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

I Watch the Squirrels

I watch the squirrels
during page breaks
as the last
of day’s colors
follow the sun,
so subtly
slink away,

in silhouette now,
shockingly high in the pines,
three frolicking,
distracting me
from pains
and story line.

The scurrying subsides
as the chorus begins,
unified insects
and amphibians.

Another blood-thirsty buzz
in my ear,
but I’m mid poem
and the stars
are getting ready
to appear.

Excited for the evening chill
upon my Southern bare feet,
I hold my modest wine
to the laptop light
to check before I drink,

pajama bottoms on,
chair always reclined,
looking up,
obsessed with sky
and the divine.

Sunset, twilight,
stars, moon:
the only Friday-Night Lights
that can amuse this recluse.

The Condition

The thing about self-love
is the condition
that it be
unconditional.
I must be a friend
to myself
when I need
one the most

and remember
what makes me, me,
are not flaws,
and in the handling
of my wounds
after stumbling
must come
the greatest care
of all.

Pieces we can’t get back
and permanent scars
must simply become
part of the beauty
of the sculpture
of the heart.