Poet. Writer. Photographer.
Later, soon, tomorrow…
always risky
putting off
what the heart
longs to sing,
to say…
our lights, eternal,
but earthtime measured
in sand and dust
and strings Atropos cuts,
footprints tide-washed away.
So let’s stop
and sit awhile,
my friend.
How have you been?
Kettle whistles,
Columbian grounds,
deep sofa,
phones down.
Let’s wrap ourselves
in the comfort
of the softest colors
of love,
quilting our story.
Let’s stay too long.
Poem and image ©LauraDenise
When the hurt floods in
and your traumas
drain your green
and starve to death
your newly-sprouted dream,
when the cobwebs reappear
and re-chain you
to faulty self-beliefs,
when you bow your head
and turn with shame from me,
know that I
will always remain
to break the cycle
of love leaving you again.
I will lend my green
and yellow and light,
and whisper that I love you
still and more and despite
like you have done for me
in this beautiful, mutual growing
of self-love.
Just when I am about
to touch the peace,
the Soul of Serenity
seems to each time tease,
its soft light and floral scent
dissipating into floating ripples
until it again becomes another
path of reverie revealed.
But I am getting weary.
Let me hold you, dear
Soul of Serenity.
Dome us in this
place of paradise;
turn the rest to ripples
kept in limbo
for a while.
©LauraDenise
Beside them the birds of the heavens dwell; they sing among the branches.
Psalm 104:12
Emerging from tepals,
I simply listen
to the birds’
morning songs
before the wakening
and bustle
of the world
in which we both
belong,
before the sun itself
beats its rays down;
thank you, Lord,
for the gradual
transitions
and living Psalms.
Poem and image ©LauraDenise
jolted awake
rare nightmare
of him
abusing me
it is dark
with my eyes open
i reach
for a hand-
held
screen
but there is
no one
there
i wait
for my body
to recover
and turn
to poetry
and on the roll
macro magnolia
photography
i think
i’ll crawl
right into
a tepal
and let
myself be tenderly held
awhile
Poem and image ©LauraDenise
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.
Walt Whitman
I spend time and thread
reaching out for
places to land,
and sometimes I do,
but then I feel the wind
signaling again
that the respite is but transitory,
and I am not even
the spider
but a phoenix
whose wings have singed
over centuries
beyond this dimension
as I eternally morph
evanescently,
reaching out
for a home
for me.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45473/a-noiseless-patient-spider
If hope is “the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul”
and never stops singing,
even in the storms,
then faith is knowing
the branch will never break,
that no matter the opposing forces,
the twig will remain,
no what ifs
or backup plans
just in case:
the twig will remain
for hope’s unwavering
refrain,
for even if hope
has the wings to withstand,
all things with feathers
need a place
to land.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/42889/hope-is-the-thing-with-feathers-314
Poem and image ©LauraDenise (Quoted line by Emily Dickinson)
Perhaps the storms
are simply meant
to rouse our inner
empowerment,
faraway rumbles
culminating
into the now,
waking from hibernation
the reminder
of the how,
for fate is passive
sitting ducks,
and destiny
the arms
in the winds
resurrecting
the self up,
believing in the achieving
part of dreams,
rousing the soul
to with that single bird,
despite the conditions,
sing.
I dance in the rain,
and the bird
wishes it
were me;
we chat about exchanging
wings and feet
but decide each are intentionally
meant to propel,
and here we are together
celebrating freedom
from cage and cell.
or maybe
a heart
and dream
simply
complexly
ebb and flow
into a
de s t i n y
Poem and image ©LauraDenise
rarest of blooms
most healing petals
soft-celestial light
floating soul-candle
eventually extinguished
by the river
no hand
would chance
getting burned
~L.D.
Laura Denise 