Immersing in Moments

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

Breaking Chains

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. 

Gossamer Bridges

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

Gossamer Bridge

Coffee With Emily

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

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.