Oppressiveby:Barbara Harris heat and haze and cloudful gray weigh me down. Gone at last, swept clean, cleared out, all that stuff he cared about. I'm glad... and yet a sadness sits, full leaden weight, an eerie empty strangeness. What is it? Tears join raindrops, fall in tandem. It's not about missing what was, (never, no, awful was!) but what might have been. Barbara Harris |
Wingsby:Barbara Harris My inner child, my fledgling soul, without her light I'd not be whole. I'd still be stuck in a cold dark place, miles apart from the human race. She paints rainbows on cloudgrayblue, teaches me songs to sing to you, frolics in mist with a butterfly, then laughs so hard she makes me cry. Once she took off on a dragon's tail and came back late with a golden scale. She strung that scale on silver yarn, then wove us a magical unicorn. The unicorn had, in his horn of gold, a hoard of tales as yet untold... as many tales as tomorrows are, when a winged child swings you on her star. Barbara Harris |
BIO: Barbara HarrisBarbara Harris was born and raised in Rhode Island, spent the next twenty-plus years traveling the United States with her career Navy husband, and now resides in Connecticut. She has her own small business designing and crafting jewelry, using predominantly gemstone and antique beads. She feels that stringing beads and stringing words have a lot of similarities. The possibilities for recombining elements are endless. Her work has been published at the "Poeticus Furor Cafe" and in the Autumn 1997 issue of "Disclosures" on the internet, and in the newsletter "Intimate Thoughts" in Chicago.TCZJ32B@Prodigy.com |
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