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

Streaming Prayers into Birth

Streaming Prayers into Birth

Sitting at the altar waiting for poems,

Random thoughts; fleeting clouds,

Images reflecting on the mirror of the soul,

Words perched on limbs of inspired trees

Take flight as snow kicks up from breeze.

May they stay; their song, my meter!

Ice freezes their tunes in the thin air of the breath.

Limbs crack in frost under tired sun.

Stillness is ice burning the skin.

The mind is numb till spring thaw.

The altar beckons; the soul fights sleep

In sheer white light,

Where I wander, seeking novas

Streaming prayers into birth.

Copyright © 2018/01/16 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com


Image: “Life from Fire” Digital Art ©Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

Audio · Poem · Poetry · Reiki · Voices from the Veil

New Audio: Listen to the Prayers of Snow

This post includes the audio for the latest poem uploaded December 30, 2017. You can see the wording on that post.

Winter is a good time to reflect. Introspection opens to spiritual growth. Sometimes when we face ourselves, we may feel depressed. Knowing yourself and letting go of all that does not align is not easy but is so crucial for raising your vibration. This light will take you to God.


Copyright© 2017/12/31 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

Image: pixabay.com


Audio · Poem · Poetry · Voices from the Veil

Listen to the Prayers of Snow

Listen to the Prayers of Snow

Snow sifts down in ashen splendor,

Coating lifeless grass,

Warming its pensive dormancy.

In spring, even the daffodils

Bow their heads to this majesty

As snow descends on early gardens

Eager for fruition.

The sound of snow is holy.

Old bark listens to the lilting chants

Of processions on drifting banks.

Laughter resounds as accolades, and

Sleds leave trails to be filled for new pilgrims.

The requiems of cardinals trumpet on brittle limbs

Hanging tenuously in blizzards.

Squirrels forage in frozen soil under white sky, for

The sun has its own prophesy in ice.

Mountains sleep, awakened only by the treading

Of tired hikers looking for sanctuary.

It’s at this time that pines stand as preachers since

Creeks are too frozen for parables.

I have my hearth by the fire

And my window opening to this temple,

Bringing me inside myself

To listen to the prayers of snow.





Copyright© 2017/12/30 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

image: https://pixabay.com/en/cardinal-bird-wildlife-snow-winter-1884283/


Image: http://download–wallpapers.com/content/daffodils-in-snow-wallpaper.html


Audio · Poem · Poetry · Voices from the Veil

The Garden of Ashes


The Garden of Ashes

How nice you stopped by here

To sit among us.

Yes, it’s fine. Have a seat.

See the walkway of stones

To this worn bench under the trees

Surrounded by shrubs in this garden of ashes.

We offer you this cool breeze

And this view of a grand city of granite

Sheltered by canopies of

Stately pin oaks with branches like arms

Hugging families bearing flowers.

How nice you stopped by!

We come just for the guests.

This isn’t our abode now.

Not many linger;

We coax each other, yet

There are the stubborn.

Well, we shouldn’t gossip.

They just need time to detach

From their marble statues and earthly beds.

Mischief can be trouble, and

Kids come looking for it.

How some carry on!

They hear stories of the shadows

That perform for the cameras,

We find it entertaining, but

Most souls never linger really;

They like the amenities of the Light.

Even if you bless the stones,

It isn’t needed really.

We only come for your visits.


Copyright © August 9, 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: http://beautiful-naturewallpapers.blogspot.com/2013/02/peaceful-sceneries-wallpapers.html

Peaceful Sceneries Wallpapers 9



Audio · Poem · Poetry · Voices from the Veil

The Jewel


There is no date of my passing

On this cold stone,

Only my one name.

Those were tough times

When etchings in granite

Cost diamonds.

My name was a jewel

Captured from a life

Gone with the waves of time, as I.

I recall not my arrival or departure

As this jewel,

For it’s been ages.

I have many names now

As I have come and gone

More than once.

For each earthly visit,

We all leave a snippet of our soul,

Waiting for a kind voice

Uttering our names,

And once heard, we gather ourselves up

Like flowers for a new display.

This is how it is.

Names are themselves souls.

So today I will gather myself up

For a new coming.

Thank you, my friend.


Copyright © August 8, 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: Pixabay     https://pixabay.com/en/shell-pearl-valuable-light-sand-1972980/

Shell, Pearl, Valuable, Light, Sand, Open, Jewellery






Audio · Poem · Poetry · Voices from the Veil

Tell Them Who Will Listen

Listen to my story.

I was a man who worked hard,

A laborer.

