Audio · Poem · Poetry

New Audio: In the Emperor’s Throne

I am a stranger

In a strange land

Bone to bone with natives

Capturing a sight once

Forbidden by the kingdom –

The Emperor’s throne.

It holds secrets revealed,

Legends, unfolding like silk

In stories bound in parchment

And sealed by scholars

Tested in cages;

Their triumphs, their duty.

The Emperor’s throne,

Guarded by Fu Lions and

Heated by cauldrons

Brewing the spoils of

Valiant conquests

Ending in tombs with mercury rivers.

The Emperor’s throne

Gave birth to the Dragon,

Stretching for eras

In wakeful slumber

Tended to by the masses

And nurtured into stone.

Up his steep spine,

I am pushed and pulled breathless,

Stepping on the shadows

Of ancient sentries guarding

The Emperor’s treasures of

Jade, silk, porcelain, and gold,

Gilded, woven, carved, and

Etched to perfection

In the likeness of antiquity.

At the peak, visible to all,

The Great Beast ends –

That way of stone –

To a train station in Shanghai,

Where a doll-eyed girl with long black braids

Greets me at the KFC.

To a city park in Nanjing, where

People walk their dogs,

Play Tai Chi, fly kites,

Dance to music from ‘Grease”,

And bring their caged birds

To greet the sunrise

In the shadow of the throne.

To a country road

Lined with carts of fruit and vegetables

And a farmer’s wife waving

As I snap pictures of her

Roosters, hens, and pigs

In the gaze of the Great Dragon.

To a landscape of people

In their daily toil –

Cooks in white linen,

Fishers sorting their catches,

Vendors lining the walkways

With silk slippers, gilded bags, and wooden combs.

To a city intersection with

Young girls on pink mopeds

Darting between students on bikes,

Families in cars, and workers on buses,

All frantically moving head on into

A silent agreement to part ways.

© 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image:

The Throne in the Hall of Preserving Harmony

Public Domain

800px-Forbiddencitythroneroom01

800px-Forbiddencitythroneroom01

 

Audio · Poem · Poetry · Reiki

New Audio: I Am a Revolution

I am a revolution

Invoking symbols

Cradling light

Gifted by my Savior,

Whom I met on a path.

He emerged from the mist-

At first as my father-

Till angels called

In hymns resounding

A chorus of blue, indigo, violet.

From man transformed,

There He stood,

His palms outstretched

And all around Him,

The auras of the ages,

The colors of time,

Silken and white,

Halos with His name.

He held them as a ball,

Vibrating colors

Molded into a gift

For my calling.

He smiled in gratitude

For my humble offering

To carry good in my heart,

A bucket of blossoms

From seeds yet scattered,

Filling the vessels

For gardens to come

This spring and always.

I will walk in His light,

A prismatic path

Lit for onward time.

Held gently in His palms,

Which now envelop me,

I feel wrapped in cashmere

Woven by the Mother of Mysteries.

He appeared as my father-

Whom He once called in light

To minister to others-

So as not to scare me.

Since His power is so great,

I cannot fathom it.

But it was really Him

This time, and so needed.

He whispered many songs,

Harmonious and lyrical,

Such compassion in His hymns

Such grace in His brilliance.

I was so blessed and awed

That He would give me these gifts

Wrapped in shimmering colors

With the lace of clouds

And ribbons of rainbows,

Red, orange, yellow,

Fire pure.

And innocent was I to think

I would meet a lesser Guide.

Why was it for me to find

So great a gift, the Divine.

The answer was clear-

I chose the way that took me there,

For I listened for His call,

And His eyes lit my way.

There we stood in words

Of time stopping.

Many truths are yet

To be received and revealed,

Many gems to find

In the rock face of my soul.

His words, solid beams

Of empyrean fire are

Dispersed on my heart,

Where He gathered me

And where I will take Him

Back down that path.

Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: https://pixabay.com/en/fire-heart-heart-fire-love-symbol-961194/

fire-heart-961194_960_720

Audio · Poem · Poetry · Voices from the Veil

I Am Secrets: Voices from the Veil VI

I am Secrets,

Slumbering here by the creek,

Sunlight hitting my rainbow heart

As I glisten like a blanket

Over my bed of grass and lady fern,

Not surrendering though they beckon:

It’s time for you now

To spring into hope and truth.

