Healing · Poetry · Publication

Gabriela Marie Milton – Editor’s Note on Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women — Short Prose

Front Cover/ Experiments in Fiction /Nick ReevesGabriela Marie Milton – Editor’s Note on Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women When I posted the call for submissions to Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women, I wanted to compile an anthology that would underscore how powerful women are, and how much they can…

Gabriela Marie Milton – Editor’s Note on Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women — Short Prose

Ekphrastic Poetry · Healing · Mother Earth · Original Collages · Writing

Songs for Dusk and Dawn

SINGING with the SETTING SUN

Release into Dreams

As you set between the branches of the oak tree, may I see clearly how the day now dips its head, like a sunflower nodding asleep under your gaze. I give you, the setting fire, all that no longer serves me. May it melt into orange light behind the trees and hills. I have lived a full day with some unrest, pain, grief, ungrounded thinking. I give you my worry, doubt, fear, for my body can no longer support them. I lean toward you, the setting sun, with my palms open to release all ills, like tiny birds to a new sky.

Gratitude

As the sun rests, so may I with a grateful heart. As I enter into night rest, I express my gratitude for a full day. Thank you for the lessons learned and the gifts bestowed. The blessings given. For all toil and all triumph, I am grateful. For all guidance, I am grateful. For all insights and gifts, I am grateful. For wisdom, I am grateful. That my heart has opened to joy, I am truly grateful. May I be a clear vessel of Your love as it flows to those requesting healing. May that warmth and strength sink into their beings as the sun sets into a cycle of renewal so that we may all reconnect in new light.

SINGING with the RISING SUN

Trust in a New Day

As the sun rises, my heart is a sunflower, opening its eyes to the East. How the sun rises in color just as it sets. I am drawn to the warmth of its brilliance and promise of a new day. On this day, I will be strong, free of pain. I feel Mother Earth pulling grief down and out of my feet into her temple for healing. My dreams have gathered the worry and fear and now release these burdens into the arms of Mother Earth. How she transmutes this bundle into new gardens. If only I can see the potential in each seed and not hoard my bounty like a cache of hidden treasure. Letting go is the gold. Trusting. Surrendering to the rising light all about and within me.

©Barbara Leonhard, 2022

Featured Image: Dierik Leonhard

Second Image: May Peace Be with You (one of my collages)

Healing · Honors · Memoir · My Mother · Poem · Publication · Recognition/ Honor · Spillwords

“Marie Kondo Cleans My Purse at Starbucks” – Nominated Publication of the Month at Spillwords

I am honored and grateful to the readers, and Dagmara and her editing staff for yet another honor.

May I have your vote? It would mean the world to me.

You can vote here: https://spillwords.com/vote/

Voting will cease on 3/1 and soon after they will reveal the winner.

Please note, you need to register and/or login to vote.

Here is my poem up for consideration as Publication of the Months of January and February. The format here is incorrect.

Marie Kondo Cleans My Purse at Starbucks

Konmari sees me at Starbucks,

my purse spilling over at the counter.

“May I help?”

She gathers me up

like I’m antique lace

washed too many times.

Before she begins, she whispers,

“Hello, the House,

I am safe. May I enter?”

She pokes through my purse,

pulling out the deck of cards

Mom once carried in her own purse.

A heavy bag of Mom’s pennies

to redeem for cash.

Her checkbook.

The messy old calendar

that listed her appointments

alongside my own.

The quilt she made me,

now falling apart. A cookbook

compiled in her own hand.

Konmari extracts other artifacts,

laying them gently on lined up tables.

People gather. My eyes bleed.

The extra-large pair of panties

Mom made me wear to Sunday school.

The wash, still not done.

A half-used bottle of Diethylstilbestrol,

she was prescribed to prevent spotting

when I was in vitro.

The tricycle she rode

around town at age three

because her mother never watched her.

My cancer scares, scattered

on the bottom of the purse

like cookie crumbs.

The scabs inflicted

by her compression stockings

I failed to wash one last time.

The clump of tissue

I miscarried, swaddled

in an inner pocket.

Her hysterectomy scar.

My hysterectomy scar.

Entwined on a spool.

My t-shaped uterus,

clenching a half-used packet

of Puffs Plus.

A dogeared photo of Mom.

A mirror reflecting

who I want to be.

Konmari has me

hold each item

one last time, saying,

“Thank you, tiny soul,

for sharing your life. I am

grateful.”

She teaches me

how to fold joy

three times.

How to throw out

what I can

no longer carry.

Thank you so much for your ongoing support!

Image: Pixabay

Healing · Phoebe, MD: Medicine + Poetry · Poem · Publication

Bene [a poem] — PhoebeMD: Medicine + Poetry

By Barbara Leonhard | Featured Contributor A note to encourage you in these challenging times. May you walk through the new year with grace and ease. 232 more words

Bene [a poem] — PhoebeMD: Medicine + Poetry

Thank you, Phoebe, for helping me share this blessing. This poem grew out of notes I sent out this year to family and friends.

♥️ May we all support one another in these uncertain times. ♥️

Memoir · My Mother · Poem · Publication · Spillwords

Marie Kondo Cleans My Purse at Starbucks

New poem up at Spillwords! Thank you Dagmara and the editing staff! This memoir poem is from my poetry collection in progress.

I’m looking for a publisher, by the way. 🙏🙏🙏

This poem, as do many in my collection, explores grief, the Mother Wound, our mother-daughter relationship, letting go, and healing. She suffered from Alzheimer’s, so I held her memories for her, especially her medical history for doctors, prescriptions, shopping lists, and the like. My purse was filled with both our lives intertwining. I was not only her daughter, but also her caregiver and guide.

My collection spans our experiences since my childhood. Mainly the ones that reveal the source of conflict and grief. When I was in vitro, Mom was prescribed diethylstilbestrol (DES), which made me infertile and caused my to have many cancer scares. This drug damaged many lives, as a matter of fact, for both men and women, and if they did manage to have children, their children’s reproductive organs were also malformed, and so their children also has to deal with cancerous tumors.

Mom was able to have seven kids, but I could have none. For some reason, she forgot why – perhaps her memory problems started years before she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s – and sometimes shamed me for not having kids as she was able to have so many. This was the wound.

Indeed, as the oldest daughter, I helped care for all the ”little ones”, her toddler, a set of twins, and her last baby, all born between 1958 and 1961. Can you imagine? I didn’t realize at the young age of 9 that this would be my only chance to mother babies.

My poetry collection also explores other parallels in our lives. We both experienced brain damage and memory issues, hers from Alzheimer’s and mine from encephalitis, which nearly killed me at the age of 6 going on 7. At that time, she was my caregiver.

Without a doubt, working this collection of poems has been healing as I excavate my past and pick through the artifacts to understand my relationship with my mother and to forgive her, as well as myself, for the wounding. When I realized she would need me to care for her in her final years, I felt an upheaval of unresolved grief, and I knew that I had a great deal of inner work and self care to do so that I could be present to her.

That I had this opportunity to care for Mom and hold her until her last breath was truly a gift.

Healing · Memoir · Mother Earth · Publication · Silver Birch Press · Writing

Instituto Terra by Barbara Leonhard (HOW TO HEAL THE EARTH Series)

Painting: DEER IN THE FOREST by Franz Marc (1913).

Thank you, Silver Birch Press!

Instituto Terra by Barbara Leonhard “Nature is the earth and it is other beings and if we don’t have some kind of spiritual return to our planet, I …

Instituto Terra by Barbara Leonhard (HOW TO HEAL THE EARTH Series)
Dark Poets Club · Healing · Poem · Publication

New Publication!

I received a nice surprise today, another poem up with Dark Poets Club (England). They are generous and accept poems from your blog, in case you are interested. So some of you may recognize this poem. Also, I like them because the small submission fee is donated to mental health causes.

https://www.darkpoets.club/post/the-unwelcome-tenant

Healing · Phoebe, MD: Medicine + Poetry · Poetry

A Blessing for You — PhoebeMD: Medicine + Poetry

By Barbara Leonhard | Featured Contributor Dear Friends, most of us would agree that this past year has been extremely challenging if not tragic. Many of you have documented your pain and grief in poetry, fiction, and essays. St. Patrick’s Day is today and Easter is coming up, so it’s a good time for us to transmute…

A Blessing for You — PhoebeMD: Medicine + Poetry

Thank you, Phoebe, for publishing my blessing!

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

New Look for Poetry: The Memoir of the Soul

I notice that I haven’t completed a poetry podcast since April 2. However, as you can see on my WordPress blog, I have done some publishing. It seemed easier to publish in on line sites than on my own poetry podcast in my own voice. I have to admit, everything of late has stunned me. I have lost focus to some degree when it comes to the intimacy in my podcasts.

Meanwhile, Podbean informed me my site design would not be supported, so I have  chosen a new theme.  Simple and clean.  Kind of like life could be at this time…at least in an ideal world.     https://meelosmom.podbean.com/

What the heck happened? What have we become? I was once a young girl riding my bike and playing with dolls. Now I’m hiding from a pandemic and bullets.

Does this pandemic represent our diseased minds and hearts? COVID-19 has forced us to retreat to the silence of our souls, our heart minds. Can we stand to be with ourselves? Can we cultivate our beautiful garden? Or can we only find comfort in noise (distractions, addictions, possessions). Can we truly see ourselves, love ourselves? Can we truly see and love others? And what about the Other, those who are from different tribes (families, societies, races, cultures).

What is hidden eventually rises for healing as is shown in the response to the murder of George Floyd at the knee of a cop. Racism, social inequities, corporate greed, and other forms of social, economic, and ethical/ moral malaise are symptomatic of another pandemic hidden in our Deep. George Floyd was strangled to death for passing a fake bill, but what about white-collar crime and all the money doled out to corporations while the average American can’t put food in the table with one job? With this pandemic, we suffer from huge losses in income. Our economy is flailing.

Everything that happens daily becomes the memoir of our society and our world. It’s all recorded not just on film (owing to technology) but also in our DNA. The ugly can make us ill. As Caroline Myss writes, “Our biography becomes our biology.”

I want to avert my eyes and deny all that is aberrant. However, I’m simply storing it away, like I do old journals, letters, and photos. Some things trigger joy, while others uproot pain. I think that if I don’t see it, it isn’t there, but it is creating illness.

It’s no coincidence I have taken to memoir writing, exploring my Deep. What have I buried from view? What do I need to heal? Looking at the truth is visceral and, I am told, bold maybe even courageous and healing. However, it is also dangerous. Being truthful to our word can create loss. These kinds of shifts occur because ‘all that is not aligned will fall away’. 

I have feared excavating my soul because of judgment and fear of alienation and abandonment, but I see my life from my lens while others, especially members of my tribe, have their perspectives, which they can explore in their own memoirs.

I hope to continue to explore these themes in my poetry podcast and other wetting, and see my morning awaken, as the featured image of this post shows.
https://meelosmom.podbean.com/

©Barbara Leonhard, extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Image “Morning Awakening” ©Martha Harris, Martha’s Artistic Flarings, artisticflarings.blog