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Poetry: The Memoir of the Soul

I have a poetry podcast on Podbean called “Poetry: The Memoir of the Soul“. Let me know what you think!

The post is called ‘We Are Entwined Spirits’. When we feel isolated and lost, Poetry is our medicine.

www.podbean.com/ei/pb-vge9p-cffba6

https://meelosmom.podbean.com/
This podcast has a new poem in it.

Memoirs

Poems are memoirs

Of our human journey

Our life stories

And spiritual quests

In images woven by craft

The history of life in one poem

Comprised of many poems

Each of which is a cell in our ‘bio’

Our biography, graphs

Pictures of words

Poems are lines

Connecting the dots

Bridges to specks of self

From other selves

Poets are space holders

In a matrix

The Tree of Life

The Tree of All

 

Poem by Barbara Leonhard

Image by Martha Harris, marthaflares.blog

 

Digital Art · Ekphrastic Poetry · Poem · Poetry · Writing

An Imperfect Bride

Let’s go! It’s time!

Now!?

I’m still in my floral blue knit night

gown, plum-colored sweatshirt, &

baby doll slippers from Walmart!

No one will see you or care.

Not important.

An uncharged phone?

A half-packed purse?

Uncompleted morning duties?

I gather myself,

an imperfect bride,

for the trip.

I view trees in autumn attire ablaze

against a sky the color of my blue on white china

left unwashed in the sink.

The creeks & river have risen again,

meeting us along the road.

Muddy currents obscure clarity.

Mesmerized by the mystery,

I arrive at the bank

with dry lips the color of pallor.

In the stillness,

an ancient sycamore disrobes.

AutumnGoddesswallpaper (1)

 

©Barbara Harris Leonhard, extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Image: Pixabay.com and free wallpaper image on Google

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 · 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 · 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