Healing · Memoir · My Father · October Hill Magazine · Poem · Publication · Writing

Estate Sale

I have a new publication in October Hill Magazine, Spring Issue, page 92. The title of the poem is “Estate Sale”. You can also read the poem here, (but the format is not correct. I don’t know how to fix it.)

https://www.octoberhillmagazine.com/archives

Estate Sale 

“When someone is missing, their possessions take on meanings.” 

– Claudia Emerson (1957-2014)

How the day lays the gray fog into rain
That presses on fallen leaves with bent stems.

Am I ready to sweep them into bags –
Gently used jackets, old woven mittens?

Tell me who needs this apparel of trees

One leaf still clings, my father, not yet braced

To give up his old toys, schoolbooks, first gun.

He wrote a memoir that ended with me.

Perhaps he thought I would know my story,

Or he didn’t want to get it all wrong.

A sole leaf still being written on bark,

He cleaves to the long branch of his mother.

An ancient oak, pruned to keep her health up,

She cannot stretch her limbs out to the clouds.

Instead, her girth grows thick, her stature short,

A broad support for plumage & branches,

To which father maintains a firm handhold.

I gather their china, albums, & garlands.

I wash her face & dress her in twinkling lights. 

Father lets go as I head to the sale.   

 

artisticflarings.blog · Audio · Healing · Martha's Artistic Flarings · Memoir · Podcasts · Poetry · Poetry: The Memoir of the Soul · Publication · Writing

Podcast: Grief and Healing

I just published a new podcast episode which explores the grief and loss we are experiencing mainly due to the current pandemic and social upheaval. Our wellness is at stake, and those with pre-existing conditions are vulnerable. How can we maintain good health and navigate our grief when we experience loss of loved ones and disruptions in our daily life? Poetry can help us nurture compassion and heal on our sacred journeys.

https://meelosmom.podbean.com/e/grief-and-healing-1596140188/

I hope you listen, like, and share the link. My gratitude!

Contributors

Image: “New Day” ©Martha Harris, Martha’s Artistic Flarings, artisticflarings.blog

Clarissa Simmens is an Independent poet; Romani drabarni (herbalist/advisor); ukulele and guitar player; wannabe song writer; and music addict. Favorite music genres include Classic Rock, Folk, Romani (Gypsy), and Cajun with an emphasis on guitar and violin music mainly in a Minor key.

Facebook: facebook.com/RomaniGypsyBooks

WordPress: poeturja.wordpress.com

Amazon Author Page: t.co/JSvNROn15t (self-published)

Cynthia Cady Stanton is a hospice chaplain, bereavement specialist, speaker, poet and writer. She is a regular contributor to Phoebe. MD: Medicine + Poetry (https://phoebemd.com/).

Website: cynthiacadystanton.com

Blog: becomingandbeholding.blog

LinkedIn: linkedin.cynthia-cady-stanton-3599b823

Denise Fletcher is a freelance writer and artist. Her creative works have appeared in Bards Against Hunger, Kaleidoscope Magazine and numerous publications in the U.S., Canada and the U.K.

Blog: Poetry Curator – poetrycurator2020.blogspot.com

Laura Kelly Fanucci, Instagram: @thismessygrace

I found her poem “When This is Over” here:

https://www.americamagazine.org/faith/2020/04/10/podcast-meet-catholic-author-behind-coronavirus-poem-went-viral

Barbara Harris Leonhard is a writer, poet, and blogger. Her work appears in Phoebe, MD: Medicine and Poetry, Well Versed 2020, Spillwords; FREE VERSE REVOLUTION; Heretics, Lovers and Madmen; Go Dog Go Café; Silver Birch Press; Amethyst Review (pending); Pillbaby.com; and Vita Brevis. She is the author of Discoveries in Academic Writing, which is based on her years of teaching English as a Second Language at the University of Missouri.

Blog: extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Podcastmeelosmom.podbean.com

Sources:

https://www.newsweek.com/person-their-30s-dies-after-attending-covid-party-thought-it-was-hoax-health-officials-1517172

https://english.alarabiya.net/en/coronavirus/2020/07/08/Coronavirus-Weeks-after-husband-s-funeral-widow-dies-herself-from-COVID-19)

https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/wellness/anger-control-protests-masks-coronavirus/2020/06/29/a1e882d0-b279-11ea-8758-bfd1d045525a_story.html

https://www.hopkinsmedicine.org/health/wellness-and-prevention/the-power-of-positive-thinking

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Healing · Mother Earth · Poetry · Writing

What Mother Needs: Time to Heal


I revised this poem since putting it up in FREE VERSE REVOLUTION. I’m Still not certain it is finished. Is any poem?

What Mother Needs: Time to Heal

We are all one kind, one child

in the eyes of our wondrous Mother.

Our Mother’s lungs are shared by all;

we all breathe the same air.

Our tears, her rain.

Every cry of a newborn,

recorded on her fabric.

Every gun, shot in fear,

rips through our Mother,

her flesh, her bones, her breath,

and into dark matter out of sight.

Apprehension, the basis of all injury,

creates separation, isolation, animosity.

We are not alone in love.

Love heals torn limbs reaching for embrace.

Love constructs not just our soul,

but the soul of our Mother.

Distain and reverence cannot reside

in the same house.

Despair not. Despise not.

Love those that fear and hate.

This is the great challenge

It is our choice –

In fact, the most important choice,

to cherish with all our heart

regardless of fear of harm,

which is dread of separation and isolation

from our Mother, who supports each of us.

Forgive and hold dear the loveless;

Mother teaches charity and integrity

Even in storms and floods.

This is our choice,

to adore and revere with all our being.

Those who love without abandon

heal all, even our Mother.

©Barbara Leonhard, extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Follow my poetry podcast, Poetry: The Memoir of the Soul, on Podbean – https://meelosmom.podbean.com/

Free image on Pixabay by Bianca Mentil

Loop Poem · Original Digital Art

Labyrinth

This is a loop poem with the rhyme scheme of ab, cc, defg, hh, ii, jklm, nn, oo. 

Some days I just want to be alone

alone with my soul and sacred things

 

sacred things like collages, crystals and prayers

prayers holding grace up heavenly stairs

 

stairs that wind higher into vast space

space is the matrix of light and dark matter

matter enfolds all dimensions and souls

souls resound songs of different vibrations

 

vibrations shimmer with tones in the light

light flares rich hues from the dark to the bright

 

bright is the source of all in creation

creation is God/ Goddesses awesome play station

 

Playstation sells games that aren’t on my shelves

shelves are my places for books and dear treasures

treasures hold gold in my heart and my home

home is the place I escape all life tensions

 

tensions create anxiety and fear

fear is a captor that’s not of good cheer

 

cheer is the reason I remain in the sacred

sacred time with my soul will never be wasted.

 

©Barbara Harris Leonhard, extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Digital Image: ‘Labyrinth’  ©Martha Harris, Martha’s Artistic Flarings, artisticflarings.blog

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poem · Poetry

Cocoons

Rice cooks,

sheaths burst,

steam rises for sacral birth.

 

Seeds hold life

released by light.

Flowers unfold deep soul

in germination.

 

Such is life as it unfolds

From seed to crypt.

Genesis is not kind.

We break free of the organ &

in the pain of delivery,

engage in battle.

 

A crust of fear

enfolds the heart as

love’s armor defends

the wounded self.

 

We break through the barrier.

The heart wall collapses to tinder.

Pain dissolves as we prevail in labor

for our ascent to a new plane

swaddled with grace.

 

earth-4307180_1280

 

©Barbara Harris Leonhard, extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Featured Images: Pixabay.com

Earth Mother Image: by Pandanna Imagen from Pixabay.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry · Writing

My Eyes Bleed

My eyes bleed

To the raw horror

Of children cut down while fleeing

The coward’s aim.

When the one who would be

His brother

Lies dying,

When the warm-hearted gather

In trust and prayer,

Defenseless to the monster, 

Who will be a victor only

In his own Hell,

For he knows not the truth

Of love incarnate,

Of love of us all connected

As one soul, one body.

His blind will, his dark, cold prison.

His heart, a thing of drought. 

Their pain, the searing fire,

The betrayed gazes of death.

Will he come to know that pain?

Will he come to feel that pain?

Will he come to see that pain

As his own?

©Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Image: Original Digital Art, “Heaven’s Gate” ©Martha Harris   See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blogt

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Healing · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry · Quotes · Reiki

To Heal

To be mindful

is to heal.

Stay focused and decide

To be whole

Though critics say no.

Fear is drought

To the garden.

Let thoughts wander past

As breeze.

May you be robust,

lively, and flush,

Blooming to your prime

As rising sun

Heating the soil

For rain.

May you be the nourishment

Ministering to your heart.

You are the medicine, the cure,

The healer.

 

 

©2018 Barbara Harris Leonhard@extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Image: “Sands of Time” digital art ©Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

 

 

Healing · Poem · Poetry

Join Me

Join Me

 

Come, friends,

Join me at the table.

It’s time to retreat,

To seek sanctuary,

To cloister and rest

In soul voice,

Heart.

Tis’ the season

To mature spirit,

To melt the ice of fear

As we make a fire of gratitude

With flames searing skyward

In highest prayer,

Grace-filled litany,

Cleansing, preparing, refining,

Galvanizing diamond mind,

As flames sear up from root to crown,

Our crucibles

Cleansed in

God’s alchemy.

Winter’s slumber, a quickening.

Come, friends,

Join me,

Retreat,

Listen,

Allow.

 

©2018 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Image, My Patio: ©Barbara Harris Leonhard