Poet. Writer. Photographer.
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.
Beside them the birds of the heavens dwell; they sing among the branches.
Psalm 104:12
Emerging from tepals,
I simply listen
to the birds’
morning songs
before the wakening
and bustle
of the world
in which we both
belong,
before the sun itself
beats its rays down;
thank you, Lord,
for the gradual
transitions
and living Psalms.
Poem and image ©LauraDenise
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.
One by one,
I pluck the thorns
barbed-wiring my heart in;
obstacle after obstacle
I surmount to prove
that love
will win.
Naturally, the plucks
unclog also the ducts
that keep the dammed rain
bayed,
but that doesn’t mean
the salt will wilt
the bloom who’s too far
on its way….
Poem and images ©LauraDenise
feelings sometimes
are like rain –
upon oil
spilled
on asphalt –
when it puddles,
smearing and swirling
in indistinct abstract
fallen rainbows
Perhaps true love is not
long-lost soulmates reunited
or two hearts shaped
puzzle-piece- or locket-and-key-like;
perhaps it’s not just one
but any two who
can fit just right
if each only trades in
fears for freedom
to rise as shared light,
and in that lift,
opposite of fall,
that is when hearts
are melted and forged
into the fitting pieces
or key and lock
to open the chest
and remember
what is love,
and what if love’s touch is not
a lightning spark but the hearth
that holds the flame’s warmth
long into the darkest hours,
or the faithful embers
staying aglow
for the return of air
to ignite the soul.
I am still faithfully following
petals as paths
with my soul’s whispered directions
to where you are at,
the one to reciprocate
all this love I have,
and along the way,
I’ve grown to love
the way
I am.
Poem and images ©LauraDenise
Storm damage,
barriers broken,
dirty, yellow sickness,
weathering construction;
sky lights,
greening branches,
reach to pull through window
perspective victim.
Poem and image ©LauraDenise
Overbloomed, drooped,
raised head falls
into yesterday’s tears
pooled.
Waiting, weighted,
to regroup.
Have faith.
Whether or not
growing gets blocked
at the top and the
root.
The Gardener
has no flesh
to wear gloves,
but His hands
will cup and lift
to transplant
with love.
Poem and image ©LauraDenise
Injury to the heart
forever alters the beat:
weeping wounds, scar tissue,
yet a chamber still
sings…
Words and image ©LauraDenise
Laura Denise 