Audio · Poem · Poetry · Voices from the Veil

New Audio: You Sit in Your Garden

You sit in your garden but

Where am I?

You, there, surrounded and protected

By fauna and flora

As you swat at bees

And stomp on ants to cross the grass.

You laugh as you eat Light and

Make merry with companions.

I’m lost to that dream now.

It was not my choice

But an accident, unforeseen.

I was just as wanton and naive.

How little I knew of myself,

Or the sun, the rain, the stars,

Or of the end of time.

I was not ready to leave,

So here I am attached to cold stone

With you only in a haze, and

I cannot speak your name for

Lack of a translation.

Where am I but nowhere.

Who am I but no one.

Night is always; always is night.

I cling to the wall of night

With no release and no joy,

Not even you in your garden

Are ready to know me this way.

Not even lightning knows my name,

For it is a mere flicker to my rage.

I am blind in this abyss, stumbling

To find a guest in this forlorn place,

To find a slice of dawn in endless night, where

I am but a mortar to shadows

As you slumber in your garden.

Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

poetry and image (my garden)

IMG_0845

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

lightning-brusheslightning-brushes

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 · Poem · Poetry · Voices from the Veil

You Sit in Your Garden

You sit in your garden but

Where am I?

You, there, surrounded and protected

By fauna and flora

As you swat at bees

And stomp on ants to cross the grass.

You laugh as you eat Light and

Make merry with companions.

I’m lost to that dream now.

It was not my choice

But an accident, unforeseen.

I was just as wanton and naive.

How little I knew of myself,

Or the sun, the rain, the stars,

Or of the end of time.

I was not ready to leave,

So here I am attached to cold stone

With you only in a haze, and

I cannot speak your name for

Lack of a translation.

Where am I but nowhere.

Who am I but no one.

Night is always; always is night.

I cling to the wall of night

With no release and no joy,

Not even you in your garden

Are ready to know me this way.

Not even lightning knows my name,

For it is a mere flicker to my rage.

I am blind in this abyss, stumbling

To find a guest in this forlorn place,

To find a slice of dawn in endless night, where

I am but a mortar to shadows

As you slumber in your garden.

 

Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

poetry and image (my garden)

IMG_0845