Audio · Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

I Am Breath

I am breath, cloud of life,

Streaming into each vein and pore,

Giving food to the heart and

Rooting it to Earth,

From whence I come clean and pure

Into your being,

Into your heat,

Where I marvel in your temple.

I am air; I am wind.

I am soul for spirit.

Ageless, everlasting, omnipresent,

I come to you without expectations.

I am the giver of life;

I am the tide.

In the tight space between each surge,

My wisdom is elusive.


Submitted to Free Verse Revolution, December 9, 2019


Copyright© 2017/28/09 Barbara Harris Leonhard





Audio · Ekphrastic Poetry · Poem · Poetry

The Walnut

The Walnut 

The walnut’s face is perfect.

The lines of the two halves,

Each the same sacred form of creation, but

Once the shell browns and dries,

Is the fruit too dry for the heart?

Does each half weather the same?

What binds but a thin membrane

For chipping on the Eve?

Can the heart of this shell

Ever be redeemed for more than a pittance?


Is age a debt?

Has love gone bankrupt?

Who’s weighing this expense?

What is it worth, this cracked Self?

Is this heart to be left as a tip

For a small meal left half eaten?

Who is to pay this bill?

Will this be separate or together? –

The choice.


Copyright© September 23, 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: Pixabay





Audio · Ekphrastic Poetry · Poem · Poetry

This Cluster Becoming


This Cluster Becoming

She is this cluster becoming exquisite blooms,

Spiraling into her sacred mystery.

Alluring are her tears on her delirium,

Cries of bliss and sorrow

Perfectly wed in this cadmium attire.

This grace,

This poise,

This bouquet;

She is an enigma to fathom.

She holds you in rapture as

This bud unfolds its blooms over time;

The babe blossoms a maiden

With arms outstretched to a searing sun.

Her heart fully opens to her desires and fragility, so

These vulnerable petals in perfect design are

Protected by thorny spears

If mishandled by ardor.

Wounds are auger to be foretold.

Be gentle with transience in any betrothal.

The light dims, and

The petals whither,

Spilling into holy pyre.

Copyright© September 15, 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: Pixabay








Audio · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

The Poet Dreamer

 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

Original Digital Art: “The Poet Dreamer” ©Martha Harris  See Martha’s Artistic


Audio · Poem · Poetry

The Garden of Thoughts

The Garden of Thoughts

The garden of thoughts planted in spring

Still struggles if not managed.

Seeds bearing the fruit of life in shade and sun,

Nurturing bees and monarchs, can become

Tangled with weeds and eaten by blight.

Thoughts sustained by dew and noon rains

Can be forgotten and neglected by autumn light as

Thoughts blooming and stretching for sun

Can shrivel, scorched by drought in time

If the gardener takes leave

Of the rake, spade, and bucket, or

Lacks the wisdom of soils and seedlings.

Too much sun is unkind to bleeding heart.

If left in the field, pumpkins rot.

Honeysuckle makes a home in the untended mind.

Hostas thrive if transplanted but

Shred to decay if neglected.

Bees can’t thrive on blight.

Though seasons change,

The garden can still be tended by the earth and

Made ready for the next planting

If tilled and nurtured properly.

The gardener’s harvest can be of bounty and bliss

Or mindless bramble

In his garden of thoughts.


Copyright© September 7, 2017  Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: Pixabay




Audio · Ekphrastic Poetry · Poem · Poetry

When Eclipsed

When Eclipsed

When eclipsed by the moon,

The sun did not cry

As much as I did,

For their union was bound

By the glistening ring and

All Earth collapsed into slumber

As birds tucked into their wings

To the cicadas’ chorus

Of tunes chilling the midday heat

To cloud mist:

Darkness to the dance

Of Solar and Lunar

Opened to the jewel

Of another day and

Revelers praised the wonder of

This exquisite union.


Copyright© September 6, 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard