Enter into gratitude! Happy Thanksgiving!
Photo: ©Dierik Leonhard
Category: Uncategorized
Sunset
Sunset
Sun slumbering into snow dogs,
Pin oaks guarding their leaves,
Fading attachments to their caregiver,
Eyes of moon,
Skin of ash,
Cramping fingers,
Clinging to comfort with
Their refuge in bitter wind.
Leaves take to faith
Though ripped from the branches
And swept away for flight
To earthen mulch.
And beds for worms.
©2018 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog
Images of Sun Dogs and Autumn Leaves: ©Dierik Leonhard
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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
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The Nighingale
The quote (short poem) is ©by me, but the featured image is digital art, “Nightingale’s Song”, is ©by Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog
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Betrayed!
Betrayed
When I first found you,
I thought you were the real deal,
Handsome and of means.
Your mystery and promises
Of jewelry and charitable contributions,
Maybe even a luscious meal with fine wine.
Your credentials looked superb at first glance.
How no one had found you before
Is beyond me, but there you were,
Out there where all could see and in my grasp.
I felt blessed for my good works perhaps or
Just my generous nature, attracting value.
I kept you hidden, my treasure!
How I bragged about my new love!
Friends and family celebrating this bond we made –
No one had ever found such a prize just by chance! –
Until we discovered your true worth
Upon scrutiny as it unfolded!
Your heart, counterfeit;
Our love, a sham!
How duped I was by your smile and
Those eyes, your vivid presence;
Your charisma was regal;
Your sources, trusted;
Your history, infallible!
I was blind and hopeful that the treasure was authentic;
My dreams were shattered by your fake demeanor,
A mere cheap costume!
My fall from grace hit me hard.
You are but a cheap imitation.
Those eyes, mocking slits,
Your smile, a sneer!
My love, a low and vile scoundrel in waiting
For an innocent soul.
Copyright© 2017/11/08 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshine weaver.wordpress.com
Image: The fake 100-dollar bill printed by the United Stars of Halloween. I found this 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 if 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.
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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.
Copyright© 2017/11/07 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com
Image: https://pixabay.com/en/woman-lips-clouds-sky-flash-641528/
