My body was a cage With only eyes for doors. My arms, contorted, Like branches twisted in shadows. Voices, hollow sounds, Called from the dinner table, but My legs, dead trunks, Held me to a bed With a view to other children. How they danced, Like pansies and violets, Their blooms outstretched, Gathering rays […]
via Hope was Not a Loss – Barbara Leonhard — FREE VERSE REVOLUTION
I feel honored my poem “Cocoons” was one of the top three submissions this week. Most grateful! Check out the other great entries and follow Free Verse Revolution for other opportunities to feature your work.
Dear reader, Thank you for all of your support this week; the stats have been booming and so much love has been shown to this week’s contributors. If you missed anything, catch up below: Tuesday – Jimmi Campkin Wednesday – Yacoob Manjoo Thursday – L. E. Friday – Basilike Pappa Saturday – Bojana Stojcic This […]
via Sunday Best: Cocoon — FREE VERSE REVOLUTION
It’s so nice to get recognition for your work! Thank you so much, Free Verse Revolution.
Dear Readers, please scroll down to the part on Scars.
Dear reader,
First of all, my apologies for missing last week’s Sunday Best post. This week’s will provide you a catch up of both last week and this week on FVR, as a result of my forgetfulness. Without further ado:
Tuesday – HLR & Mark Tulin
Wednesday – Rachel Finch & Daniela Marin
Thursday – RL Pencil to Paper Series & The Mush from the Hill
Friday – Megha Sood & Taylor Grace
Saturday – B.M.H & V.J.Knutson
There have been two writing prompts – ‘Never lose your light’ (in honour of FVR’s founder, Nicholas Gagnier) and ‘Scars’.
‘Never lose your light’ received three wonderful responses, linked below:
Light in the cave – Phillip Knight Scott
‘Scars’ has received an overwhelming amount of response on WordPress and Instagram, so here are the top three:
View original post 52 more words
He sees me at a distance
from the Salvation Army.
The soft glow of my white hair,
my short stature & square hips,
a slight limp,
a slow stride,
I am an easy mark to a
desperate bully.
Mam! Mam!
Come here!
Come here!
It’s like he’s found his prize.
He doesn’t see these deep lines
tracing the fingerprints of my soul
on my small face.
Each mark, a scar,
a battle won.
I am no kitten!
Come HERE! He commands.
I hear shouts of dominance,
impatience & irritation.
Does he think I’ll cross to HIS side!?
I veer into the parking lot of a bank.
It’s CLOSED!
Mam!
He is crossing the
street in pursuit of me!
Come HERE!
He demands like he is
calling the pigs.
I take to the ATM area to get to
Broadway.
He’s advancing!
Leave me alone! I yell.
Go AWAY!
He’s on my back.
MAM! MAM!
Give me MONEY!
Leave me alone!
Go AWAY NOW!
I do not cower to extortion.
My duty is to self!
Give me MONEY! MONEY!
He flashes the cigarette butt
burning into his fingers.
He shows his teeth,
planted cock-eyed behind
tense lips.
I show him my piercing eyes. The flames,
my shield, my sword.
I am no stranger to bullies.
NO MONEY!
GO AWAY!
I advance to his face.
My scars deepen as I scowl.
My spirit finds its gateway.
My light is charged.
He persists, speaking loudly in
Another language, but not imploring.
He isn’t my tribe. He doesn’t know
the rules here.
I’ve read the Art of War.
“Do not press a desperate
soul too hard,” says Sun Tzu.
However, I assess the enemy’s
slight build.
Should he touch me,
I’ll advance & strike him
under the jaw with the root of
my palm & throw him into the
ATM. His screams will be filmed.
MONEY! NOW!
He practically hits me with his
near-empty bottle of Dr. Pepper.
I see no tears or pleas
for pity. Only dominance
over an old lady.
“Show your banners &
beat your drums,” says Sun.
I glare at the offender
with the eyes of a dragon.
Don’t let my shape or size
deceive you,
I am a round stone
gaining momentum
down a steep slope.
I will sweep you away
into a chasm.
Still he demands money. His tone,
You, Woman, give me money!
NO! I yell.
Leave me ALONE!
Go AWAY!
Sun Tzu says, “On contentious ground,
attack not. Lure the enemy by
pretending to flee.”
One moment. I suddenly nod my head.
I open my purse & the perpetrator doesn’t
grab it.
He thinks I’m getting money, but
I take out the phone.
Police! I yell, I’m calling the POLICE!
911! POLICE!
I gather myself, my troops, & my honor.
I withdraw slowly, back onto Broadway,
my eyes always on my foe.
I wave my phone at him as
a new saber.
The baying jackal curses me &
retreats into the shadows.
Battle bleeds another scar.
Victory, purifying fire.
Harmony, restored.
“Such is the art of warfare,”
says the smiling Sage.
©Barbara Harris Leonhard, extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog
Image: Google search, Sun Tzu, The Art of War
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.
©Barbara Harris Leonhard, extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog
Image: Pixabay.com and free wallpaper image on Google
Royal honey is the blood of my womb,
lush creation, even messy havoc,
hungry for birth.
I am Kama.
My desire burns as the sun;
I breathe floral light,
savor the dusty bloom of your earth &
devour your elixir.
I enchant you with my dance & song:
See me.
See me.
My heart is a comb
of many rooms
gushing golden treasures.
Dare to venture
into my mystery.
See me.
See me.
I will gather you into me &
transport you.
I am Kama.
See me &
I will make you a God.
©Barbara Harris Leonhard, extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog
Images: Pixabay
Listening for silence
Is like living with tinnitus.
The ears ringing resounding notes.
Chicks chirping for food.
Roosters crowing their warnings.
The chorus of frogs mating.
Cicadas rejoicing
In their summer release
From years of birthing
In their earth womb.
Released, they scream their tunes
Playing their tymbals for mates.
The sound of silence.
It is the eternal now of song.
It is creation.
©Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog
Featured Digital Image: © “Silence” Martha Harris
Martha’s other image here is “I’m Listening”.
See Martha’s Artistic Flarings@artisticflarings.blog
