Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

If Beyond Were Closer

If Beyond Were Closer

 

If beyond were closer,

Night would guard the morning

And flakes of leaves would glory

To scatter in the wailing

Wisps of wind dressed in threads

Of pale, endless fog mists

That rise to shelter peace.

 

Angels would strum the harps

Of infinite wired strings

Tangled in the wind’s breath

And tucked to rest beneath

The singing of the strings

And glory of the leaf:

 

Amid this still asleep,

The shielded morning haze.

 

Copyright ©2018/03/25 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

 

Image: Sunshine Moments ©Martha Harris digital art See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

 

Audio · Ekphrastic Poetry · Poem · Poetry

Sacred Things

So many sacred things

We have in our lives

On dusty shelves

Or messy desks.

Hidden in plain sight,

Demure whispers from these

Soul collages.

Tiny angels and fairies,

Happy Buddhas sitting on lace,

Quan Yin, chipped from a fall,

Shamans and crystals,

Creating shadows of light

On our pens.

Handmade dolls with stories,

A figure holding the ball

Next to the Tao,

Bracelets of jasper and jade,

Geodes holding mala beads,

Singing bowls and

Stone owls chiming wisdom,

Oma’s thimbles,

Gifts of glass beads and feathers,

Heart-shaped sandstone,

Wooden boxes holding stones from the river,

Collages dressing books.

Treasures sparking intuition,

If only we listen.

Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

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Audio · Poem · Poetry

It is My Soul!

The candle light

From the stained glass lamp

Reflected on the walls

Like splashes of stars

Is the lantern to my heart:

It is my Soul.

My Soul is splintering light

Splashed on the shadows of my heart,

The Beacon for my Soul

As the light draws night.

My Soul was once a fading candle

Dripping wax on my heart

And crying out to be lit.

As I light my Soul,

The hues of night

Brighten into day.

What is this dawn?

It is my Soul!

The colors of my Soul

Are hues of purple, blue, and red:

All shades of white,

All shades of black,

All shades of shades.

Without this light,

Where can I go?

‘Where you end is

Where you start.’

Fear, my guide no more;

No rowing on restless waves

Of tears that drown my heart.

Anger set the sail once ago,

But she has met a higher power:

It is my Soul!

There is no map to show me where to go.

But there’s a lamp to light my way:

It is my Soul!

And angels, if you are there,

Please tell me so.

Without this light,

Where can I go?

‘Where you end is

Where you start.’

I’ve never been alone

Though I have felt so,

Letting go my Soul.

And all my grief

Was from this point.

As I denied myself

For others’ sake.

So begins my journey

Out of harm and pain

To live and laugh again.

My Soul, my friend,

So long forgotten,

Now awakened

To the sound of my heart rising

Like the sun

On a crisp morning,

Ready to sail the heavens

On waves of heat,

Evaporating grief

And bitter dreams

From that long, dark night

Of running

From my Soul.

          This spirit song represents the turmoil we often feel as we struggle to find our way to the divine. We must make the choice to affirm our Spirit and invoke it to deliver us to the truth: that by seeking the divine, we find ourselves.

Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: http://karenxavsphotography.blogspot.com/2011/07/candle-light.html

 

 

 

 

Audio · Poem · Poetry

Birth

I whisper this soul song
in pale amber light,
strong and spiraling flakes of snow
across the heart like sweet ice rain
over gray, blue night.

I whisper like a chick can sing for seed
or a baby coo for warm milk.
There’s no autumn,
for the leaves have fallen
down the slopes to the frigid sea side.

Snow is swirling on the shore,
but bare are the waves
hitting the rocky beach, where
I stretch to touch the moonbeams
and hold tight as I climb up the light.

Hollow is the way,
yet still so thick with stars,
holding me, pulling me, coaxing me
upward so tightly, so closely, so warmly,
Come along, come along.

And so I do.
And so I do.

No struggle, no pain riding waves of pure joy,
rolled and tossed by the warm light
of angels humming, their wings unfolding,
their words like dove song,
Come along, come along.

And so I do.
And so I do.

No struggle, no pain floating in the spiral of angels’ songs,
winging toward their Beacon,
its glow so hot I cannot breathe
until I hit the shore
like a soul storm.

And so I cry out loud,
not from pain but from joy released,
my song like clamoring bells of all tones
in perfect harmony,
I am born.

 

Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: http://hdwallpaperhighresolution.blogspot.com/2013/07/sun-and-clouds-wallpapers.html

Sun And Clouds Wallpapers (3)

 

 

Audio · Poem · Poetry

Soul Longing Chimes

Soul longing chimes

On the backs of angels

Ringing wing songs

Notes, a roadway

Gold-toned steps,

Wet with tears

Of joy and sorrow,

Grief forgiven.

Once of brittle hearts,

Now child soul afloat

The span of wings,

Swooping higher

On gilded ice,

Spanning the ages

Of child play in wild flowers

Cast into stars.

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Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: http://www.fusionmagazine.org/clouds/

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Image: my garden

 

Audio · My Mother · Poem · Poetry

I Sometimes Feel Her

I sometimes feel her pressing on my right side.

Why the right? She lingers there.

She leaves me pennies

That appear out of nowhere

When I’ve earned an angel wing.

 

I dreaded her birthday, the first

Since she left.

No cake or cards, no gifts.

Coming up… memories of her end of days.

That call.

 

Her body fighting her,

We watched.

We rallied for her,

Held her close,

Fed her,

Combed her hair.

 

Gregorian chants

Took her in and out of her life.

She spoke the language of angels.

How they argued,

Divine negotiation with intonation

And syllables.

Her voice wasn’t hers at all.

Is this how it goes?

 

And terror gripped her as she faced

The indescribable,

Pushing it away with such force,

We thought

This is it.

Debate and battle gave way more ultimately

To stillness and surrender.

 

Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: My Mother

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Audio · Poem · Poetry

A Dream: Truth Be Known

I.

Those who whisper, darkness hides.

Ambriel beckons, wings outstretched.

Truth be known, silence stolen,

Angels calling the inner truth.

Open boldly the rusty gate.

All is illusion stored inside,

Iron bars dissipating in Pashar’s breath.

Take hold of Ambriel’s wings –

Those who slumber in denial,

Hold on tightly; hazards await

Though angels guide the steps.

What awaits is all electric knowing,

Held in light, colors outstretched

In every angle, heated by love.

No boundaries to this mystery.

In these terms, you’ll understand

The journey to that place,

Shown in dreams never forgotten

You’re the first to enter; the last to leave.

II.

Elemiah, your guide to wisdom

Appears in a white skiff,

And star beams lap as waves

On the glassy side of your soul.

You take the ride gladly.

Another companion, Michael,

To Heaven’s solid shoreline,

Sand sculpted of stars.

There to greet you,

Women in tiaras, men in tuxedos,

A pickpocket with no shoes

In a fine Armani suit.

Behind them all a brilliant doorway

Leading to many rooms with no walls.

Michael beckons, Come, Not that way –

The path of hot rocks,

Upon which Armani man dances.

You follow into the banquet hall.

There, inside no outside, just light.

No way to know when night becomes dawn.

The walls, tall, wide, heavy, yet gossamer thin;

Lines of doors meandering snake-like

On and on, meeting as a fine black dot

Elsewhere and nowhere.

As the partiers gather, holding champagne.

They snub the new arrival; how earthly.

You’re led to a storage room, solid, static.

It breathes of death, smells of dirt.

Lined up are cubicles of dining room fare.

Maple, oak, hardwoods, arranged for the viewing

Of passing mourners. All the while,

The partiers’ laughter rings from the banquet hall –

Are these their wares, artifacts

Of lives unlived in wooden cells?

Smaller rooms holding other partiers

Resound of music of the ages –

Bach, Beethoven, the Beatles,

Hendrix, Joplin, Bill Monroe, Ice Cube.

Room beyond room

Inside each room, a room,

A dream in a dream in a dream,

Dreams beyond dreams.

Behind a glass wall,

An ex-nun at the blackboard

Teaching new recruits:

No rock and roll; no smoking.

Upset that He never appears;

The angels and seraphs shoulder all the work.

III.

The chandelier’s gone, the dirge of wood,

Stowed in dust, the skiff awaits.

You were first, now you’re last

On this journey home past the Sea of Forgetting.

Ambriel lays you down to wake

And whispers the oracles.

As darkness flees the sun’s ascent.

Truth be known.

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Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: The Eye of God (ngc 6751)