Scrapbooking

Split-rail fences,
wildflowers,
clouds and moon,
and golden hours,

cuddly pets,
pajama days,
all things cinnamon,
autumn ablaze,

friends’ hugs,
hugs in general,
generations working
on jigsaw puzzle,

chai latte,
tea in fancy china,
every sunrise,
29:11 of Jeremiah,

daughter blossoming
and other such miracles,
like the way You show me
Your love, unconditional…

these but a few
of my favorite things
I fill my album
with to keep
the good in me
to offset the pain
until I finally find
my way home again.

Returning To The River

Returning to the river
cautiously 
for the first time since you drained it
from my happy memories. 

Unplanned,
but the sky beckoned,
so I translated it
as a loving nudging
from the heavens

that the timing
was personally pre-approved, selected, 
to make peace again
with my nature,
so dearly beloved.

This adventure
of my own, I began
and descended
down the road
beneath the bridge;

on the other side,
sandaled feet in sand,
it was a fallen tree
that first held me
so tenderly captive, 

as I slowly drew
my therapy weapon,
seizing the sun itself
in my aimed lenses,

creating the art,
selecting the perspectives,
as my subjects so selflessly lended
themselves to manipulations. 

Tri-colored trunks
and branches I braided
around a knot of light
to hold the center
of this soulful oasis.

Then, as if with x-ray vision,
or simply a gift to hear nature
in the language of revelation,

I saw the inner glow
of life after another death,
or maybe the asomatous mending
of a damaging past,

and, too, the beautiful reminder
that through the thick and barred,
and shadowed solids,

the rays and fires 
of hope and passion 
can always reach
those who desire them.

I have desired
but have not known how
to get back to my nature 
nor my self

since the impact
of the last explosion 
left too deep within 
the shrapnel
bereft of reparations.

In a window,
in the distance,
the legendary River Deer leaps
into the sunset,

and in its landing
after the eclipse,
a second sun is left
as both a back up and a

genesis.

The clouds in the river
pave alternative
paths for me,

and the bisolar rays
upon the Oracle Tree
leave an evanescent ember map
breathing…

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Never Fully

Golden Orb so slowly burned out,
descended beyond all trace,
save for its selfless beacon beam
upon Waxing Crescent’s face

who, in turn, invited every star
with unknown name
to share the stage
for the benefit,
Hope’s Grace,

admission for all, free,
no matter the creed;
for me, I believe
the Creator of space
so lovingly handmade
a place where the light
never fully recedes,
personally for you
and for me.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise