Audio · Healing · My Mother · Phoebe, MD: Medicine + Poetry · Podcasts · Poem · Poetry · Poetry: The Memoir of the Soul

Grace

This poem is included in an article I wrote for Phoebe, MD: Medicine + Poetry (https://phoebemd.com/2020/03/21/grief-healing-through-poetry/).

The article is based on my poetry podcast Grief: Fire and Ice (https://meelosmom.podbean.com/e/grief-fire-and-ice/).

Grace

the leaves have fallen and stomped to dust

I am laid bare, exposed to wind

my limbs, brittle, still pleading

for a meal of sun

some days too short for food

nests lay bare as squirrels forage

the wind cools me to my roots

I am glass

holding on to my reflections

lest they be lost to twilight

Grace clothes me in a gown

meant for a bride embracing her heart

this pure finery sparkles as diamonds

on my icy bough

I rest with the Angel of Mercy

 

©2019 Barbara Harris Leonhard

extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

meelosmom@podbean.com (Poetry: The Memoir of the Soul)

Image: my yard

 

Ekphrastic Poetry · Poem · Poetry

River Grass at Summer’s End

Seedlings in spring,

tall grasses in summer sun,

we scan life on the lapping currents

at our river’s edge.

 

Clinging to trees, cicadas call out an endless shrill.

Water striders mate and die. Widow Skimmers dance

on the waves. A turtle basks on a dead limb

caught in a root wad along our bank. An eagle keeps watch

from a lofty sycamore perch.

 

Clouds darken the face of the sun. A kayak floats

downstream in shadows. A warm gust lifts and sways us

on the shore, and we wave at the paddler drifting by.

 

The paddler succumbs to rain. The wind stirs wakes as

an Asian Carp pounds into the boat. The beaver

makes it to shore first in the storm. The river bank is

summer’s bed of sand at our roots.

 

In the bluster of early autumn, we bear our seeds at water’s edge.

They scatter like startled bees in the falling light.

Our ravaged arms reach for the falling light at dusk.

The glassy river reflects our age as colors fade.

Our stems bend, thirsty for noon.

 

This Poem is a revision of “Summer’s End”, which I put up on August 31, 2019.

 

©Barbara Harris Leonhard, extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Image: “Sunset on Missouri River” ©Dierik Leonhard

 

Ekphrastic Poetry · Poem · Poetry

Summer’s End

From seedlings in spring to tall grasses in summer sun, we stand, scanning the lapping currents from our spot.

Clinging to trees, cicadas call out an endless shrill.

Water bugs mate and die while widow skimmers dance on the waves in bright light.

A turtle basks on a dead limb that’s caught in a root wad along the bank.

Your kayak floats downstream in our shadows.

As an eagle keeps watch from a lofty sycamore perch, a warm gust lifts and sways us on the shore, and we seem to wave as you pass by.

Your evening ride succumbs to rain.

The wind stirs up wakes for you to command as an Asian carp pounds into your boat.

The beaver makes it to shore before you in the storm.

The river bank is summer’s bed of sand, where you seek refuge.

In the bluster, we bear our seeds at water’s edge. They scatter like tiny, startled bees.

Our ravaged arms reach for the falling light at dusk.

The glassy river reflects our age as our colors fade.

Our stems bend as though thirsty for noon.

I revised this poem. The new version is ‘River Grass at Summer’s End’, which I put up in November 2019.

 

©Barbara Harris Leonhard, extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Image “Sunset on the Missouri River” ©Dierik Leonhard

 

 

 

Audio · Healing · My Mother · Phoebe, MD: Medicine + Poetry · Podcasts · Poem · Poetry

Grace


This poem is included in an article I wrote for Phoebe, MD: Medicine + Poetry (https://phoebemd.com/2020/03/21/grief-healing-through-poetry/). The article is based on my poetry podcast Grief: Fire and Ice (https://meelosmom.podbean.com/e/grief-fire-and-ice/).

Grace

the leaves have fallen and stomped to dust

I am laid bare, exposed to wind

my limbs, brittle, still pleading

for a meal of sun

some days too short for food

nests lay bare as squirrels forage

the wind cools me to my roots

I am glass

holding on to my reflections

lest they be lost to twilight yet

Grace clothes me in a gown

meant for a bride embracing her heart

this pure finery sparkles as diamonds

on my icy bough as

I rest with the Angel of Mercy

 

©2019 Barbara Harris Leonhard

extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

meelosmom@podbean.com (Poetry: The Memoir of the Soul)

Image: my yard

 

Ekphrastic Poetry · Healing · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry · Voices from the Veil

Fall Flurries

Fall Flurries

The autumn bounty

of leaves falling

like rain on summer’s worn garden

mounting into sturdy bundles

as we rake away this harvest

into recreation for children

bounding into the crisp pillows

scattering with joy

the frazzled bits of foliage

into fresh ground for snow and

angels’ wings.

Image result for snow angels

©2018 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

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

snow angel – google image

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

Autumn Song

Autumn Song

When leaves fall, do they cry

As they release their grasp

From Mother’s skirt?

Their lives, soaked in sun and fed by rain.

Their Mother, protective,

Her branches, their home.

How does she feel when her bounty loses grip?

Her children, the glory of her color burst,

Their song to us, their poetry.

Now they bed our paths

In crisp wind play and

Reveal sky, gray with snow.

Autumn is Mother’s heart opening,

Before resting and donning her spring garments

For Easter prayer.

 

Copyright© Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

….an older poem with new art….

Image: Original Digital Art “Autumn Song” ©Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog