The Craft
Poem · Poetry

The Craft

extraordinarysunshineweaver7 Comments

I am only a human seeking perfection

Weaving the yarn, anchoring my hook

Into a rhythm in each row,

Putting colors in place,

Counting the stitches,

Just like the meter in a poem.

Casting off, crocheting my lines,

Each stitch a thought, a memory

Taking me down the lines of discovery.

What am I making?

Will it turn out?

I study the creation, pleased that

Some rows acclaim symmetry and coherence to form.

So I revel in the virtuosity and clarity of hue

As though I have hooked into radiance.

But lo!

Other rows meander like a stream,

Wandering around the bed rocks.

Threads in some rows become weed like,

Tangled in the mud of past despair.

These are memories to be forgotten,

Words that should have never been said,

Plans gone awry, fitful dreams, diminished hope,

As though gripping this hook has crippled my thinking.

Where am I heading?

I am only a human,

Unraveling my knots.

©Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

 

 

Sink into Your Knowing
Micropoetry · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry · Quotes

Sink into Your Knowing

extraordinarysunshineweaver7 Comments

It’s time to stop chasing

And to start embracing.

You have everything that you need.

Go deep with what you know.

A rock skipping over the stream

Sees no depth.

Fall into yourself;

Your well is deep and pure

With mysteries and magic

Awaiting your ventures.

You already know everything, so

Collections are mere dust. It’s time to

Open that portal to inner sight

And listen, for what you seek is there.

Awaken your instincts and intuition.

Fan that fire of knowing

Burning in your heart,

Making you magnificent.

It’s this blazing wisdom alone

That will take you home.

 

 

©Barbara Harris Leonhard@extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Original Digital Art “Future Earth” ©Martha Harris. See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

So Long, My Friend
Poem · Poetry · Waka Poetry

So Long, My Friend

extraordinarysunshineweaver8 Comments

So long, my friend,

How short was your stay.

I was too caught up

In my mindless days

To sit with you

When your blooms were lush and

Singing in the sun and air.

You were glorious

Even when the snow surprised us all.

Still, you held your back up,

And your crown never fell.

You had bounty in your short time.

I could see your joy

As you swayed in the breeze

And drank in the sun and rain.

I took you for granted though

I said I would stop by more often.

Now as your beauty fades

To crumbled blooms,

Your smile drops and fades

Into the beds of periwinkle

Huddled to catch you, yet

You still seem to dance

As the breath of God gently

Blows your ash into soil

For another year.

 

img_0087

B6FC5C77-FF37-4199-B8C7-6625B9BA2A4C

 

 

©Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Images: my yard

 

 

The Poet Dreamer
Audio · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

The Poet Dreamer

extraordinarysunshineweaverLeave a comment

 The Poet Dreamer

Our lives are nights bereft of cogent dreams,

Sleep of light thought of lines of poems

Forgotten upon rising.

We are poets searching for truth in all dimensions

Much less our own lives,

Our greatest dream and illusion.

 

The mind plays tricks as symbols contest each other

In active play as we slumber away our hours.

Our day dreams are adventures with abstract layers

Of indecipherable, chaotic images and

Archetypes creating a play of poems.

Elusive are the truths hidden on the stages of dreams within dreams.

 

In which dream are we?

We are dreamers fighting our minds

To make sense of signs and symbols.

Each day we dream our stories of

Mystery, terror, rhapsody, and salvation,

As we seek order in identity, our place in creation.

 

Our days are collages of metaphors and entanglements,

Battles with shadows, and fictional accounts of

Victory and defeat; glory and grief.

Truth is elusive and well hidden in then

Confusion of interpretations of our delusions

Of self and others.

 

Life is a play of art unfolding in a labyrinth of

Paths interlinking the past, present, and future;

This dream of life is not linear;

It is a chaotic muddle of symbols and

Lines of thought with no intersection for truths to gather

For directions on this journey.

 

Life too is a kaleidoscope of truths

Brought into focus in vivid moments of contemplation

In which we awaken to capture flashes of

Brilliant insights as lucid dreamers.

That is the irony;

That is the poetry.

 

© September 14, 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Original Digital Art: “The Poet Dreamer” ©Martha Harris  See Martha’s Artistic Flarings@artisticflarings.blog

 

Caught in the Headlights
Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry · Writing

Caught in the Headlights

extraordinarysunshineweaver10 Comments

 

As each day begins, nothing is given.

The calendar states,

No guarantees.

But that’s in the fine print

Obscured by our desires

Or our tight hold on our destinies.

We know what we are doing.

The event planned is cancelled

Due to bad weather.

But we go anyway,

Driving all night, 

Taking our chances 

In the raging tornado.

It’s worth the 50 cents to the first kid

Who can spot the funnel.

Do not enter when flooded.

No problem. It’s not too high

Until it is. 

We have four-wheel drive.

We take charge of time

With to-do lists, but

We could be side swiped

By a driver blinded 

By the rising sun on 5th and Elm.

We can’t be late again.

An outdoor wedding 

Is such a risk.

What were we thinking

In the deluge of lightning

And hail?

Dates are set in stone.

We dare nature with each hike

On the mountain’s precarious trails,

And we know the sails

May break in the storm.

It won’t happen to me.

Still, defying fate is such a high.

We are super heroes,

Indestructible, valiant youth, 

Until we aren’t.

We map out our days

Oblivious to the wolf

On the hunt for a meal.

Or for the cat waiting for the 

Enfeebled fledgling

To fall from the nest.

Bad things don’t happen to good people.

We are like deer 

Caught in the headlights 

Of our delusions. 

 

©Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Image: Original Digital Art, “Caught in the Headlights” ©Martha Harris   See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blogt

Dolphin
Healing · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry · Reiki

Dolphin

extraordinarysunshineweaver3 Comments

 

Though the seas rage green,

You breathe into each wave,

Riding the vast, fearless,

Sinking into the primordial dimensions

Of creative surge

With child-like wonder,

Playful and joyous.

Instinct seeks its tribe.

Together, you are valiant in battle,

Guarding and protecting

Even the stranger.

Your laughter, a lifeline

For those lost to peace,

Gasping for salvation in the turmoil

Of stormy swells.

How your eyes dance with trust

As your body strikes through

The angry waves

As though saying,

 “Fear not, Friend.

We can lift you up and

Carry you into the gaze

Of the Pleiades, where

You may be swaddled in the arms of

The daughters of Pleione

And cleansed of dust from old Earth

And set to bloom in the Spring.

May you heal and be strong.

May you too be a beacon and

Your heart, the sonar steering sailors

Out of storm and leading the lost

To safe ground.

May you be that joy,

That joy of grace.”

 

 

©Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Original Digital Art: “Future Earth” ©Martha Harris  See Martha’s Artistic Flarings@artisticflarings.blog

My Eyes Bleed
Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry · Writing

My Eyes Bleed

extraordinarysunshineweaver8 Comments

My eyes bleed

To the raw horror

Of children cut down while fleeing

The coward’s aim.

When the one who would be

His brother

Lies dying,

When the warm-hearted gather

In trust and prayer,

Defenseless to the monster, 

Who will be a victor only

In his own Hell,

For he knows not the truth

Of love incarnate,

Of love of us all connected

As one soul, one body.

His blind will, his dark, cold prison.

His heart, a thing of drought. 

Their pain, the searing fire,

The betrayed gazes of death.

Will he come to know that pain?

Will he come to feel that pain?

Will he come to see that pain

As his own?

©Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Image: Original Digital Art, “Heaven’s Gate” ©Martha Harris   See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blogt