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

Bloom

Bloom

as I take root on this plane

may I receive the healing light of

all that is divine

may heaven meet earth

through me to transmute

the crusted fear that traps me

in brambles

may I grow my destiny

without ego mind

may I fully trust the divine order

that teaches only love

may I grow in love

may I be love

may the divine light

unfurl my blossoming heart

in this splendid garden

the Gardener knows the art and seasons

how to plant

how to nourish

how to harvest

I am but one glorious bloom

with no skills in tending the soil

my place in this garden is small

my view is limited to

my small leaves

reaching for the sun

yet I trust in the Gardener and Gaia

to bloom my bouquet

to bloom my love

©2018 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Image: “Bloom” digital art ©2018 Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

Image Wording: Shannon Hensley

Audio · Healing · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

A Message From the Nightingale

Here is the complete poem and audio based on yesterday’s post.

A Message from the Nightingale

 

At times, it seems I wander alone in pain,

Friendless, except for the wounds, so

I seek a guardian for fortitude and healing

From a realm of unseen glory.

 

The nightingale sings that

The gate’s not closed.

Your prayers are heard

Along the songlines

In the Great Garden,

Exploding into spectrums of light.

Surrender to calm.

Your guardian is here, for

Your prayers are keys to her abode.

The gate’s not closed.

It is your heart.

 

©Barbara Harris Leonhard@extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

YouTube link to Nighingale Songs: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NK2_bcQcoD4&t=611s

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

84EDBF4C-745F-4FB9-8EBD-955DCBD850BA

 

Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

By Your Power, Death

By Your Power, Death

 

I shall not ridicule you, Death.

A vulture on prey,

You have plucked the last stale leaf

From the tree of age ended.

The sun melts now

In your liquid waves of fire.

And your bleak mist on hazy hills

Smothers the bent birch,

From which you built your vessel of doom.

 

I see the gull:

His body, dismantled and gray;

His wings, unsoaring and broken.

My heart lies crushed in the sand,

Where I weep unnoticed,

For I am the last to feel your kiss,

The last to enter your gate of cold iron.

 

By your power, Death,

I dare not ridicule you.

 

Copyright ©2018/03/28 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

 

Image: “Death’s Power” Digital Art ©Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

Audio · My Mother · Poem · Poetry

New Audio: Three Pennies

She was neither here nor there

In debate in another tongue

Tearing out the IVs

With savage, no more of this.

 

The soul does not just leave;

It wanders through the veil

And retreats,

From one home to another.

As though waiting for new sheets

Not yet pressed.

The vase of flowers,

Being arranged.

 

She was neither here nor there

Where are you, Mom?

You’re picking flowers and

Reaching for delicate things.

And placing them peacefully to rest

Next to you: These little treasures.

 

Do you see Dad?

No, why do you ask.

Do you see the light?

Silence.

 

The soul does not just leave;

It wanders.

It leaves three shiny pennies

Lined in a perfect row

On hot pavement between two cars

For me to see,

Knowing that She would have picked up

Those little treasures.

But not I: She knew that I would resist

But understand the message.

Her final departure: The Third.

 

Copyright© 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: http://sci.rutgers.edu/forum/showthread.php?102361-Galton-s-Paradox-What-is-the-probability-that-three-coins-will-show-the-same-side\

three pennies

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Audio · My Mother · Poem · Poetry

New Audio: I Sometimes Feel Her

I sometimes feel her pressing on my right side.

Why the right? She lingers there.

She leaves me pennies

That appear out of nowhere

When I’ve earned an angel wing.

 

I dreaded her birthday, the first

Since she left.

No cake or cards, no gifts.

Coming up… memories of her end of days.

That call.

 

Her body fighting her,

We watched.

We rallied for her,

Held her close,

Fed her,

Combed her hair.

 

Gregorian chants

Took her in and out of her life.

She spoke the language of angels.

How they argued,

Divine negotiation with intonation

And syllables.

Her voice wasn’t hers at all.

Is this how it goes?

 

And terror gripped her as she faced

The indescribable,

Pushing it away with such force,

We thought

This is it.

Debate and battle gave way more ultimately

To stillness and surrender.

 

Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: My Mother

IMG_0752

 

 

Audio · My Mother · Poem · Poetry

I Sometimes Feel Her

I sometimes feel her pressing on my right side.

Why the right? She lingers there.

She leaves me pennies

That appear out of nowhere

When I’ve earned an angel wing.

 

I dreaded her birthday, the first

Since she left.

No cake or cards, no gifts.

Coming up… memories of her end of days.

That call.

 

Her body fighting her,

We watched.

We rallied for her,

Held her close,

Fed her,

Combed her hair.

 

Gregorian chants

Took her in and out of her life.

She spoke the language of angels.

How they argued,

Divine negotiation with intonation

And syllables.

Her voice wasn’t hers at all.

Is this how it goes?

 

And terror gripped her as she faced

The indescribable,

Pushing it away with such force,

We thought

This is it.

Debate and battle gave way more ultimately

To stillness and surrender.

 

Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: My Mother

IMG_0752

 

 

Audio · My Mother · Poem · Poetry

Three Pennies

She was neither here nor there

In debate in another tongue

Tearing out the IVs

With savage, no more of this.

 

The soul does not just leave;

It wanders through the veil

And retreats,

From one home to another.

As though waiting for new sheets

Not yet pressed.

The vase of flowers,

Being arranged.

 

She was neither here nor there

Where are you, Mom?

You’re picking flowers and

Reaching for delicate things.

And placing them peacefully to rest

Next to you: These little treasures.

 

Do you see Dad?

No, why do you ask.

Do you see the light?

Silence.

 

The soul does not just leave;

It wanders.

It leaves three shiny pennies

Lined in a perfect row

On hot pavement between two cars

For me to see,

Knowing that She would have picked up

Those little treasures.

But not I: She knew that I would resist

But understand the message.

Her final departure: The Third.

 

Copyright© 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: http://sci.rutgers.edu/forum/showthread.php?102361-Galton-s-Paradox-What-is-the-probability-that-three-coins-will-show-the-same-side\

three pennies