Never Fully

Golden Orb so slowly burned out,
descended beyond all trace,
save for its selfless beacon beam
upon Waxing Crescent’s face

who, in turn, invited every star
with unknown name
to share the stage
for the benefit,
Hope’s Grace,

admission for all, free,
no matter the creed;
for me, I believe
the Creator of space
so lovingly handmade
a place where the light
never fully recedes,
personally for you
and for me.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

I Watch the Squirrels

I watch the squirrels
during page breaks
as the last
of day’s colors
follow the sun,
so subtly
slink away,

in silhouette now,
shockingly high in the pines,
three frolicking,
distracting me
from pains
and story line.

The scurrying subsides
as the chorus begins,
unified insects
and amphibians.

Another blood-thirsty buzz
in my ear,
but I’m mid poem
and the stars
are getting ready
to appear.

Excited for the evening chill
upon my Southern bare feet,
I hold my modest wine
to the laptop light
to check before I drink,

pajama bottoms on,
chair always reclined,
looking up,
obsessed with sky
and the divine.

Sunset, twilight,
stars, moon:
the only Friday-Night Lights
that can amuse this recluse.