 

I am Secrets.

All my treasures gone to ash,

Leaving me with lapping waters

As I cling onto my soil, said

Trampled by those arriving

To skip rocks

Or capture frogs,

Crooning for mates.

 

I am Secrets.

Caught here as food

For the rushes.

Rooted soul, I cling

Like ivy to a cold stone wall.

But a whisper to those searching

Throughout time turned into past

And dead memories.

 

Willows weeping,

Casting shadows on my crib

Quilted in riparian,

Visited by butterflies

Loving my nectar and blooms

Of my camouflage

And seclusion.

I am Secrets.

 

Copyright © July 28, 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: pixabay

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Audio · Ekphrastic Poetry · Poem · Poetry

New Audio: Dark Mother

The solar eclipse this August, 2017, is a huge wedding for Dark Mother! Enjoy this invitation. You are all invited!

Dark Mother
Seeks to wed.
Gossamer star dust,
Ancient nights,
The trail of her train,
Her Groom,
The Sun.

Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: Getmedia

http://blog.libero.it/rifiutoumano/getmedia

getmedia

 

 

Audio · My Mother · Poem · Poetry

New Audio: How Did She Go?

How did she go?
The mystery.
This woman with no memories,
No way to find the path,
No way to recall a face,
No way to know she dreamed,
No way to know the face of Death.
How did she manage?

We held her close,
Go to the light.
But did she?
Light?

Her last breaths like those of a guppy,
Out of the water too long.
Did she know?
Was Dad there?
The chakras still spun
Until spent in the sand.
No wind.

My heart collapsed
In the knowing.
I was then a stranger, an orphan.
Her guide and now
Not her guide.

In a dream, there she was,
Resting on a bed in an alcove,
The curtains draped on either side,
Her shoes placed gingerly under the bed.
I’m lost!
Where’s my wallet?
The bill to be paid.
Three shiny pennies lined up in a row.
Pick them up, she said.
I resisted
The bad luck.

It was 2:05p.m.
When they listened for her whispers
Trapped in her throat
For a different guide.

Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: My Mother

 

my sassy mom

Audio · My Mother · Poem · Poetry

New Audio: Three Pennies

She was neither here nor there

In debate in another tongue

Tearing out the IVs

With savage, no more of this.

 

The soul does not just leave;

It wanders through the veil

And retreats,

From one home to another.

As though waiting for new sheets

Not yet pressed.

The vase of flowers,

Being arranged.

 

She was neither here nor there

Where are you, Mom?

You’re picking flowers and

Reaching for delicate things.

And placing them peacefully to rest

Next to you: These little treasures.

 

Do you see Dad?

No, why do you ask.

Do you see the light?

Silence.

 

The soul does not just leave;

It wanders.

It leaves three shiny pennies

Lined in a perfect row

On hot pavement between two cars

For me to see,

Knowing that She would have picked up

Those little treasures.

But not I: She knew that I would resist

But understand the message.

Her final departure: The Third.

 

Copyright© 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: http://sci.rutgers.edu/forum/showthread.php?102361-Galton-s-Paradox-What-is-the-probability-that-three-coins-will-show-the-same-side\

three pennies

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Audio · My Mother · Poem · Poetry

New Audio: I Sometimes Feel Her

I sometimes feel her pressing on my right side.

Why the right? She lingers there.

She leaves me pennies

That appear out of nowhere

When I’ve earned an angel wing.

 

I dreaded her birthday, the first

Since she left.

No cake or cards, no gifts.

Coming up… memories of her end of days.

That call.

 

Her body fighting her,

We watched.

We rallied for her,

Held her close,

Fed her,

Combed her hair.

 

Gregorian chants

Took her in and out of her life.

She spoke the language of angels.

How they argued,

Divine negotiation with intonation

And syllables.

Her voice wasn’t hers at all.

Is this how it goes?

 

And terror gripped her as she faced

The indescribable,

Pushing it away with such force,

We thought

This is it.

Debate and battle gave way more ultimately

To stillness and surrender.

 

Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: My Mother

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