Poet. Writer. Photographer.
The most profound beauty
is found in the mundane,
outside the gardener’s borders
broken free from the rein;
water from the heavens
that kisses the flesh
produces the sweetest of blossoms
from what umbrella’d belles reject.
The most desired flower
dons not perfect petals;
the most exquisite features
only captivate when held close.
Colors can distract and hide
what lies beneath the surface;
the purest beauty is only bold
when bravely revealing imperfections.
Bare branches adorned with clouds
make tree less bleak, the sky less vast;
puffy, comforting non-down fill in
where leaves have flown the nest.
Barrenness need not feel the wintry sting
even in the coldest seasons;
in another’s soul may soothingly burn
the warmth for the hearth needed.
Sunset strips the day of its colors;
the last drips disappear before drying.
The empty swing hangs still from the tree,
its motion, too, retreats into time.
All the world seems silent, pauses;
all the years universally fossilize.
Only I and the earth subtly shift as
the sun reaches, in gold capsulizes.
An endless wonder is what the outdoors is to me. Even and especially in my own unmanicured backyard.
I am particularly enthralled with finding the tiniest details or peculiarities and presenting them in remarkable ways. Well, as an amateur photographer with no equipment but my not-latest phone and whatever editing apps it came with, my images may not seem remarkable to you, but I suppose that’s what I share with the subjects within my frames.
As another breathtaking sunset burst forth last night, I noticed underfoot, a minute wildflower bloom. I recognized it, have photographed it in previous seasons. I was delighted to see it sprouted up, joining the dandelions, in celebration of the birth of Spring in the South, to respectfully bid the finally-browning leaves of Autumn adieu.
I bent down and got up close, underneath it, and used the magnificent sky merely as a blurred backdrop, making the tiny, delicate petals the center of attention, presenting the barely-discernible weed-flower as the most beautiful bloom of them all.
That’s what I like to do. Showcase what too easily and too often goes unnoticed. I do find I form an attachment to my non-human subjects. The details in the design of Creation mesmerize me, still me, speak to me wordlessly. I am moved deeply by beauty, especially in the meek and gentle. To me, the dismissed and overlooked hold the most powerful magic and secrets; it is what draws me in, causes my soul to strain itself to hear. No whispers, but something gets transmitted. And later, a non-garden lives on, seeded in me, natural and free and discreetly blooming pure beauty.
I am ordinary to passersby,
prefer to go unnoticed.
I am a rare beauty
if I permit you to get closer…
In our mix of seasons overlapping in the American South, I’ve written recently about my fascination of it as an observer, contemplator, photographer, and writer. In revisiting an earlier photographed corner of my yard, I noticed this morning that the last of Autumn is finally giving way to Spring. And of course, I saw the exquisite beauty and story beneath…
I wonder if other souls like mine see the stories I so naturally do, in every detail of nature. If so, I wonder what the commonality is, the soul feature that is so susceptible to falling so still, getting so moved, by the normally unseen that so many are blind to. Mindfulness perhaps the trendy term. But before that, I’ve always heard the whispers.
Is it a trait shared by photographers? Poets? Believers? In any case, I can’t imagine not having the connections I do, to every leaf, every cloud, every wild bloom (the next post…).
This morning, another love story found its way into my frame. To most, just two leaves. To me, a wordless tale of the most profound and tender beauty…
A leaf drying up,
weathered by time.
Its thirst I feel.
Its veins taking in
all that it can
to simply get by,
for a while longer,
survive.
Against a cloudy sky.
A love found,
a desperate grasp,
a clinging
to each other,
a tear
of relief,
perhaps
the last.
Her colors
fading too,
yet she offers
her final
burst of brights,
and the selfless act
renews,
fills them both
with new life.
Together, they reach
for their together dream,
and when they fall,
it will now be in love,
and as one, they will land
and embrace
the next unknown,
together spend
each future season
where seasons have no
end…
And that’s what I see in the leaves in my lens.
I could tell you my story.
Especially since
I am now able to look back.
But I’m selfishly enjoying too much
this present.
And I’ve already devoted
so much of my life
trapped in the chapters
riddled with sadness and strife;
the stale stench still makes me
choke,
the dust better left
at rest, that half-book closed.
I feel a bit guilty though.
If I let you read it,
if I let the light of day
shed gold on the yellow,
perhaps it may
help you find the way
to the upcoming blank pages
in which I freshly ink,
like you will too,
upon the pure-white slate
the realities of the dreams
I almost buried, gave away.
Perhaps I will indeed share my story,
verse by verse as poetic allegory,
and you may see what you wish,
and I can remain comfortably hidden
behind the metaphors,
between the lines,
but always reflecting back
for you
beams of light…
Valley to valley,
shapeshifting sands,
mountains slipping down
and through my hands,
peak mirages
yet they block my view,
do not permit ascent
from the shadows
to vistas of truth,
yet I knew
beyond the traps and setbacks,
somewhere out there
was a billowing mast
and endless skies of blue
and a sail or cloud or both
to take me away to where I knew
my hopes as harbingers
had successfully found
the place where all my dreams
come true.
Above the clouds,
looking down,
I see the beacon
unable to be buried
beneath the waves
at the “bottom” of
the abyssal sea:
it shines for me,
lighted gem
of hope
at the heart
of the ocean’s soul,
Mother of the light
that has long been
implanted in me.
I recline on the sky-drops,
and the automatic echo
from my chest begins to flicker
its internal glow.
Poem and images ©LauraDenise
Gravitational pull
through metaphysical galaxies,
you galvanized
an ancient seed
long-planted in me;
o u r r e a c h
that began in previous centuries
ever so close now to finally entering
this current reality.
At the source of light,
we shall meet
and pure love conceive
before transcending
complete.
Poem and images ©LauraDenise
Times are changing,
the earth keeps rotating,
seasons arrive and depart…
Change is always hard on my heart.
No shadow now joined to my hip.
Gradual independence.
Children grow up and detach.
How can we know which kiss may be the last?
Years unravelled from finite twine;
at the end, the kites will fly.
If Father Time were to grant my wish,
which moments would I revisit?
The sands keep slipping;
no way to flip it.
How should I spend this day?
What memories can I make
to leave my family as legacy
to have, to hold, to keep
as the distance continues to grow
and life leads us down different roads?
Tomorrow is never promised,
another sunset never guaranteed.
Priorities must be organized
so nothing overshadows the people.
This moment may be all we have,
so when I reach for your hand,
let me draw you nearer.
Come sit for a while and talk with me, dear.
Poem and images ©LauraDenise
Laura Denise 