Poem · Poetry · Waka Poetry

So Long, My Friend

So long, my friend,

How short was your stay.

I was too caught up

In my mindless days

To sit with you

When your blooms were lush and

Singing in the sun and air.

You were glorious

Even when the snow surprised us all.

Still, you held your back up,

And your crown never fell.

You had bounty in your short time.

I could see your joy

As you swayed in the breeze

And drank in the sun and rain.

I took you for granted though

I said I would stop by more often.

Now as your beauty fades

To crumbled blooms,

Your smile drops and fades

Into the beds of periwinkle

Huddled to catch you, yet

You still seem to dance

As the breath of God gently

Blows your ash into soil

For another year.

 

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©Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Images: my yard

 

 

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

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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/

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

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Audio · Poem · Poetry

New Audio: Spared

Spared a winter but not a spring.

Hail thrashes, splitting the wind

Into crystals lit by flashes,

Revealing shadows touching down

Like long fingers pointing curses.

My husband, the one-eyed lamp,

In our basement cave,

Checking the radar on his I-phone.

The cats subdued by the growling wind,

Finding refuge under a table by their litter.

And I, swathed in a blanket,

Sitting on the porta-potty seat,

Left over from a surgery,

To remain a throne in a storm.

My messages failed to send.

Roars diminishing to low growls,

Lightning flails like extinguishing flames,

Thunder stomps like a child wanting attention.

It passes over without forgiving.

New-born daffodils embracing the deluge now strain for morning.

Even storms are gifts.

Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: Brusheezy (free download)

https://www.brusheezy.com/brushes/1464-lightning-brushes

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Audio · Ekphrastic Poetry · Haiku · Micropoetry · Poem · Poetry

Daffodils

Sun blankets the snow,

A sloppy knife.

Daffodils, slumped over,

slowly raise their heads.

Spring caught unaware.

 

Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: https://wallpaperstock.net/daffodils-in-the-snow-wallpapers_w17542.html

 

Audio · Poem · Poetry

Spared

Spared a winter but not a spring.

Hail thrashes, splitting the wind

Into crystals lit by flashes,

Revealing shadows touching down

Like long fingers pointing curses.

 

My husband, the one-eyed lamp,

In our basement cave,

Checking the radar on his I-phone.

The cats subdued by the growling wind,

Finding refuge under a table by their litter.

 

And I, swathed in a blanket,

Sitting on the porta-potty seat,

Left over from a surgery,

To remain a throne in a storm.

My messages failed to send.

 

Roars diminishing to low growls,

Lightning flails like extinguishing flames,

Thunder stomps like a child wanting attention.

It passes over without forgiving.

New-born daffodils embracing the deluge now strain for morning.

Even storms are gifts.

 

Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: Brusheezy (free download)

https://www.brusheezy.com/brushes/1464-lightning-brushes

lightning-brushes

 

 

 

 

 

Audio · Micropoetry · Poem · Poetry · Prose

My Chair: My Stillness

 

My chair

by the daffodils –

a sacred throne.

 

My stillness

fights off two souls

wanting my garden.

 

Sun blankets the snow –

daffodils slowly

raise their heads.

 

These three haiku are related. One Spring, I bundled up in a hoodie since it was a bit chilly and settled in a chair next to the daffodils that I wrote about in the haiku. The snow had melted, and the daffodils had perked up. I was delighted they had survived being snow bound. The two souls were my husband and a music student wanting to play music in the garden. However, they turned away when they saw my quiet repose as I was firmly planted on my throne with no intention of surrendering my place.

I think finding quiet time in nature is very enlightening. That day, I wrote several Haiku since I was able to find the silent space between thoughts. Thoughts are distracting and can hide truth. If I just follow my thoughts, I go nowhere, but if I can meditate in a peaceful setting, I can travel to many places, mainly inward to the source of all poetry. Poems are like dreams – full of symbols open to interpretation. The picture of the chair transformed into a throne by the resurrected daffodils raising their heads from under the blanket of snow was a transforming moment. Despite any obstacle, the soul can rise above the turmoil and danger it faces. Everyone can find these sacred moments and places; everyone can write poetry.

Stillness is the key and stillness is the mountain. If we find stillness, we can hear the chorus of poetry and songs of our hidden potential. Stillness makes us strong and grounded and all knowing, like mountains. Mountains symbolize our core strength and inner wisdom, for they know the secrets of the ages and so are ever lasting symbols of truth. Many ascended masters, like Jesus and Moses, were enlightened on mountains, making mountains a significant source of inner knowing.

Stillness is paradoxical because who would guess that stillness could be so rich with the sound of rhyme and lyrics. We are so busy everyday that we don’t hear these songs which intend to enlighten us. In fact, we are so used to the noise of daily life that we can’t stand to be alone. However, it is necessary to seek out a time and place every day to just listen as well as watch. By observing the symbols of silence, we can write poetry. In my case, pondering the circumstances of the daffodils smothered in snow gave rise to poetry about the human condition. One could trample the daffodils, not seeing how they were suffocating, but one could also observe them and listen to what their message is. This communication gives rise to poetry.

This process of mediating on the silent spaces between thoughts is healing, and if I can’t go to that place for a period of time, it is unnerving. Maybe that is why I do not oblige anyone by surrendering my sacred throne.

(I originally published this blog on another site I had.)

© 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard; poetry and image (my garden) @extrordinarysunshineweaver.blog