is the lesson of leaves
leaves cling to branches in storms
storms batter the stronghold of trees
trees stand with grand resolve
resolve to hold their ground
ground captures falling leaves
leaves take to earth like sawdust
sawdust of fallen trees in sun
sun, the ancient watcher of autumn.

Draft 2

Autumn is the lesson of dying leaves.

Leaves, once lush from summer rain, cling to branches for life in storms.

Midday thunder storms batter the stronghold of bristling trees.

Aged trees, their arms flailing, stand with grand resolve,

a resolve to hold their place on eroded ground.

The wasted ground complies to capture the fallen.

Fallen leaves take to earth like the sand of ocher sawdust.

The ocher sawdust of shedding trees lies parched in low sun.

The sun, the ancient watcher of late autumn.

 

poem and image: ©Barbara Harris Leonhard, extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Poem · Poetry

Cocoons

Rice cooks,

sheaths burst,

steam rises for sacral birth.

 

Seeds hold life

released by light.

Flowers unfold deep soul

in germination.

 

Such is life as it unfolds

From seed to crypt.

Genesis is not kind.

We break free of the organ &

in the pain of delivery,

engage in battle.

 

A crust of fear

enfolds the heart as

love’s armor defends

the wounded self.

 

We break through the barrier.

The heart wall collapses to tinder.

Pain dissolves as we prevail in labor

for our ascent to a new plane

swaddled with grace.

 

earth-4307180_1280

 

©Barbara Harris Leonhard, extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Featured Images: Pixabay.com

Earth Mother Image: by Pandanna Imagen from Pixabay.com