Dirt lined my nail beds

From toil that cost me years.

My hands were calloused,

But not my heart.

My wife, pregnant,

We were happy.

Our home, built and painted in all the colors.

Still, we lost that little soul too soon.

Our tears washed our souls

But could not flush off our grief.

My toil was not the cure

For this deficit in love.

Our loss stole our smiles.

We sat like trees for years

Rooted in grief.

Can you hear me?

Though torn apart,

We are not alone here.

This is my garden now,

And we are tending it.

We are family in loss,

But not in this garden.

Tell them who will listen.


Copyright © August 6, 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: pixabay 

Audio · My Mother · Poem · Poetry · Voices from the Veil

Hello, It’s Mom

Hello, it’s Mom. You called for me, so here I am!

Dad has visited you. Do you recall the dreams?

I called you shortly after everything,

You thought it was just static,

But I had so much to tell you.

I’m in a good place.

I can see old friends and play cards.

I’m learning about

How it is,

Who we are,

Why we are.

Maybe I’ll be back there

Someday and one day.

So many lessons to review;

So much yet to learn.

I recall everything;

You were a big help.

Don’t worry if you cried in fear.

I know you did your best.

I was not me.

I’m here for you now.

I’ll be fine; let go of worry.

Dad knows best here.

He’s been here before

As he told you.

We’ve seen all the old souls

In our ancient lineage.

You will know, someday.

I am more than Mom,

Dad is more than Dad,

You know?

We have many forms in this race.

God has God has God.

There is no beginning, no end.

It’s like a quilt, many stitches and layers

With complex designs.

As above; so below.

You are a finger of God

Reaching out to the human being until rebirth,

And so you will return to God.

And God will return to God as well.

Then we will be one again.

Essence to life to dust to essence.

We here know this.

I will return, and there are many who will

As will you.

This is our choice.

We are fine!

So glad you asked!

Let’s keep in touch.

Much love,


Copyright © August 6, 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: Mom and I enjoying one of my birthdays



Audio · Poem · Poetry · Voices from the Veil

Listen to My Story

I was only a teen who had no sense.

That’s why I’m here

In this spot under the trees.

Won’t they forget me?

I’m looking for them to tell them

I am here and

Just to say my name

One last time.

Why was I so senseless?

The clouds took me too soon.

I listened to the wrong tunes,

Dark, pounding, impudent.

Now I am lost.

Can you help me?

Where can I go?

Is that the door?

I’m just a kid with no sense.

How was I supposed to know

What would happen?

I can’t get past their tears.

They hold me tight.

How can I break free?

Where is God?

No, don’t leave me; listen to my story.

I’ll be fine and find my way

If my girlfriend is OK.

Go on. Go on. Tell her.

Don’t hold me down with your tears.

I have a story, a reason.

They told me I would feel great.

But now I’m here looking for the way, just a kid.

No, don’t leave!

I was young, buff, full of vigor.

Girls loved me. I was strong and grand to all.

Still, I was stupid.

Tell them I am sorry.

What was I thinking?

Now I’m here.

It will take me a while to see the light.

Their tears are like ropes.

But I’ll be fine. I’m sorry.

Put away my senior ring.

Take apart my room.

Box my trophies. I have a place.

They will take me there.

I’m just there to say I’m okay.

I can be free once they

Loosen the ropes of tears.

Fill my room with your own gifts.

There is no point to sing such grief.


Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: https://www.pexels.com/search/trees/ (free images)

images (1)

Audio · Poem · Poetry · Voices from the Veil

Tiny Markers

Tiny markers gently placed on raised soil.

Little bears, backpacks, and angels with infant wings.

Muffled voices whisper truth from their grand little beds

Pillowed by soil wet from tears.

Gabriel led me there,

Where I placed tiny gifts for these great souls.

Some were twins.

Some never breathed.

Some never cried.

Some never laughed.

Some were ready for a school day

Let out by snow.

Scattered about, little toy soldiers

And dolls dressed in lace.

All tossed about by wind and storm.

All these unopened birthday gifts

And holiday treasures

Clutched by tiny hands.

All were together in this

Special garden of woe

Visited by parents

Coming to pray

Among the new sprung buds in Spring.

Who, God, did this?

Why such sorrow in early light?

What can we see in these early departures?

Who gave me Gabriel to show me this truth

That dust to dust is so young?

Or was it just little cries to come out and play?

Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: NASA and ESA,, a Hubble Telescope picture of a Galaxy labeled IC335

NASA: http://www.nasa.gov/

ESA: http://www.spacetelescope.org/