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

 

 

 

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

No Escape

This is an older poem but a more descriptive image of and by my sister Martha suffering her Multiple Sclerosis pain. Many suffer from this horrible disease, and I pray a cure can be found.

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: “Living in ‘It’” ©Martha Harris (my sister) See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

 

 

 

Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

Duality

Duality

Caterpillar 

Seeking the boundary 

To cross over to new self

Grief ensues in changes 

In between two selves

As one face is shorn

For the other and

Old ways expire but

 

Death is an illusion as 

One self is torn away and

Transfigured into a new mystery

Incarnation

 

Butterfly, the math for transformation

Two sides to the equation

Both in perfect summation

Symmetrical wings

Lifting each self into

One and the same soul

 

The face of the soul

Is faceted 

From one life to a new one

The grotesque becomes magnificent

In its symmetry 

The soul grows through grief

Into gossamer wings

 

One soul

Two selves

One is shed for

Transcendence

And the other

Ascends out of 

Duality.

 

©Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.com

Digital art “Duality” ©Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

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

Extraordinary Sunshine Weaver

This is an older poem explaining the origin of the name of my blog. I found this name with one of those fun apps that came across my Facebook page. Though the method to discover this name was mundane, the name speaks volumes. Source is all. I decided to keep the name for my journaling.

Weaver is Source, who connects all things.
Strings and threads are cloth woven for wear.
Sunshine is Source, who reaches out rays
Like fingers to heat and heal,
To create Spring, spiritual connection,
To nurture Gaia,
To create rain as food,
To dream life,
To forge love
And evolve Source.
Extraordinary is this mystery.
All extends from Source as fingers of light
To nourish and thrive,
And as night falls awake so do all
Return to Source.

 

©2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard@extraordinarysunshineweaver.com

Image: Digital Art “The Weaver” ©Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

 

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

Autumn Song

Autumn Song

When leaves fall, do they cry

As they release their grasp

From Mother’s skirt?

Their lives, soaked in sun and fed by rain.

Their Mother, protective,

Her branches, their home.

How does she feel when her bounty loses grip?

Her children, the glory of her color burst,

Their song to us, their poetry.

Now they bed our paths

In crisp wind play and

Reveal sky, gray with snow.

Autumn is Mother’s heart opening,

Before resting and donning her spring garments

For Easter prayer.

 

Copyright© Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

….an older poem with new art….

Image: Original Digital Art “Autumn Song” ©Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

 

 

 

Digital Art · My Mother · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

This, a River

This, a River

This, a river,

I am not lines but curves

Winding around sand bars

Creating islands 

Revealed in low tide

My current pulses life

Tadpoles, carp, algae

I smile in light

Shimmering reflections

I draw in birds to feed

I am poetry for travelers 

On barges

I hold kayaks as toys

To capture in my eddies

This, a river,

My legs flutter waves

Swimming to create

This flow

My arms formed from rivulets

Guiding this charge of current 

Gravity’s way

My power carving out

My face

I shape Mother

As she wishes 

I clean up her storms 

The overwhelming swells

Of branches and trash

Dissolve into me and my banks

I do her work

Feeding her life 

Dispersing its bones and teeth

For children to seek as treasure

This, a river,

Can hold you

Transport you

Can gather you into me

Into my dark

My hungry fury

Beneath my churning 

My currents are scars

That run as bottomless incisions

Into crust

My age is Earth

Study me

Learn me

My mystery is beauty

My myth is enigma

My abyss is danger

This, a river,

What made me

Our Mother 

Her tears washing away our history

Revealing our present

She is in the sun 

Warming our life span

Reflected into my ocean

My soul of 

Beds and banks

Flora and fauna

My aura is your atmosphere

My depths are your cosmos

Mother’s grief can nourish or drown, but

This, a river, 

Cannot cry.

©Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.com

Image “This, a River” digital art ©Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

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

And Then There Was Light

[/ audio]

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.

 

….an older poem with new art….

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

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