Hammock

I gently lay
my heart to rest
upon a sea-oat-
suspended hammock

and let my Maker
tenderly sway
through the breeze
my cradled malaise,

and after this dose
of soaking wounds in warm gold,
I’ll convert this sling
to sail boat…

Torches

Raindrops at rest,
blown glass upon glass,
aglow from a torch on the lawn
and in my chest,

I willfully enter
the abstract enchantment,
slow dance
with the gentle benevolence,
in and out of the past and present,
flickers as glimpses
of truths, dreams,
and premonitions,
possible directions,

barefoot in the wet,
around the fire,
awake in the trance
of extinguishment and desire.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Reverie

These illusions and pitfalls along the way
in which my heart, so sure, unveils to stay
only to have to again prove my strength,
revive the beat from buried and scathed,

I hope again are changing
to sojourns not so painful.

In the aftermaths and in-betweens,
the shrapnel in me remains indelibly inked
and paroxysmally bleeds,
keeps me still from seeing
any heavenly reasoning.

Still, I must keep faithfully believing
in His thaumaturgic design of feelings,
love and all my deaths
in the pursuit of requitedness.

Again, I am clinging
as a raindrop to a moment inevitably fleeting.

Covenant

Single glistening gossamer thread
catching and releasing rays with wind,
perhaps a bridge
between the yellow and white
wildflowers aglow with golden morning light.

I sit transfixed
by its intermittent existence…

Shadows have yet to be filled in
by Sun still half in bed,
and my ataractic trance
is interrupted by silhouettes:

two “mourning” doves,
omen of good fortune in love

or celestial messengers
like yesterday’s hummingbird
letting me know He’s been present all along,
and this is the amaranthine after-(last)storm calm.

Origin

Sometimes miracles happen
in one downpour
of the heavens,
and sometimes it may be
we need to learn
that last lesson…

Tucked within,
regardless,
I have come to believe,
are the nudges and nuggets
that to the origin
of our Created selves
lead and rebirthe
free.

I Let It

I let a patch grow unmowed
to organically re-sprout
in my soul.
I leave it all out of focus,
for clarity comes
most gently
in the abstract
of moments…

Dewdrops

Early morning dewdrops
twinkle as optical stars
in a galaxy dirt-hovering,
kissing blades and wildflowers.

Poem and images ©LDBS

Little Pieces

little pieces
of sunny
reach up from
buried,
inhale,
and ignite,

reminding me
I can too,
one breath,
one ray,
at a time

Softer

I don’t mean to be ungrateful
or a first-bloom scrooge,
thankful I am for the widespread
fuchsia-imbued mood,

but purple in my pinks
are spills to me
and not enough to undam
the purity

my soul longs
to reunite with –
light brushkissing
glossed lips

white-to-white,
blush-to-blush,
never bold,
never rushed,

so I look
for those softest of hues,
the whispers
in the glare
of azalea jewels.

First Chords

In the dark,
as a harbinger
of horizon’s light:
the herald’s song,
solo bird’s
opening line.

What hope floats
through my open window
to remind:
courage upon blindness
most often rides.

In the lightening mist
before the sun arrives,
the first chords inspire
the chorus to rise…