Audio · Poem · Poetry

A Visit with Twain

I met him in a cave,

Led there by a wolf

Who said he was my guide –

But that was a joke.

Imagine the wolf’s howls

Of laughter as I faced

Mark Twain, the real host.

There he stood before me,

Dressed in white,

His gray hair shimmering –

He brought that light with him.

I paid my respects

And gratitude for this sighting.

What a surprise, so unexpected.

He told me many sad stories to pass along.

Twain, I don’t think I’m the scribe

Who can pen your journey!

I’m not the one who knows boats.

Now, there’s the irony,

Scratched in his tears,

Choosing me as kin.

What am I to learn

From this master’s words,

Wrought in sorrow.

Can it be penned by a mere traveler

On her own soul voyage?

Is it that we share

What his heart holds?

Is Grief my albatross,

Caught in my sails?

Winds cannot release her, but I must.

Her grip’s an illusion.

I’m not in her talons.

Nor was he.




Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard




Audio · Poem · Poetry

The Eye

The sprays of light on the floor
Form beasts on haunches with claws stretched
As if ready to pounce.
On the wall, the moonlight prints a window,
For me to view the Netherworld,
With wind thrashing the trees.
On the door, a reptilian eye,
Cast by light and shadows,
Holding court over my dreams.
A sigil unlocking mysteries and riddles
To solve in nightmares.



Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard





Audio · Poem · Poetry


Silence is asking for prayer.
Stillness is vision of inner truth,
Rooted to the earth,
To Gaia, who knows all of parts of us
as we are of earth, the Mother.

Silence is taking us
To Grandmother Spider.
Weaving us to Source, Christ Light lattice.

We are one.
When you breathe in,
I breathe out.
When you laugh,
My eyes sing.
When you cry,
I catch your tears.
When you bleed,
I bleed, cut down by
Your fear.

This web is all of Time.
It can’t be severed.
It clasps us in ancient binds,
And all our words are
Caught like flies
Forever trapped and recorded there.
Be careful with the words.
They are either poems
Or daggers.
Or lies.
They are heard by all,
Even the deaf.

Silence is the journey
Taking us to Source,
Father of All, who
Created light and darkness, and
From whom we emerge
To learn to love and create more light
And to whom we return
In the hymns of the spheres.
This is the journey
Silence brings us.
Seek silence,
Seek All.


Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard






Audio · Poem · Poetry


Grief is ice.
Anger is fire.
Fear is boiling oil.

Aging is a slow death.
Feeling outmoded.
Feeling regretful.
Feeling guilty.
Feeling fearful.

Maybe it doesn’t matter.
Why do I care;
Who cares.
I ask for clarity and energy.

What matters is you.
Just be happy.
These are mole hills, not mountains.
Can’t bring back love.
Can’t fix everything.
Can’t outdo.
Can’t worry about recognition.
Can’t worry about inequity.
It’s not important.
It’s their blindness.
Just be grateful.

What makes me angry?
Am I letting go of the past?

Another shell breaks open for new life.
Growth emerges after fire.

I recall in times of despair, they said, why aren’t you angry?
I held it in selfishly. I couldn’t speak or cry out.
Why would it matter. Really.
If I shouted and screamed.
As much as I tried, I couldn’t.

I beg, please lift this darkness.
There’s too much to do other than what I’m supposed to do.
There’s too much loss with more on the way.
Is this life? Am I wrong to be concerned?
I’m angry and sad.
I’m ready to let go of it. But how?
It doesn’t end.

You counted the Mala beads.
This is a process. Just be patient. You did ask for this.
Seeking forgiveness in all lifetimes
Seeking gratitude in all lifetimes
Letting go of anger in all lifetimes
Healing curses in all lifetimes
Curing pain in all lifetimes
Seeking grace in all lifetimes
These are all gifts
Not burdens.
You chose to release the shadows.

It’s searing
Like the sun is inside of me
A blazing fire
I scream to the deaf.

It’s a cleansing
With the Light.
And so it is.


Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: Kingdom of Sorrow