artisticflarings.blog · Ekphrastic Poetry · Healing · Martha's Artistic Flarings · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

Dark Apostle

Rising shadows of flames,

dressed in deep void, I arrive

to burn the bramble of your complacent life.

You hide inside this clay façade,

live for self in idle pleasure,

slumber in this carcass

of addiction and desire.

 

I hold you down as you writhe in agony,

thrive on your muffled screams.

You smolder in my odious breath.

My laughter, cackling flames.

You recoil, gasping for prayer,

rebuking this demon

and fear that this blood fire

is your last sunrise. Confess,

 

I fascinate you.

Though cast to the raging depths,

I still rise, a dark angel.

Not all wings are lucent.

This charred cloak is age old,

frayed by lies, greed, addictions.

 

Inferno flames are still divine.

I am the instigator, the phantom fire

plundering your earth

to crack open your seed

and hasten your growth.

 

For this you need me, Dark Apostle,

the harbinger sent to alarm and awaken,

to jolt you from trance

into rebirth.

 

revised The Dark Apostle 05/12/2020

©Barbara Harris Leonhard, extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog; meelosmom.podbean.com (Poetry: The Memoir of the Soul)

Image: “The Devil’s in the Details”, original digital art, ©Martha Harris. See Martha’s Artistic Flarings@artisticflarings.blog

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry · Writing

Caught in the Headlights

 

As each day begins, nothing is given.

The calendar states,

No guarantees.

But that’s in the fine print

Obscured by our desires

Or our tight hold on our destinies.

We know what we are doing.

The event planned is cancelled

Due to bad weather.

But we go anyway,

Driving all night, 

Taking our chances 

In the raging tornado.

It’s worth the 50 cents to the first kid

Who can spot the funnel.

Do not enter when flooded.

No problem. It’s not too high

Until it is. 

We have four-wheel drive.

We take charge of time

With to-do lists, but

We could be side swiped

By a driver blinded 

By the rising sun on 5th and Elm.

We can’t be late again.

An outdoor wedding 

Is such a risk.

What were we thinking

In the deluge of lightning

And hail?

Dates are set in stone.

We dare nature with each hike

On the mountain’s precarious trails,

And we know the sails

May break in the storm.

It won’t happen to me.

Still, defying fate is such a high.

We are super heroes,

Indestructible, valiant youth, 

Until we aren’t.

We map out our days

Oblivious to the wolf

On the hunt for a meal.

Or for the cat waiting for the 

Enfeebled fledgling

To fall from the nest.

Bad things don’t happen to good people.

We are like deer 

Caught in the headlights 

Of our delusions. 

 

©Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Image: Original Digital Art, “Caught in the Headlights” ©Martha Harris   See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

artisticflarings.blog · Ekphrastic Poetry · Healing · Martha's Artistic Flarings · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

Dark Apostle

Rising shadows of flames,

dressed in deep void, I arrive

to burn the bramble of your complacent life.

You hide inside this clay façade,

live for self in idle pleasure,

slumber in this carcass

of addiction and desire.

 

I hold you down as you writhe in agony,

thrive on your muffled screams.

You smolder in my odious breath.

My laughter, cackling flames.

You recoil, gasping for prayer,

rebuking this demon

and fear that this blood fire

is your last sunrise. Confess,

 

I fascinate you.

Though cast to the raging depths,

I still rise, a dark angel.

Not all wings are lucent.

This charred cloak is age old,

frayed by lies, greed, addictions.

 

Inferno flames are still divine.

I am the instigator, the phantom fire

plundering your earth

to crack open your seed

and hasten your growth.

 

For this you need me, Dark Apostle,

the harbinger sent to alarm and awaken,

to jolt you from trance

into rebirth.

 

revised The Dark Apostle 05/12/2020

©Barbara Harris Leonhard, extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog; meelosmom.podbean.com (Poetry: The Memoir of the Soul)

Image: “The Devil’s in the Details”, original digital art, ©Martha Harris. See Martha’s Artistic Flarings@artisticflarings.blog

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

On Our Side of the Fence

On Our Side of the Fence

 

On our side of the fence,

We have no worries.

The elderly Pin Oaks

Sprawl their limbs like warm arms,

Making shade and silence.

Their wide berth absorbs the sounds

Of sirens and screams.

And brace us for wind.

We have our wood for winter,

And a garden plot.

 

On our side of the fence,

We have no worries.

We sip tea by the azaleas

And feed critters seeds.

The ivy is lush, but daffodils

Still find space.

The house is warmed as though

The sun were ours.

Our goods are sorted and stored;

The dishes, washed;

The children, fed;

The pies, baked;

The beds, made.

 

On our side of the fence,

We have no worries.

No wars,

No refugees,

No homeless.

No storms, floods, or fires.

Our creek is free of oil.

Our birds soar.

Our bounty is pure.

 

On our side of the fence.

We have no worries.

We have no fears.

We have no threats.

We have no eyes.

We have no eyes.

 

Copyright © 2018/01/20 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

Image: digital art “Peace vs Chaos” ©Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog