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 @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Original Digital Art: “The Poet Dreamer” ©Martha Harris  See Martha’s Artistic Flarings@artisticflarings.blog

 

Audio · Healing · Poem · Poetry

Gaia

We are holding in the cries of fear,

Refusing to surrender to truth.

What can come of filling the streams

Of Gaia’s veins with our tears but a flood of pain?

Can the rifts in her ancient skin be healed?

Can canyon walls ever merge into a New Earth

Free of grief and loss?

 

The fingers of the Sun can only reach so far

Into the depths for galactic truth.

Has God succumbed to the Fire?

It cannot be so.

Though dense on the edges of Holy Planes,

Light is there.

Light and Shadow share one spectrum,

Always in battle for healing,

Finding the perfect balance.

 

Where Earth is upheaved grows new bounty.

The pain of ripping soil births potential,

Shimmering translucent as

Tiny perfect fingers rooting in Time,

Swaddled in constellations

Webbing Then and Now.

Time is connected on all planes.

Today’s prayers heal the past

As it has never ended.

All grief is omnipresent and infinite

If we remain in slumber.

 

Hope is wholeness.

The future is “I AM”.

Tears heal tears in the fabric of Time,

Filling in the rifts and canyons of geologic upheaval

With Love transmuted into cosmic truth.

We are One.

Our tears are Gaia’s rain.

The clogged well of each heart

Is her burden to bear.

Our actions become her prayers or her curses.

She cries in fire, wind and geologic torment when

We fail to love her power,

Which supports us in the lattice of her cosmic apron

To which we cling as babes born innocent

And slow to awaken to her grief,

Which is ours to bear.

 

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

Image: Pixabay

 

 

 

 

 

Audio · Digital Art · Healing · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry · Quotes · Reiki

Bloom

Bloom

as I take root on this plane

may I receive the healing light of

all that is divine

may heaven meet earth

through me to transmute

the crusted fear that traps me

in brambles

may I grow my destiny

without ego mind

may I fully trust the divine order

that teaches only love

may I grow in love

may I be love

may the divine light

unfurl my blossoming heart

in this splendid garden

the Gardener knows the art and seasons

how to plant

how to nourish

how to harvest

I am but one glorious bloom

with no skills in tending the soil

my place in this garden is small

my view is limited to

my small leaves

reaching for the sun

yet I trust in the Gardener and Gaia

to bloom my bouquet

to bloom my love

©2018 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Image: “Bloom” digital art ©2018 Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

Image Wording: Shannon Hensley

Audio · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry · Quotes

Be You

Be You

You are the light and

not so well understood.

You are maligned and mocked

Just because of your courage

To dance and sing your story.

Stand in your truth.

Our Mother, Gaia, supports you.

Feel her beneath your feet

And in your heart.

Fear traps empathy

And compassion for self.

Your songs are so needed at this time.

Some have never heard the music

Of the spheres

From which we are cast as stars, so

Your light is ancient gold.

Open to it in your song and dance.

Blaze like no other star as though

Dark matter itself could cast shadows

Over all time.

This, your offering,

This will save us all.

©Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Digital Art “Square-Into-Circle Dance” ©by Martha Harris. See Martha’s Artistic Flarings@artisticflarings.blog

Audio · Bagua · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry · Tai Chi

Be As Water

Be as Water

Be as water,

Flowing from falls into silt,

Creating pools and streams,

Moving around rocks

And through openings in

Masses of reeds.

 

Be as water,

Flowing without obstruction.

Finding its course

Over the embankments, and

Finding stillness

In pools fed by streams.

 

Be as water,

Earth’s pulse,

Flexible, agile,

Life giving, lithesome.

Its supple force,

Cleansing all.

 

Be as water,

Its nourishment, creating and sustaining life.

Its steam, forming clouds

In Earth’s simmering heat,

The ice in her arctic breath,

Piercing fog.

 

Be as water,

Pure and enriching,

With powers that can’t be harnessed.

It’s Earth’s blood,

Pumping life into her veins

With vital force.

 

Be as water,

Dangerous and destructive

If Earth’s veins are slit.

Her roaring torrents of tears

Are savage and fatal.

Water knows its course.

 

Be as water,

A force of peace and joy,

Spitting up shells and glassy treasures.

A force of nature,

Sweeping away the ages

That need rebirth.

 

Copyright ©2018 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

Image: digital art “Clouds Rising” ©Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

 

 

Audio · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

Abandoned Eyes

Eyes are wise.

With lids open to view,

They deepen light into truth

And soul into song.

 

Eyes hold memories

In colors that blaze from rainbows,

Where owls take flight

Before morning dawn.

 

Eyes have will

For those who choose.

Eyes portend

For those awake.

Eyes are tutors in all realms

For those who seek.

 

Eyes view outward and inward,

For inner sight takes the journey

Of the Blind Swordsman

Into realms of tangled woods

And sculpted caverns,

Sanctuaries of sages there to teach.

 

Inner sight echoes outer sight

In collages and montages

Of memories snapped

In fleeting gazes or

Focused convergence of

Light rays on the soul.

 

Light is tincture,

The pigment of self.

The eyes open to a vast museum

Of your art, and

Your themes are held in

Your inner sight.

 

Outer sight is voluntary;

Inner sight is willed.

These eyes can be abandoned

By those surrendering to slumber,

Knowing not that the light

Is the beacon to the heart,

Guiding the seeker

To self and soul.

 

The world is not just

That before you.

Your eyes are funnels

Drawing light into your heaven.

Where outer meets inner

Is creation blazing.

Light converges with light in spirals,

Drawing you deeper and deeper

Into your being.

 

Vision is a vortex,

Outer truth swirling

Into inner knowing

In another dimension

Which is your empyrean.

 

Outer vision opens to life

And closes to death.

Inner vision closes to life

And opens to death.

Be now a seer

Without abandon.

 

Copyright© 2018/02/24 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

 

Image: “Eye’s Vortex” digital art ©Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Audio · Digital Art · Ekphrastic Poetry · Healing · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry · Reiki · Tai Chi · Uncategorized

Pain, The Poet

Pain, the Poet

Those who forgive,

Can they be poets,

For where is the poetry but

In released pain?

Pain, the fire breathing mist

Rising to rain.

Pain, the reddening blood

filling the veins,

The river of the soul.

Pain, the rooting to the sacral tree,

Birthing stories and songs,

Creating new souls out of barren wombs.

Pain, the cries from scattered tribes

Reaching for limbs and branches,

Anything to hold onto until dawn’s light.

Pain, the songs of ancestral curses

Clinging to the cells like webs

To be cleared in spring.

Pain, the dead rooting of loss

Blocking the secret chamber of the heart,

Where peace resides.

Pain, the tenant evading eviction,

Holding truth hostage

From inner sight

And auric brilliance.

Pain, the dirges and the hymns,

The shadows, dislodged and

Transmuted but not forgotten

In the poetry of forgiveness

And the forgiveness of poetry.

 

©2017/11/07 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

Image: Digital art “Out of Darkness, Light” ©Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog