Ekphrastic Poetry · Healing · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry · Reiki · Writing

Rest in Your Being

 

Rest in your being.

Your light is ever shifting its gaze to wholeness

As moods can dim what’s inward 

To quarter light.

One cannot judge the size of the heart

From dawn to dusk.

You are your own moon rising and setting

Over the span of hours or days.

Time is relative to your path to insight as

Your moon waxes and wanes.

Heed not a dim light.

It will swell to fullness as a healed heart.

Dawn patiently greets a rising sun.

And sunsets greet a rising moon.

This is the rhythm of healing.

Shadows never linger, for insights shine.

Yet shadows create the spectrum of illumination,

Forming mandalas of awareness for you to study.

The wholeness of your light is rich in tone and chroma.

Your complexion is your moon.

This visage is vibrant and ever changing.

Fear not the face of your soul at dusk.

It is waking in that moment.

Rest in your spirit to await

The dawn of your knowing.

 

©Barbara Harris Leonhard  @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Image: “Dawn of Knowing”, original digital art, ©Martha Harris. See Martha’s Artistic Flarings@artisticflarings.blog

Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

I, The Tired Moon

I, The Tired Moon

 

They tell me when the sun has gone

Behind the cloud, that night has come

For one more moment, swift.

I run to greet the shadow on the sandy beach

Of pebbled stars in clear shark night.

The roaming wave of humid blindness

Feels for my vivid form in nothingness,

But I find comfort in the sprinkle of light

As it blooms in the misty soil

From somewhere in the sanctum

Of my soul.

 

Frail, as a damp twig,

I, the tired moon, salute the coming day.

It begins again, a new wave to flow

On the deserted shore of wavy grass,

Shifted by the moving wind,

Cleansed by the awakening dew within.

Birds, peaked in song,

Bless the rays of sun,

Which soothe my growing shadow

On the tide of time.

 

The wind brushes past

The gray clouds in the dale.

Night leaves the ship;

Day has set sail.

 

Copyright © 2018/03/30 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

 

Image: “Moon Shadow”  digital art ©Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

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

 

Ekphrastic Poetry · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

The Willow Am I

The Willow Am I

 

Some people live in the night

While owls of the morning sleep,

And small raindrops creep in the dusk

Like birds of prey upon the dewy grass.

 

The Willow am I, punished by the hidden sun

That laughs on the edge of night

As I curse the screaming dawn

And burning dew of darkness

To find that subtle light

Embedded in my timeless searching.

 

How I panic at my failure

To touch its screen from within and without.

I will drown in its rain of sight renewed,

And my thirsty roots,

Blinded in the dark earth,

Shall drink of its golden liquid.

 

Copyright ©2018/03/23 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

Image: “Sun’s Treasure” digital art ©Martha Harris  See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

 

 

 

 

Audio · Ekphrastic Poetry · My Mother · Poem · Poetry

New Audio: Mother, Great Pine

Mother, Great Pine,

Stretching in her years.

Needles springing from craggy trunk

In need of water.

Branches reaching for cloud mist.

Perches for birds with nests

Gathered in crevices hidden by owls.

Her hair of needles

Cracks in Sun’s heat

And breaks in Sun’s breath.

Her roots dig into springs

Dried to stain on parched sand,

Blown to rock in forgotten forests,

Where memories remain.

Mother, Great Pine,

Life marks its initials

On tattered bark

Dressing her soul.

Her shadow marks a path

For Time to travel

Dawn to dusk

Without fail.

 

Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: https://www.google.com/search

pine-tree-e1334339816520

 

 

 

Audio · Ekphrastic Poetry · My Mother · Poem · Poetry

Mother, Great Pine

Mother, Great Pine,

Stretching in her years.

Needles springing from craggy trunk

In need of water.

Branches reaching for cloud mist.

Perches for birds with nests

Gathered in crevices hidden by owls.

Her hair of needles

Cracks in Sun’s heat

And breaks in Sun’s breath.

Her roots dig into springs

Dried to stain on parched sand,

Blown to rock in forgotten forests,

Where memories remain.

Mother, Great Pine,

Life marks its initials

On tattered bark

Dressing her soul.

Her shadow marks a path

For Time to travel

Dawn to dusk

Without fail.

 

Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: https://www.google.com/search

pine-tree-e1334339816520