Audio · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

New Audio: This Sand

The original post of this poem was March 18, 2018. My delivery style is inspired by the poet David Whyte.

Copyright ©2018/03/31 Barbara Harris

Image: “Sands of Time” digital art ©Martha Harris



Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

I, The Tired Moon

I, The Tired Moon


They tell me when the sun has gone

Behind the cloud, that night has come

For one more moment, swift.

I run to greet the shadow on the sandy beach

Of pebbled stars in clear shark night.

The roaming wave of humid blindness

Feels for my vivid form in nothingness,

But I find comfort in the sprinkle of light

As it blooms in the misty soil

From somewhere in the sanctum

Of my soul.


Frail, as a damp twig,

I, the tired moon, salute the coming day.

It begins again, a new wave to flow

On the deserted shore of wavy grass,

Shifted by the moving wind,

Cleansed by the awakening dew within.

Birds, peaked in song,

Bless the rays of sun,

Which soothe my growing shadow

On the tide of time.


The wind brushes past

The gray clouds in the dale.

Night leaves the ship;

Day has set sail.


Copyright © 2018/03/30 Barbara Harris Leonhard


Image: “Moon Shadow”  digital art ©Martha Harris

Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

By Your Power, Death

By Your Power, Death


I shall not ridicule you, Death.

A vulture on prey,

You have plucked the last stale leaf

From the tree of age ended.

The sun melts now

In your liquid waves of fire.

And your bleak mist on hazy hills

Smothers the bent birch,

From which you built your vessel of doom.


I see the gull:

His body, dismantled and gray;

His wings, unsoaring and broken.

My heart lies crushed in the sand,

Where I weep unnoticed,

For I am the last to feel your kiss,

The last to enter your gate of cold iron.


By your power, Death,

I dare not ridicule you.


Copyright ©2018/03/28 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Death's Power

Image: “Death’s Power” Digital Art ©Martha Harris

Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

If Beyond Were Closer

If Beyond Were Closer


If beyond were closer,

Night would guard the morning

And flakes of leaves would glory

To scatter in the wailing

Wisps of wind dressed in threads

Of pale, endless fog mists

That rise to shelter peace.


Angels would strum the harps

Of infinite wired strings

Tangled in the wind’s breath

And tucked to rest beneath

The singing of the strings

And glory of the leaf:


Amid this still asleep,

The shielded morning haze.


Copyright ©2018/03/25 Barbara Harris Leonhard


Image: Sunshine Moments ©Martha Harris digital art


Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry · Reiki

God is at Work

God is at work.
God is at work.
God is at work.
We have seen the crust of time
Open like a door to baby stars
As ancient ones go nova,
Opening the way for rebirth.
Fear is healing
Fear is healing.
Fear is healing.
This pain,
This wound,
This infection
Has risen up from the abyss
For healing.
We have felt the pain
Of this open wound
Screaming into our hearts.
Many could not bear the
Cosmic cries for
Transmutation of this deep wound,
Not knowing
God is at work.
God is at work.
God is at work.
New stars, bursting through
The fabric of time,
Healing the matrix with
Let there be Light.
Let there be Light.
Let there be Light.
And so there is.

Copyright ©2018/03/24 Barbara Harris Leonhard


Image: “Universal Wonder” Digital Art ©Martha Harris

Ekphrastic Poetry · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

The Willow Am I

The Willow Am I


Some people live in the night

While owls of the morning sleep,

And small raindrops creep in the dusk

Like birds of prey upon the dewy grass.


The Willow am I, punished by the hidden sun

That laughs on the edge of night

As I curse the screaming dawn

And burning dew of darkness

To find that subtle light

Embedded in my timeless searching.


How I panic at my failure

To touch its screen from within and without.

I will drown in its rain of sight renewed,

And my thirsty roots,

Blinded in the dark earth,

Shall drink of its golden liquid.


Copyright ©2018/03/23 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: “Sun’s Treasure” digital art ©Martha Harris





Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

On Our Side of the Fence

On Our Side of the Fence


On our side of the fence,

We have no worries.

The elderly Pin Oaks

Sprawl their limbs like warm arms,

Making shade and silence.

Their wide berth absorbs the sounds

Of sirens and screams.

And brace us for wind.

We have our wood for winter,

And a garden plot.


On our side of the fence,

We have no worries.

We sip tea by the azaleas

And feed critters seeds.

The ivy is lush, but daffodils

Still find space.

The house is warmed as though

The sun were ours.

Our goods are sorted and stored;

The dishes, washed;

The children, fed;

The pies, baked;

The beds, made.


On our side of the fence,

We have no worries.

No wars,

No refugees,

No homeless.

No storms, floods, or fires.

Our creek is free of oil.

Our birds soar.

Our bounty is pure.


On our side of the fence.

We have no worries.

We have no fears.

We have no threats.

We have no eyes.

We have no eyes.


Copyright © 2018/01/20 Barbara Harris Leonhard



Image: digital art “Peace vs Chaos” ©Martha Harris