Audio · Healing · Poem · Poetry

Gaia

We are holding in the cries of fear,

Refusing to surrender to truth.

What can come of filling the streams

Of Gaia’s veins with our tears but a flood of pain?

Can the rifts in her ancient skin be healed?

Can canyon walls ever merge into a New Earth

Free of grief and loss?

 

The fingers of the Sun can only reach so far

Into the depths for galactic truth.

Has God succumbed to the Fire?

It cannot be so.

Though dense on the edges of Holy Planes,

Light is there.

Light and Shadow share one spectrum,

Always in battle for healing,

Finding the perfect balance.

 

Where Earth is upheaved grows new bounty.

The pain of ripping soil births potential,

Shimmering translucent as

Tiny perfect fingers rooting in Time,

Swaddled in constellations

Webbing Then and Now.

Time is connected on all planes.

Today’s prayers heal the past

As it has never ended.

All grief is omnipresent and infinite

If we remain in slumber.

 

Hope is wholeness.

The future is “I AM”.

Tears heal tears in the fabric of Time,

Filling in the rifts and canyons of geologic upheaval

With Love transmuted into cosmic truth.

We are One.

Our tears are Gaia’s rain.

The clogged well of each heart

Is her burden to bear.

Our actions become her prayers or her curses.

She cries in fire, wind and geologic torment when

We fail to love her power,

Which supports us in the lattice of her cosmic apron

To which we cling as babes born innocent

And slow to awaken to her grief,

Which is ours to bear.

 

Copyright© 2017/12/10 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

Image: Pixabay

 

 

 

 

 

Digital Art · My Mother · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

This, a River

This, a River

This, a river,

I am not lines but curves

Winding around sand bars

Creating islands 

Revealed in low tide

My current pulses life

Tadpoles, carp, algae

I smile in light

Shimmering reflections

I draw in birds to feed

I am poetry for travelers 

On barges

I hold kayaks as toys

To capture in my eddies

This, a river,

My legs flutter waves

Swimming to create

This flow

My arms formed from rivulets

Guiding this charge of current 

Gravity’s way

My power carving out

My face

I shape Mother

As she wishes 

I clean up her storms 

The overwhelming swells

Of branches and trash

Dissolve into me and my banks

I do her work

Feeding her life 

Dispersing its bones and teeth

For children to seek as treasure

This, a river,

Can hold you

Transport you

Can gather you into me

Into my dark

My hungry fury

Beneath my churning 

My currents are scars

That run as bottomless incisions

Into crust

My age is Earth

Study me

Learn me

My mystery is beauty

My myth is enigma

My abyss is danger

This, a river,

What made me

Our Mother 

Her tears washing away our history

Revealing our present

She is in the sun 

Warming our life span

Reflected into my ocean

My soul of 

Beds and banks

Flora and fauna

My aura is your atmosphere

My depths are your cosmos

Mother’s grief can nourish or drown, but

This, a river, 

Cannot cry.

©Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.com

Image “This, a River” digital art ©Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

Audio · Healing · Poem · Poetry

Gaia

Gaia

We are holding in the cries of fear,

Refusing to surrender to truth.

What can come of filling the streams

Of Gaia’s veins with our tears but a flood of pain?

Can the rifts in her ancient skin be healed?

Can canyon walls ever merge into a New Earth

Free of grief and loss?

 

The fingers of the Sun can only reach so far

Into the depths for galactic truth.

Has God succumbed to the Fire?

It cannot be so.

Though dense on the edges of Holy Planes,

Light is there.

Light and Shadow share one spectrum,

Always in battle for healing,

Finding the perfect balance.

 

Where Earth is upheaved grows new bounty.

The pain of ripping soil births potential,

Shimmering translucent as

Tiny perfect fingers rooting in Time,

Swaddled in constellations

Webbing Then and Now.

Time is connected on all planes.

Today’s prayers heal the past

As it has never ended.

All grief is omnipresent and infinite

If we remain in slumber.

 

Hope is wholeness.

The future is “I AM”.

Tears heal tears in the fabric of Time,

Filling in the rifts and canyons of geologic upheaval

With Love transmuted into cosmic truth.

We are One.

Our tears are Gaia’s rain.

The clogged well of each heart

Is her burden to bear.

Our actions become her prayers or her curses.

She cries in fire, wind and geologic torment when

We fail to love her power,

Which supports us in the lattice of her cosmic apron

To which we cling as babes born innocent

And slow to awaken to her grief,

Which is ours to bear.

 

Copyright© 2017/12/10 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

Image: Pixabay

 

 

 

 

 

Audio · Ekphrastic Poetry · Poem · Poetry

What Do You Do?

What Do You Do?

What do you do

For a homeless soul,

Flailing in the dissipating self,

Swallowing night air,

Gasping for breath as though

Seized by swarms as they

Emerge in their flight

To cloud-capped ridges

Of thunder slapping

The weary heart

Locked in despair?

The Eye sees;

The One knows.

 

Copyright© 2017/12/04 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: pixabay.com

Audio · Ekphrastic Poetry · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

Broken Heart

Broken Heart

A broken heart,

The construct of love breached,

Rivets on the bridge

snapping in a storm.

The dam opening,

Spilling grief in torrents,

Flooding with tears

The home in the valley.

Trails and journeys,

Washing away,

Burying hope in sediment.

Lives stiffening into artifacts.

 

Is it inherent for

Yin to slaughter Yang?

Can a smile balance on

One lip?

Is a journey taken with

One foot?

Is a blossom perched on

No stem?

Are rays emitted by

No sun?

 

A heart is a quilt sewn with

One continuous thread –

Joy stitching onto grief,

Grief onto hope,

Hope onto despair,

Despair onto joy.

Forms have shadows.

What is a shadow without light?

A heart completes itself.

What is breaking is

Already mending.

 

Copyright©  2017/10/17 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

Image: Original Art “Broken Heart” © Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

 

 

Ekphrastic Poetry · Poem · Poetry

Weeping Willow

Weeping Willow

When the old willow weeps,
Her shoulders bow to the Light,
For her ancient tears sing
In tune with the spheres.
The Light binds limbs to leaves
And defies the shade.
Her skirt, a shelter to the fallen,
Making good blankets and walls as
It’s her learning and duty, her strength
In harmony and balance
To stand firm in storms.
So we go to her.
Our pain, her food
Transmuted into swords and light
For our battles and healing.
In her tears, no regret,
Grief and despair stand aside
In this humble Sallow of Time.
We bow to her
In gratitude.

 

Copyright© 2017/10/05  Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

Image:  http://imgarcade.com/weeping-willow-tree-wallpaper.html

P1020777

Audio · Poem · Poetry · Voices from the Veil

Tell Them Who Will Listen

Listen to my story.

I was a man who worked hard,

A laborer.

Dirt lined my nail beds

From toil that cost me years.

My hands were calloused,

But not my heart.

My wife, pregnant,

We were happy.

Our home, built and painted in all the colors.

Still, we lost that little soul too soon.

Our tears washed our souls

But could not flush off our grief.

My toil was not the cure

For this deficit in love.

Our loss stole our smiles.

We sat like trees for years

Rooted in grief.

Can you hear me?

Though torn apart,

We are not alone here.

This is my garden now,

And we are tending it.

We are family in loss,

But not in this garden.

Tell them who will listen.

 

Copyright © August 6, 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: pixabay