Between Brick Walls

Between brick walls,
faux stars:
still the magic
makes my dreams
flutter
in my heart.

Above the lights,
the universe:
I imagine lanterns,
launched with whispered
verse.

Moon-Chaser

moon-chasing
as stars ignite
and the orb shrinks
commencing night

lone lady on boardwalk
two boats in the water
all become still
in silent homage

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Out

Like when I was a child
looking at the ceilings
upside down,

I still invert what’s above
to challenge the limits
of ground and touch.

Now I’m venturing
beyond the sky,
following the path
of clouds…

I wonder if I’ve always been searching
for a way
out.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Soar

When the world is silhouette
in the darkness of new day,
and The Maker begins to add
the first colors of paint,

beginning with the sky
and blending into the sea,
as each ripple begins rippling
and the seabirds spread their wings,

my heart awaits the bristles
upon the lonely shore,
always hoping He’ll add wings
so my love can finally soar.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

In Gold And Green

Fireworks burst
in gold and green
in November
beside the sea:
Morning’s first rays
reaching Palm’s leaves,
requited love
reuniting.

Barren bay-bridge
connects like a hammock
two trunks of trees,
so I sway awhile
in the soulful respite
of Peace’s breeze.

At The Trestle

Navigating rapids,
being battered by waves,
flailing in riptides:
for decades, the assay.

Perhaps that’s why
these ripples and reflections
call to me now
to make amends.

I let my soul be stroked
with the bristles
coating with liquid layers
in redemption, baptismal:

acquittal.

A sibyl
reinstated.

Something about this river
brings back the scribbles
on my slate.

I linger
at the trestle bridge,
toes across inverted sky, skim.
I know it is a portal
to where I have been.

I chant the rising words
to be let
in…

Meanderings

In the absence of trail markers,
I find they were always there;
He’s seen where I’m headed
and steers me with care.

An arrow in morning-glory gold
and silhouetted wings
once again lead me
solo into the sunrise
in my homebound
meanderings…

His Ray

Dawn gently stirs
to find her,
single wildflower.

In his softest warmth
extended,
she slowly rises,
highlighted,

and across the shadow line
sends her cheer
to the fallen,

who, in turn,
becomes one
with the earth.

“Right behind you,”
she comfortingly whispers,

as a sea bird
breaks the ray,
or was it Sun
blinking his tear
away?

Different Rays

The sunrises are always mine,
the only ego I condone;
not only do my bones and soul
need to behold them alone,

I do believe the diurnal gift
for each witness is tailored,
different rays crafted
by Divinity’s fingers
and personally delivered,

and sometimes meant
to be received twice,
once live and another
to lift from within
when the timing is later
for an even greater purpose
right.

It resurrected again
today at three to remind
that it was always meant to be
mine.

Suffice

Artificial light
will suffice
when I employ
on quiet walks
my creative devices
to make art
during heart-
survival crises

until it all naturally passes,
as all weather is designed to do;
I need to do better with storm preparations,
though He always sees ahead and sees me
through.

Tonight, to distract
with creative play,
I replace and extend
a stem with manmade

until the flower becomes a tower,
and then I ignite the beacon,
and let the moon console
a lonely orb romantic-dreaming.

I do these magnificent things
not only to take focus away from the pain
but because it gives me the control and power
as an abuse-survivor to manipulate
in a positive way.

I do it for you, but really and also
for me, selfishly,
but if you and I both need it,
how comforting it then becomes for us
to become “we.”

You’ve been here too,
I know, as I have been there,
not these same tracks
but in the aches that echo,
shared.