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?



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


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




Audio · Ekphrastic Poetry · My Mother · Poem · Poetry

New Audio: Mother, Great Pine

Mother, Great Pine,

Stretching in her years.

Needles springing from craggy trunk

In need of water.

Branches reaching for cloud mist.

Perches for birds with nests

Gathered in crevices hidden by owls.

Her hair of needles

Cracks in Sun’s heat

And breaks in Sun’s breath.

Her roots dig into springs

Dried to stain on parched sand,

Blown to rock in forgotten forests,

Where memories remain.

Mother, Great Pine,

Life marks its initials

On tattered bark

Dressing her soul.

Her shadow marks a path

For Time to travel

Dawn to dusk

Without fail.


Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard






Audio · Poem · Poetry

New Audio: Dark Matter

To Source and all beyond,

As Source has Source,

Unbound by time or speed of light.

What is my place in this abyss?

Of black holes and dark matter

Wrapping the galactic plane

Like a mother’s blanket for a babe?


What is within me expands and contracts,

Pushing away astral travelers and dodging debris

Floating by from past voyages

And cast away by Jupiter and

Left unanchored to each cell in my being,

Where pain begets pain

From collisions in comets’ midst.


Is Soul dark and dank, like

Empty space, a vacuum sucking

Life from kindred spirit?

Or is Dark Matter a coat

Woven for me to wear

In all time and ages

for many life ways under the stars?


Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: Hubble Space screenshot



Audio · Haiku · My Mother · Poem · Poetry

New Audio: Robin

Robin missing eggs
Mother missing memory
Grief seeking treasures


Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard


robin nest


Audio · Haiku · Poem · Poetry

New Audio: In Silence So Long

In silence so long

ivy caught my heart

and climbed my soul


Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard