Audio · Ekphrastic Poetry · Poem · Poetry

The Space Between

The Space Between

The space between

Holds its form

When we touch, for

There is no touch, just

The space between,

Vacuous space,

Our molecules floating,

Suspended in God’s exhalation,

Expanding to hold our souls.

Our touch, an illusion of stars,

Cosmic molecules reaching through

Our heat, that Breath of

The Fire of First Light.

The space between,

Creation.

Copyright© 2017/10/31 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

Image: from The Creation of Adam by Michelangelo Buonarotti  http://www.italianrenaissance.org/michelangelo-creation-of-adam/

Audio · Poem · Poetry

And Then There Was Light

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And Then There Was Light

Destruction is Creation.

The Void, ripped open

By the Light,

The Cosmic knife

Piercing through dark matter,

Spilling shards of radiance,

Bleeding light, birthing stars,

And us with the dust.

All wounds, transmuting pain into

New flesh.

Beauty and innocence, nurtured in a

Dark womb.

Birth, emerging with screams and

Open eyes.

The butterfly, born from

Shearing off the face.

Roots tearing the soil,

Blossoming the manifested.

Light and Shadow, betrothed,

The polarity;

The paradox.

 

Copyright © 2017/10/29 Barbara Harris Leonhard @ extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

Image: https://www.events.iop.org/e/from-the-big-bang-to-homers-last-theorem-123641500/page.html

Audio · Ekphrastic Poetry · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

Clandestine Spirit

Clandestine Spirit

Clandestine Spirit, there is a fold

In the universe for you.

Obscurity hidden, your disguise,

A soul unmanifested,

Cloistered layers of debris of

Expectation and self-deprecation,

Your sparkle diminished into secrets,

 

Fear of scintillating into recognition.

Your flame, unsanctioned,

Unholy fire of dead stars.

What is your jewel to guard,

Entombed truth?

Is this place your urn

Or your womb?

Fear is the breath of sin;

Forgiveness, the gold of God.

Copyright © 2017/10/22 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

Image: original art “Clandestine Spirit” © Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

 

 

 

 

 

 

Audio · Ekphrastic Poetry · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

Broken Heart

Broken Heart

A broken heart,

The construct of love breached,

Rivets on the bridge

snapping in a storm.

The dam opening,

Spilling grief in torrents,

Flooding with tears

The home in the valley.

Trails and journeys,

Washing away,

Burying hope in sediment.

Lives stiffening into artifacts.

 

Is it inherent for

Yin to slaughter Yang?

Can a smile balance on

One lip?

Is a journey taken with

One foot?

Is a blossom perched on

No stem?

Are rays emitted by

No sun?

 

A heart is a quilt sewn with

One continuous thread –

Joy stitching onto grief,

Grief onto hope,

Hope onto despair,

Despair onto joy.

Forms have shadows.

What is a shadow without light?

A heart completes itself.

What is breaking is

Already mending.

 

Copyright©  2017/10/17 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

Image: Original Art “Broken Heart” © Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

 

 

Audio · Ekphrastic Poetry · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

Floating in the Depths

Floating in the Depths

i awaken to being wrapped

in a void of waves

my arms and legs carried along

toward a beacon

as tunes in a tide

in the depths

i am my mind

i am my soul

i am my self

in this present moment

i am my first

i am my last

i am the sea

i am the womb

i am the fetus

i am the infant

is this my birth

or my death

sea and womb are one

with transcendence to ashes

the beacon pulls me

i am becoming

floating in the depths

 

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

Image: Original art “Floating in the Depths” © by Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

 

 

 

 

artisticflarings.blog · Ekphrastic Poetry · Healing · Martha's Artistic Flarings · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

An Angel in the Dark

If I were an angel in the dark,

I would appear in flames simply

from the radiance of my eyes.

 

I would fire up candles for prayers.

I would make twilight shimmer

like a mirror still lake.

 

I would awaken you

from slumber and despair,

gather you up gently,

swaddle you in my gossamer wings.

 

I would cast out your pain with lightning,

incense your soul with soothing myrrh,

bathe you in waves of forgetting,

deliver you to a vista of light

on a path of comets as beacons.

 

I would gift you wings,

teach you how to fly through

clouds of many colors,

swing on stars falling into a sea of lights.

 

I would never leave you

in times of battle or new birth,

the time of the death of your pain

a blazing nova, a new sun.

 

All of this I would do for you.

 

Who would know more of the legion of light

than an angel of the night?

 

 

Copyright© 2017/10/10, revised 2020/04/13 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

My poetry podcast, Poetry: The Memoir of the Soul (meelosmom.podbean.com)

Image: “An Angel in the Dark” (original art © by my sister Martha Harris.) See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

 

 

 

Audio · Poem · Poetry

Tame

Tame

Tame is life homogenized into

Sameness, dull conformity.

Each city, a blueprint,

Not a fingerprint.

Mom and Pop bakers

Fired for standard fare everywhere.

 

Each street, the same facades.

Each house, the same architect.

 

The unique, bullied

Into stock, chattel to Tame.

Tame makes a cage for

The Divine Feminine.

 

Work, the same tedious routine

Of manageable acts.

 

Colors, estranged by hue

And forbidden to touch.

 

Fear speaks Tame,

The language of the banal,

The literal.

The word of Tame

Must not be broken,

Lest one is shunned.

 

Yet no forest is tame.

A path must still be forged, but

Is easily consumed by Gaia.

 

Gaia raises weeds,

And roses can be wild.

Trapping rivers is

Unnatural.

Tigers make hungry pets.

Cancer defies the healer.

Dogs are still wolves.

 

Hummingbirds seek our nectar, but are

Elusive to our touch.

Hives are still dying in our care.

 

Laws are illusory templates left to interpretation.

Even God’s laws cannot tame.

We still have enemies who cannot be

Brought to their knees

By guns and bombs.


Life is an illusion

Enslaved to Fear,

To Tame.

 

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

Image: http://entertainment.howstuffworks.com/arts/circus-arts/lion-taming.htm

 

Lion tamer Dieter Farell of the Sarassani circus in Duesseldorf, Germany, in 1964.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Audio · Ekphrastic Poetry · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

No Escape

No Escape

It slithers in as

Snakes mating pain,

Pain entwined,

Breeding this labyrinth of

No escape.

No way out of this writhing mass,

This mass, secreting away Light.

This pain, eating the Light,

Our stars of many colors,

Forced as lanterns for

The rising heads of the serpents, or

Our souls, are they in formation

To defeat the onslaught?

Pain, this confused muddle

In the line of the Fire of the stars,

Blazing through the delirium,

The Light in the void,

The Fire in the pit,

Consuming the venom.

For pain,

No escape.

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

Image:  © Martha Harris (my sister) See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

 

 

 

Audio · Poem · Poetry

I Am Desire

I Am Desire

I am Desire in a broken cage.

I dare not feel the light

Dressing the bent bars and

Caressing my great mane.

I dare not smell the blooms,

The fragrance of my dreams.

I dare not touch the lambs

Curled at my feet

Just beyond my slumber.

Surrounding me,

Umber clouds of doubts.

Are those blossoms my soul’s yearning

Just out of my grasp?

Do they know my worth?

Dare I break free

Of this cage, my womb,

To witness my own birth?

 

Copyright©  2017/10/07 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

Image: pinterest.com  

 

Audio · Ekphrastic Poetry · Phoebe, MD: Medicine + Poetry · Poem · Poetry · Poetry: The Memoir of the Soul

Weeping Willow

This poem is hyperlinked to an article I wrote for Phoebe, MD: Medicine + Poetry (https://phoebemd.com/2020/03/21/grief-healing-through-poetry/). The article is based on my poetry podcast Grief: Fire and Ice (https://meelosmom.podbean.com/e/grief-fire-and-ice/).

Weeping Willow

When the old willow weeps,

her shoulders bow to the Light,

for her ancient tears sing

in tune with the spheres.

The Light binds limbs to leaves

and defies the shade.

Her skirt, a shelter to the fallen,

makes good blankets and walls.

Her learning and duty, her strength

in harmony and balance

to stand firm in storms.

We go to her.

Our pain, her food

transmuted into swords and light

for our battles and healing.

In her tears, no regret.

Grief and despair stand aside

in this humble Sallow of Time.

We bow to her

in gratitude.

Copyright© 2017/10/05  Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog; meelosmom@podbean.com (Poetry: The Memoir of the Soul)

Image:  http://imgarcade.com/weeping-willow-tree-wallpaper.html