Shifting

shifting sands
grains unable to be grasped
slipping through fingers
sieve of my existence
footprints vanishing
in vain trying to leave
an imprint, fingerprints
fossilizing

as I watch
sea drops dry on shells
shells of mankind
displayed non-selves
on shelves

shifting painted shapes
offer to take me away
only to lead to the next
drifting cumulous cloud
lateral when I need
to be higher
homeward bound

shifting sands
I open my hand
spread my fingers wider
I know what the answers
are not
to feel the silk
is to feel
nothing caught
but sensory strokes
the void
in the curve
of my palm
no trail found
to my entrance
into the sea

saltwater can’t sting
when the wounds
are too far beneath
the body’s surface

arms open
I invite
the above in
home-
sick
let me know
I am not

forgotten

Midnight Tea

Spearmint tea,
piano keys,
was asleep,
now slumber freed

to weave sweet, sensual
reveries
as I please,
my own Sandwoman,
no umbrella needed,

to spin these
soon-to-be-s,
realized fantasies
on the brink
of becoming
all the colors
wet from freshly-
painted dreams.

I strip to dip
in the new layers
of possibilities:
this dynamic canvas
of life,
I’ll never
dry freeze.

Next song.
First note.
I’ll close my eyes
and ballroom dance
in keystrokes

out to the terrace
and beyond.
Come, my lover.
We have until
the wakening
of Dawn…

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Two Blades

we reach for the light
we reach for the warmth
of the dawning sun
of any other

when the shadows come
when the ice forms
each part beautiful
naturally born

we reach
in hope
we reach
in need
we gravitate
we discreetly lean

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trying not to show
the desperation
the fear
of becoming
too far frozen

we reach
to feel
the thaw
to reset
in another season

are you the one
to love
me?

Poem and images by Laura Denise

Brushes of Soul

what if i’m a drifter
not meant to float alone
but to feel
to the core
every spirit
i choose to know
in brief encounters
but bare
soul to soul
stripped to the glow

fearless
deep
strokes
of wounds
and hopes

what if my home
is collectively
each

what if I crave
the companionship
of such fleeting
impressions
that layer
like honey –
raw, sweet

sticking
in this amaranthine
slip

what if to be whole
insatiable must be
the need

let’s feed

each other
truths

when it comes
to how are you

let’s feel

let’s prove
nothing
to this world

let’s love
like we are
eternal

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Dimensions

My heart and soul
tire me out,
always frolicking
away and about,

relentless in their
prodding and searching,
no toe-dips,
just all-in swan-diving

into every unknown,
exploring, testing, challenging
the boundaries
of this world,

restless to breach
every deterrence
placed by societal rules
and norms…

So much fear
in potential soulmates
with whom to travel
these magical non-roads.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Dissolving into Grace

Saving grace,
whole heart back
in your arms,
you hold all of me
as me;
I never knew
how non-words
could feel the best route.
Unspoken is our reset,
mutual forgiveness,
moving on
but not leaving
anything unaddressed.
We understand,
silent resolutions,
in the simple language
of love.

Do you mind if I stay
extra near
awhile,
to just exist
in this balance,
a respite
from the drama
of being so much?

Sometimes
(more often than not),
I exhaust
myself
with this wild heart
and wild soul
I house.

Hold me tight, my love.
You are the only one

who can.

Parting Kiss

I must part ways with you now,
dear Darkness;
Light is forlorn
without its Laura,

my aura
is dimming
the further I drift
in this alluring
cradling
away from attempts

of putting forth
the efforts
to swim
back up
toward Bliss:

I still hope,
believe (barely),
that it exists.

A parting kiss…

Yes, I know
that means
I will have to let go,
for now,
of that dream,
but I can keep
the parts
that were seeded,
for weeds
they are not;
I feel it,
in that new spot,
how I can nurture
it into something
beautiful
still…

I will.

I return to the isle
from a distance,
leave a trinket,
so it is known
I’ll always
be near,

no need to desert
every future
possibility.

We will all
someday
see.

Not a Butterfly

Sometimes a heart clings
to a fragment of green
dream as its wings begin
the dying.
I thought it was
a butterfly.

Perhaps butterflies
are dreams reincarnated
in another life,
for those who feared
the letting go
to reach
the height.

Catapults

Internal disposition
of slipping
into loss
of direction,
contingent upon
situation,
origin, intention,
catalyst participation,
leisurely initiated or
punitively inflicted,
meditation or conviction.
Usually welcome
as an introverted creative,
this episodic disillusion
stripping me of all pulls
keeping me rooted
to anything…

The void.

Loss of hearing
among the noise.

Galaxies inside.

Gravity denied.

Lifetimes paused,
unable to decide

anything at all.
Desirous of a

f
a
l
l,

anything to move the air
to revivify my trackable pulse,
the beat of my heart
back on the radar
to be found again,
though I am not

lost.
I’m right here.
The voice,
gone.

Why did I wander
so far
from home?

The fall,
granted:
my return,

a

c
o
m
e
t

flung from
catapult.

This will hurt
us all…

Dust-Covered Heart

The revelation
did not hit
like a ground-scorching
lightning bolt
disappearing theatrically
in a trail of heaven-retreated
smoke…

I simply looked around
in the settling dust
of the storm
I created,
and there you were,
steadfast despite being
injured,

waiting
for me to again
extend
my hand.
You’ve always been there,
the only one
who’s never
left,

despite the mess
I make
in trying
to emerge
from the grave
of my past,

buried alive,
but each time
my wings
open,
the ghosts reach up,
re-clasp.

You never waver
in your belief in me.
I hope this is the last
tentacle severed
to set us both
free.