©Barbara Harris Leonhard@extraordinarysunshineweaver.com
©Barbara Harris Leonhard@extraordinarysunshineweaver.com
Sitting at the altar waiting for poems,
Random thoughts; fleeting clouds,
Images reflecting on the mirror of the soul,
Words perched on limbs of inspired trees
Take flight as snow kicks up from breeze.
May they stay; their song, my meter!
Ice freezes their tunes in the thin air of the breath.
Limbs crack in frost under tired sun.
Stillness is ice burning the skin.
The mind is numb till spring thaw.
The altar beckons; the soul fights sleep
In sheer white light,
Where I wander, seeking novas
Streaming prayers into birth.
Copyright © 2018/01/16 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com
Image: “Life from Fire” Digital Art ©Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog
The Garden of Thoughts
The garden of thoughts planted in spring
Still struggles if not managed.
Seeds bearing the fruit of life in shade and sun,
Nurturing bees and monarchs, can become
Tangled with weeds and eaten by blight.
Thoughts sustained by dew and noon rains
Can be forgotten and neglected by autumn light as
Thoughts blooming and stretching for sun
Can shrivel, scorched by drought in time
If the gardener takes leave
Of the rake, spade, and bucket, or
Lacks the wisdom of soils and seedlings.
Too much sun is unkind to bleeding heart.
If left in the field, pumpkins rot.
Honeysuckle makes a home in the untended mind.
Hostas thrive if transplanted but
Shred to decay if neglected.
Bees can’t thrive on blight.
Though seasons change,
The garden can still be tended by the earth and
Made ready for the next planting
If tilled and nurtured properly.
The gardener’s harvest can be of bounty and bliss
Or mindless bramble
In his garden of thoughts.
Copyright© September 7, 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard
Image: Pixabay
Words are thoughts with power.
Some are sabertoothed, ready to slash.
Knives, armed with disdain and fear,
Splitting the air.
Daggers, speeding through quantum time
And entanglement
To hit their mark.
Curses carried by sound,
Looking benign, hidden in lies and insults,
Swaddled as gossip.
Small talk can be deadly curses
Launched to mock, trick, mislead, judge, diminish,
Criticize, bully, scorn, betray, annihilate.
Without concern for karmic and
Akashic significance.
There are no secrets;
All is known to Source.
Cursed words are souls that
Will meet their day in court.
Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard
Image: Pixabay.com