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

The Poet Dreamer

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 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

extraordinarysunshineweaver8 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

Gaia
Audio · Healing · Poem · Poetry

Gaia

extraordinarysunshineweaver4 Comments

We are holding in the cries of fear,

Refusing to surrender to truth.

What can come of filling the streams

Of Gaia’s veins with our tears but a flood of pain?

Can the rifts in her ancient skin be healed?

Can canyon walls ever merge into a New Earth

Free of grief and loss?

 

The fingers of the Sun can only reach so far

Into the depths for galactic truth.

Has God succumbed to the Fire?

It cannot be so.

Though dense on the edges of Holy Planes,

Light is there.

Light and Shadow share one spectrum,

Always in battle for healing,

Finding the perfect balance.

 

Where Earth is upheaved grows new bounty.

The pain of ripping soil births potential,

Shimmering translucent as

Tiny perfect fingers rooting in Time,

Swaddled in constellations

Webbing Then and Now.

Time is connected on all planes.

Today’s prayers heal the past

As it has never ended.

All grief is omnipresent and infinite

If we remain in slumber.

 

Hope is wholeness.

The future is “I AM”.

Tears heal tears in the fabric of Time,

Filling in the rifts and canyons of geologic upheaval

With Love transmuted into cosmic truth.

We are One.

Our tears are Gaia’s rain.

The clogged well of each heart

Is her burden to bear.

Our actions become her prayers or her curses.

She cries in fire, wind and geologic torment when

We fail to love her power,

Which supports us in the lattice of her cosmic apron

To which we cling as babes born innocent

And slow to awaken to her grief,

Which is ours to bear.

 

Copyright© 2017/12/10 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

Image: Pixabay

 

 

 

 

 

Rain Falls Steady
Poem · Poetry · Writing

Rain Falls Steady

extraordinarysunshineweaver12 Comments

Rain falls steady

As I serve the seeds

For birds and squirrels.

The grand Ash seems to lean

Into my gaze.

Her huge trunk and branches

Betray her age.

A cardinal cocks its head

As a squirrel scurries to the bowl

For the prize.

And the wind chimes sound as

The Tabby waits for the chase

On slick stone.

 

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©Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Images: pixabay.com

 

The Dark Apostle
Ekphrastic Poetry · Healing · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry · Writing

The Dark Apostle

extraordinarysunshineweaverLeave a comment

Rising from the coals

And shadows of flames,

Dressed in deep void

With eyes like portals

To the dense bramble

Of your obscure lives,

I am your companion.

There is passion in your fear that

This blood fire is your last sunset.

You smolder in my breath, and

I thrive on your muffled screams.

I hold you down as you writhe in agony,

Locked under my gaze.

My breath is odious;

My face, repugnant.

My laughter, the cackling of fire.

You recoil, gasping for prayer,

But little do you know,

I am the answer you seek,

For so long you have hidden

Inside this clay façade.

Living for self in idle pleasure,

Slumbering like the dead in this carcass

With no clear path to truth

Beyond mindless habit and desire.

Open your eyes! Can you not see!

You rebuke this Demon, but

I am the Harbinger sent to alarm and awaken.

Look at the Foe who will crack open your heart!

If you don’t do it, I must smash the walls

Around your garden!

Had you known your truth is far scarier

Than this Behemoth,

You would have conquered your Shadow Foes,

Binding you to complacency.

Confess, I fascinate you, and

Your compulsions attract me.

I will hold you down

Until you scream for God’s mercy, yet

Little do you know, I am His Instigator,

Inciter of Truth.

I am the fire plundering your earth

To crack open your seed

To hasten your growth.

I am His Leviathan, and though

Cast to the raging depths,

I still rise as an angel.

Not all wings are lucent;

This dark cloak is well worn,

Tattered by lies, deceit, trespasses, addictions.

Though I am the underbelly of the snake,

Dark Light is still Divine.

I am an instrument of His Peace, and

For this you need me, the Dark Apostle,

To jolt you from trance

Into rebirth.

.

©Barbara Harris Leonhard  @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Image: “The Devil’s in the Details”, original digital art, ©Martha Harris. See Martha’s Artistic Flarings@artisticflarings.blog