Rainbow From the Hose

Rainbow from the hose,

thank you for appearing;

I need you

to reassure me

that these dreams

I keep secret

in my heart

are worth keeping,

that they will come true

if I do my part

and never stop

believing

there is a pot of gold

out there

meant for me.

Drops Upon

One drop, two drops,

splash upon the pond–

ripples from each center

spread across.

More drops fall

to form a shower;

in a sky-cascade show,

spring clouds spill over.

An aquatic orchestra rises

and rinses my thoughts;

I reach for the rain

and never dry it off.

Letters in the Breeze

The rain reveals

the colors of me, the gentle sun

dries the drops from my wings, as I collect

letters in the breeze and string them

together on recycled webs like

a garland of dreams…

these words,

so sweet-smelling,

freshly picked bouquets

I then disperse like

confetti rain

confettirainED

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Drawn to Both

I am drawn to both

nature’s most grandiose of displays

on oversized canvases

in the most splendid color-arrays

and

the most exquisite of details

etched in such things as

the wings of insects

or the beauty of silence

in a still, pensive creature

basking like me

in that unfiltered

mixture of watercolors

spanning the vast heavens

above us.

Some days, I am that sunrise.

Some days, I am that insect.

All days, I feel blessed

to be celestially cradled

by such a loving

Mother Nature.

Unedited Sunrise
Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Sand Globe

In my palm,

I hold the sand globe,

dream potential

softly aglow,

somehow, in this moment

scaled down to possible.

Palm tree silhouettes

sway in the breeze

whispering of a future

within my reach

full of the things

that bring me

authentic peace.

In my palm,

I hold the sand globe,

and it refills my soul

with a patient knowing

that replaces

lost hope.

Poem and image @LauraDenise

Lily-Pad Dreams

Lily pads spark

childhood delight,

call up frogs

and dragonflies

and sprites;

cross the bridge

and leave the mundane behind,

big roots spring up

from the aquatic deep

from where mythical creatures

sometimes surface for a peek,

but perhaps the most enchanting part

is the beauty that floats

on top of the dark,

never drowns,

always stays green

and supports

its crowned queens:

snow white and golden

blooms of hope and peace.

The bad never trespasses

on such a garden

hovering, rising,

on hydrogen

and oxygen.

This place is the safest,

so ancient yet ever new,

nourished by memories

of the naivety

of youth,

encompassing millenniums

of braids and bugs,

overalls and dirt

and bare feet,

and on lily pad boats,

a million fantasies

and dreams

set out to sea…

Words and images ©LauraDenise

Beyond the Gate

My heart is heavy,

like the gate

I pull open

to escape

into nature–

my secret garden

I’ve never explored before

today…

the seasons of my heart

seem to pass gradually…

the past—vines, lines

tracing my history…

the future—frosted, magical, snow-kissed

berries, whimsical fantasies…

the now—fresh greens and seeds

blossoming, into what?

the shapes and colors not yet

revealed but definitely

near…

my heart

lightens, its burdens

blow into the sun

from the soft breezes,

my youth emerges…

takes the hand of my

urgency,

and my gait

slows, sways,

a spring in my step

replaces the treading,

leaden dreading,

my feet free themselves

from the cages

of their tightly-laced

sneakers…

I am in pigtails again,

dipping feet

into the creek,

so clear…

the water washes

the dirt,

and I emerge

with a heart

so light

and pure.

Poem and all images
©LauraDenise

Rising Bloom

Self-forgiveness

is the pure and delicate bloom

that once again opens

after the storm,

after the battering

of the downpour

and the damage

from the winds,

after near-drowning

from the relentless rain,

the flower,

head bowed in disgrace

and pain,

summons up the strength

to peek its petal open,

wondering if the sun

has gone

forever,

but a ray

makes its way

to flower’s cheek,

dries the drops

and warms

the air,

giving flower the courage

to raise her head,

and sun and flower

make amends,

leading flower to forgive

herself,

and a fresh new day

begins.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Swing of Possibilities

Little girl

spinning,

squealing,

dizzy

with glee,

pigtails and innocence

and laughter

flying

in the breeze…

Young lady

in love

being pushed

romantically,

a shy smile

and stolen glance

noticed by tree

and he

as swing’s momentum

slows

and romance

quickens,

first kiss

approaching;

oh, the

anticipation…

Elderly widow

sits still

on the suspended plank

swaying in and out of

memories,

cold hands rubbing

the rough

ropes and scars,

but he only feels

her soft hair

in his dream…

The swing starts

to sway,

though the bitter winds

have not changed.

He does not see

but from far away,

you can make out

her ghostly figure

giving him a push

back into happiness,

as he swears he hears

her voice

laughing in chorus

with the breeze and

the leaves,

bringing eternal spring…

Imperfect

Imperfect, marred flower,

should I pass you by,

look for another

more worthy of this

camera’s eye?

Technically, you are not even

whole,

a story you withhold

would fill in the gap,

but literally, physically,

that part will never grow back.

I wonder if this missing piece

was selflessly given

or tragically taken,

a sudden explosion

or slow disintegration.

I wonder if you are marred

inside,

if you have hollow spaces,

pain,

you hide.

Does the breeze bring

the sting of hurtful whispers,

the sun reflect the sneers,

from the others?

I respect your tenacity;

no evidence of giving up.

I admire your self-love,

the way you hold yourself up,

head high,

boldly,

challengingly,

despite it,

despite them,

spite-free.

Your colors seem brighter

than the rest,

your uniqueness intrigues me,

so much more is your

less.

All of those others

deemed so pretty

blend together in a spectacular sea

of sameness.

I passed by them all,

their pictures I did not take.

You are the only one

who drew me near,

not by mistake.

You are the one

who filled the lens,

and my thoughts,

and my pen,

caught me

forever

with your

imperfect

perfection.