To all my peeps… some of my poetry and art for the new year! Happy New Year! May 2021 lift us to new heights! To soar!
May 2021 lift you out of depleted soil.
To soar. To soar in sun.
Free. Free in sheer air,
Where you dream. Dream.
Not despair,
Not dread.
Not drown in storm.
May you rise. Rise.
Rise!
Collage art and poem by Barbara Leonhard extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog
May your holiday season
be filled with sweets
May you be blessed with good health & wealth
May the new year be magical
as your mystery unfolds
May the new year be loving
as kindness kindles transformation
but most of all
May all dreams be fulfilled, my friend,
but allow for surprise around each bend
May you find peace in your heart
though the world be apart
May you find solace in loss
& a healer in grief
May you be courageous & fierce
in the face of fear
May your heart open
to the dizzy impossible
May your way take you
to the quiet now
as birth awaits you there.
♥️♥️♥️
poetry & collage art by Barbara Leonhard
Cymbidium I. He gifts her an orchid. Says, Three ice cubes a week So as not to drown it. Her joints sound of cracked ice As she gingerly accepts My lush pink blooms Of wet lips open For drink & good light. II. The house has no sun. Unpruned branches of wild flora Cluster close […]
Cymbidium – a poem by Barbara Harris Leonhard — Amethyst Review
Image by JacLou-DL from Pixabay
I kneel on the rocky shore of the river searching for myself. My image reflects off the shiny water. The glimmer of a familiar face in a tough time. But then, the wind picks up, ripples the waves, Splays my long hair into gray tendrils. In the riffle, one eye opens, one eye closes. My […]
Awash into a Broken Mirror – Barbara Leonhard — FREE VERSE REVOLUTION
Thank you, Amethyst Review! 🤗
Reclamation
A stretch of river he paddles
smothers from impenetrable vines
spiky buds of the invasive hops stare
from the brisling mats of leaves
hungry alien intruders
ravage, over run
steal sun, suffocate, shroud
saplings and wildflowers
with dense tangles. Turbulent
flood waters thrust
into the dense plumage
with violent twists, wrench
the miscreant from the banks
there lays bare a pristine meadow
disrobed of a weighted corset
she gasps
catches her breath
from shock of sun
sparkles in her wet dirt, saplings emerge
with curious caution
dance with daisy fleabane,
ragwort, lush grass
depleted deer tread lightly
on her floral spring frock.
.
Barbara Leonhard is a writer, poet, and blogger at Extraordinary Sunshine Weaver. Her podcast Poetry: The Memoir of the Soul explores universal themes such as Grief, Kindness, and Presence. She taught writing for many years at the University of Missouri and is the author of
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My Ekphrastic poem, “Blue Baby”, written in response to the painting “A Woman Holding a Balance” by Johannes Vermeer, has been published by Vita Brevis. Thank you, Brian Geiger!
It’s interesting that this poem was published on Father’s Day considering the theme I propose. What is she weighing? Is it really the pearls?
Check out some other poetry put up by this press.
https://vitabrevisliterature.com/
Image: Johannes Vermeer, “A Woman Holding a Balance” (1664)
Spillwords published my poem “Straw House”, which reflects our times with COVID-19. Dare we venture out of our nests unprotected too quickly like fledglings stumbling out of their straw houses into the grasp of the predator?
My appreciation to Spillwords!
Image: https://journeynorth.org/tm/robin/jr/Book_Babies1.html
I notice that I haven’t completed a poetry podcast since April 2. However, as you can see on my WordPress blog, I have done some publishing. It seemed easier to publish in on line sites than on my own poetry podcast in my own voice. I have to admit, everything of late has stunned me. I have lost focus to some degree when it comes to the intimacy in my podcasts.
Meanwhile, Podbean informed me my site design would not be supported, so I have chosen a new theme. Simple and clean. Kind of like life could be at this time…at least in an ideal world. https://meelosmom.podbean.com/
What the heck happened? What have we become? I was once a young girl riding my bike and playing with dolls. Now I’m hiding from a pandemic and bullets.
Does this pandemic represent our diseased minds and hearts? COVID-19 has forced us to retreat to the silence of our souls, our heart minds. Can we stand to be with ourselves? Can we cultivate our beautiful garden? Or can we only find comfort in noise (distractions, addictions, possessions). Can we truly see ourselves, love ourselves? Can we truly see and love others? And what about the Other, those who are from different tribes (families, societies, races, cultures).
What is hidden eventually rises for healing as is shown in the response to the murder of George Floyd at the knee of a cop. Racism, social inequities, corporate greed, and other forms of social, economic, and ethical/ moral malaise are symptomatic of another pandemic hidden in our Deep. George Floyd was strangled to death for passing a fake bill, but what about white-collar crime and all the money doled out to corporations while the average American can’t put food in the table with one job? With this pandemic, we suffer from huge losses in income. Our economy is flailing.
Everything that happens daily becomes the memoir of our society and our world. It’s all recorded not just on film (owing to technology) but also in our DNA. The ugly can make us ill. As Caroline Myss writes, “Our biography becomes our biology.”
I want to avert my eyes and deny all that is aberrant. However, I’m simply storing it away, like I do old journals, letters, and photos. Some things trigger joy, while others uproot pain. I think that if I don’t see it, it isn’t there, but it is creating illness.
It’s no coincidence I have taken to memoir writing, exploring my Deep. What have I buried from view? What do I need to heal? Looking at the truth is visceral and, I am told, bold maybe even courageous and healing. However, it is also dangerous. Being truthful to our word can create loss. These kinds of shifts occur because ‘all that is not aligned will fall away’.
I have feared excavating my soul because of judgment and fear of alienation and abandonment, but I see my life from my lens while others, especially members of my tribe, have their perspectives, which they can explore in their own memoirs.
I hope to continue to explore these themes in my poetry podcast and other wetting, and see my morning awaken, as the featured image of this post shows.
https://meelosmom.podbean.com/
©Barbara Leonhard, extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog
Image “Morning Awakening” ©Martha Harris, Martha’s Artistic Flarings, artisticflarings.blog
Thank you, Phoebe! I hope my story continues to help others who have had to deal with infertility.
By Barbara Leonhard | Featured Contributor
Depression developed and flourished because I grieved so much over loss of fertility.
Women who are childless miss out on a great deal. They never feel what it is like to have a life growing, kicking and wiggling inside of them; to cry out during the birth of a baby (a rite of passage to celebrate with girlfriends); to watch over and even to grow with a child through sickness and health, all the milestones of birthdays, graduations, marriage, and the births of grandchildren. I have even grieved not being able to be the tooth fairy, help my kids find Easter eggs, read them bedtime stories, take them to the zoo.
Feeling apart from and not a part of the tribe still saddens me. I find I am left out of conversations about all those life passages women…
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Thank you, FREE VERSE REVOLUTION!
Image: The fake 100-dollar bill printed by the United States of Halloween. I found this treasure folded up on grass along a pathway I was walking on and trying to clean up just to be a good citizen. I felt pretty excited and told everyone I had found 100 dollars! Well, upon closer examination of the bill, I found it was just paper. I was so disappointed and, of course, embarrassed that I hadn’t been more discerning in my excitement. The whole incident reminded me of love gone wrong out of in-authenticity.
