Poet. Writer. Photographer.
Empty nest
discourages sadness,
too beautifully woven
with flowered wild grasses,
nostalgic strands of the past
leave the heart
to imagination,
a reminder that love remains
behind in every season,
as well as the next:
from eggs come wings
to independence
to touch for oneself
the clouds’ edges.
Home, they say,
is where the heart is,
and a part of my heart
flies with you and will
beyond this world’s
and life’s limitations…
Poem and images ©LauraDenise
Whirlwinds, whirlpools,
whirl me, no blackholes,
just the pulls and pushes
of the world;
when will I be able again
to simply be
still?
My soul needs the refuge
of trickles,
the focus on the ridges
of ripples.
Throw me not around;
throw a pebble
to the pond
for my gaze to sail upon
to where the circle runs
out…
Just give me a moment
and I’ll give you again
all of me,
all of my
love.
Poem and image ©LauraDenise
Seasons about,
seasons within,
seasons of life,
seasons begin.
All seasons end.
This brings about what pleases
and that which disappoints,
that which shatters
and that which fills with joy,
but who are we to judge
what’s in our best interest
from our non-omniscient,
limited perspective?
Who is the narrator?
Who is the character?
Who is the author?
Who will read it
in the end?
Dusty cover,
spring breeze,
dust to dust,
seasons never cease.
I resist the gales of change
even though I’ve grown wings;
sometimes our comfy cocoons
are stirred on purpose
by the leaf.
Premature nostalgia
begins to take hold;
I try to focus on the excitement
of what He has in store.
Seasons never cease.
“Nothing gold can stay,”
but it returns so loyally,
and in its absence regrows
faith.
I will harvest the gold
in the center
as the petals unfurl,
life within life…
keeping or returning to
the purity and light,
I believe,
is the eternal goal.
Poem and image ©LauraDenise
I am fueled by storms
and coastal wind
as I raise my arms to each
and channel them
until empowerment rises
boldly from within…
But it is in the still
and minute,
in the soft scent
of beautiful,
in the trust of subtle,
the barely discernible,
that I feel the forgotten
soothed,
those buried-alive
non-truths;
the golden elixir single ray
finding the torn petal
coats in those places
I am not able to ever reach
on my own.
Up close and personal
is the only way I know
to heal my heart,
to feed my soul,
and that, I believe,
is the path that leads
home.
Poem and images ©LauraDenise
Across the street from the ocean,
I reside,
at my everyday disposal
are the almighty tides,
the aquahorizon
with no opposite end
that blends with the sky,
no greater reminder
of the bigger picture
beyond this life,
and it does indeed
soul-energize,
but I’ve always known
the humility
of how insignificant we are:
I seek instead
the intimate inner warmth
I find crouched among
the non-garden flowers
inspecting the finest details
neglected and trodden,
and through my lens and art,
I depict how they feed
my heart,
shared roots and seeds
organically free
yet universally tied,
turning our faces
peacefully
to the shared light,
the Higher Power
who sculpted us both, all,
with intention and without
society-judged flaws,
precision in individuality,
every living piece
lovingly kneaded,
and when the rays
find and kiss petals,
this is the beauty
that stills me
breathless,
to see in crafted detail
the miracles of His Creation
and how love was meant
to prevail in every season.
Poem and images ©LauraDenise
The sky is not
the limit
but the start;
the sun
never sets,
just lends
its rays west
and the stage
to the stars.
Wildflowers cannot
be weeded if
they sprout
from the heart;
you cannot stop mine
from rising beyond
the highest heights
of love.
Full moon
still hides
parts of itself
from view.
Wildflowers
don’t always feel
like opening
up to bloom.
Not all
birdsongs
can be
cheerful tunes.
Stars may not
get to every
wish they accrue.
Some days
the water
vapor is unable
to make itself
cloud-plumes.
Seasons
of the heart
insist a sunny poet
take a respite
in the shade,
but earth shifts
and turns
and always brings
another new day.
Poem and images ©LauraDenise
Let me be as wild
as a flower
sprouted from a seed
who bravely let go
of the breeze
to be free,
self-planting where
she pleased,
a blooming,
finally-realized
dream.
(I don’t have the photo yet…)
City bound,
experienced, birthed
in the bustle,
though now it binds
as my heart pines
for the last stretch
of passed pastoral…
before the SunPass,
in a time before tolls,
passing the tractor
and grazing cattle.
I count down the days
until I can back-peddle
to the split-rail fences,
and enter through the rickety gate
to my soul’s haven.
Take me away and back
and leave me there;
come ’round to call
every now and then.
Open road gently unfolds,
morning stretches
between sheets of grandiose.
In excited anticipation,
my heart leaps up at every curve
as the sun rises in all its glory
and slowly churns
hues so bold and beautiful,
highlighting the rolling hills
of clouds –– windows down,
hair blown, coffee in hand,
and hours to go.
I will never mind an open road,
man-laid black carpet
leading into the natural horizon
beneath God’s effulgent throne.
Poem and image ©LauraDenise
Laura Denise 