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

The Dark Apostle

Rising from the coals

And shadows of flames,

Dressed in deep void

With eyes like portals

To the dense bramble

Of your obscure lives,

I am your companion.

There is passion in your fear that

This blood fire is your last sunset.

You smolder in my breath, and

I thrive on your muffled screams.

I hold you down as you writhe in agony,

Locked under my gaze.

My breath is odious;

My face, repugnant.

My laughter, the cackling of fire.

You recoil, gasping for prayer,

But little do you know,

I am the answer you seek,

For so long you have hidden

Inside this clay façade.

Living for self in idle pleasure,

Slumbering like the dead in this carcass

With no clear path to truth

Beyond mindless habit and desire.

Open your eyes! Can you not see!

You rebuke this Demon, but

I am the Harbinger sent to alarm and awaken.

Look at the Foe who will crack open your heart!

If you don’t do it, I must smash the walls

Around your garden!

Had you known your truth is far scarier

Than this Behemoth,

You would have conquered your Shadow Foes,

Binding you to complacency.

Confess, I fascinate you, and

Your compulsions attract me.

I will hold you down

Until you scream for God’s mercy, yet

Little do you know, I am His Instigator,

Inciter of Truth.

I am the fire plundering your earth

To crack open your seed

To hasten your growth.

I am His Leviathan, and though

Cast to the raging depths,

I still rise as an angel.

Not all wings are lucent;

This dark cloak is well worn,

Tattered by lies, deceit, trespasses, addictions.

Though I am the underbelly of the snake,

Dark Light is still Divine.

I am an instrument of His Peace, and

For this you need me, the Dark Apostle,

To jolt you from trance

Into rebirth.

.

©Barbara Harris Leonhard  @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Image: “The Devil’s in the Details”, original digital art, ©Martha Harris. See Martha’s Artistic Flarings@artisticflarings.blog

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ekphrastic Poetry · Healing · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry · Reiki · Writing

Rest in Your Being

 

Rest in your being.

Your light is ever shifting its gaze to wholeness

As moods can dim what’s inward 

To quarter light.

One cannot judge the size of the heart

From dawn to dusk.

You are your own moon rising and setting

Over the span of hours or days.

Time is relative to your path to insight as

Your moon waxes and wanes.

Heed not a dim light.

It will swell to fullness as a healed heart.

Dawn patiently greets a rising sun.

And sunsets greet a rising moon.

This is the rhythm of healing.

Shadows never linger, for insights shine.

Yet shadows create the spectrum of illumination,

Forming mandalas of awareness for you to study.

The wholeness of your light is rich in tone and chroma.

Your complexion is your moon.

This visage is vibrant and ever changing.

Fear not the face of your soul at dusk.

It is waking in that moment.

Rest in your spirit to await

The dawn of your knowing.

 

©Barbara Harris Leonhard  @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Image: “Dawn of Knowing”, original digital art, ©Martha Harris. See Martha’s Artistic Flarings@artisticflarings.blog

Ekphrastic Poetry · Healing · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry · Voices from the Veil

Fall Flurries

Fall Flurries

The autumn bounty

of leaves falling

like rain on summer’s worn garden

mounting into sturdy bundles

as we rake away this harvest

into recreation for children

bounding into the crisp pillows

scattering with joy

the frazzled bits of foliage

into fresh ground for snow and

angels’ wings.

Image result for snow angels

©2018 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

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

snow angel – google image

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

Bagua · Ekphrastic Poetry · Healing · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry · Reiki · Tai Chi

Entwined Spirit: Me, Myself, and I

Entwined Spirit: Me, Myself, and I

 

Let me introduce myself

This poem is about me

Inspired by my sister’s art that

She created from a photo of me.

She calls it “Entwined Spirit”

 

I am an entwined spirit

A composite of hues

Swirled to create a

Kaleidoscope of soul

A patchwork of many

Places and adventures

As we moved many times

I am a composite of Midwestern roots and accents

Giving sustenance to my many roles

As daughter, sister, friend, wife,

Teacher, friend, colleague, healer, poet, writer

 

I grayed young

The silver threads have bound

The quilt of my life

And kept people’s gaze

Off my hips and thighs

And kept the attention

Of my many international students

Who valued my wisdom

Though I was just a young woman

Who knew the English Language

I am retired now and feel

I lovingly earned every gray hair

 

I have many scars

As many women do

And we often compare our rites of passage

From maiden

To sage and goddess

One is carved down my abdomen

Another on my throat

Two cancer scares

That came with a surprise appendectomy

Pending a septic explosion

Needless to say,

This all led me on the path of the wounded healer

 

Another scar is down my right side

The entryway for a new hip

The idea of losing my flesh and bone

Terrified me, but

Like many my age

I am now bionic

And the energy of my missing organs

Is still there for healing

For healing is a journey

And my scars create the journal

Of my womanhood unfolding

Into and out of chaos

Forming my “charism”

My grace

 

I have many faces

Aside from my social roles

Childless, I have mothered

My siblings and students so

“Mother” is my main archetype

As is my role as “Priestess”

For poetry is prayer

I am a “Sacred Companion” to the dying

I am a “Light Worker/ Healer” and have taught many

On this path

I started by healing myself of measles encephalitis

When I was 7

But that’s another poem on my blog

I really think I survived a

Near-death experience at that time

Because my entire view of life changed

And I wondered why

I couldn’t read minds after that

 

I have my shadows

I give to the expense of loss

For it is better to give than to receive

So I often feel like a candle

With no more wax

I sometimes feel abandoned and

Invisible, so entwined am in my soul

That I am a prisoner to myself

Introspective and more a listener

Than the life of a party

Depression made me ill and gave me

Those scars from surgeries

As illness finds a home

In a tortured soul

 

I constantly seek to transmute grief

To the light but

I have been unable to cry out loud

Since my mother died, so

The wells of tears are thirsty

Only my heart is wrenched open

When I feel suffering

And I feel my blood flood my chest

 

Despite all this

I am quite happy

Actually

I love my husband, home and cats

I love my sacred places and treasures

I love my rituals that begin and end my day

I love playing Tai Chi Chuan and Baguazhang

I love my Reiki clients and students

I love writing poetry and recording it

But wish I could publish more

I just haven’t tried much

And fear success and pressure

And I have been a bit lazy

Since my retirement

 

So looking back on my life

Has been a joyous experience

After all

I am not used to revealing my

Entwined soul to an audience

Although it is hidden well

In my other poems

I prefer to keep it a mystery that way

But now that I have spilled my guts

We are closer

Which is good in this life

Who am I really?

As the Mayans said, “In La’kech” (“ein lah kesh”)

“I am another yourself”

 

©Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Image “Entwined Spirit” ©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