Not a Butterfly

Sometimes a heart clings
to a fragment of green
dream as its wings begin
the dying.
I thought it was
a butterfly.

Perhaps butterflies
are dreams reincarnated
in another life,
for those who feared
the letting go
to reach
the height.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Morning Kiss

The sea oats
have grown tall;
I let them
skim my palm,

feel the tickles
gifted from heaven
as the sea’s soul
is orchestra lifted

above the tides
of this earth
to scoop me up
with open arms
into the surf.

I offer all I’ve brought
to sacrifice to God,

releasing the heavy,
releasing the pain,
hoping the ghosts
will choose escape

as I make it more
uncomfortable
to haunt these
inner spaces

tarnished, turning gold
from the light
of love
joining the soul’s.

My feet sink
in the warm silk
as my heart,
with you inside,
even more
fills.

Buoyant become
the weights
as the shackles and chains
give way
to become part
of the dark, watery
grave.

Today, I take
back my life.
Today the curse,
I unwind.

Wet feet,
sand clinging,
I walk back
and through my fingers,

the sea oats feel
the difference

as the sun
awakens,
rises to kiss
me so gently
once

again….

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Crowning

My fascination,
favorite attraction,
purest joy
photographing nature,

is finding the meek
among the mundane
and crowning
with due recognition
the beauty beyond fit
for the stage;

sort of like lemonade
from life’s lemons,
I like to look
at it all through
the light in my lenses.

The less obvious,
the underfoot trodden,
I refract the rays
to highlight
the forgotten,

and so it goes
as a life lesson:
beauty exists
all around us,

the purest gems
right beside us,
all perfect as is
before the bruiting,
for we are all precious
within.

This Sunrise

In this early dawn,

I let the stillness be,

observe the lightening of dark

transforming gradually,

so subtly,

yet the colors awakening

are so softly profound,

the beauty

almost too much to behold

with the eye,

so the heart

and soul

absorb the excess,

the spilling over,

and preserve it

as a natural resource

to guide the self

back to self

and that stillness

whenever life seems too

chaotic,

and I realize,

I am

this sunrise.

This morning’s sunrise from my front yard.

This Is

Sunrise kisses brushed upon eyelids,

Quenching drops nourishing, renewing, the spirit,

Velvet petals caressing the flesh, erasing false perfections,

inner seeds in ecstasy sacrificially spilling,

Breezes always joyfully willing

to carefully carry the heart’s deepest wishes,

Lonely floating feathered silhouettes receiving comforting sunset ripples,

Faithful mutually blooming companion, a bud always returning,

Upon a pure canvas, watercolors mixing,

slowly, beautifully messily dripping,

fluid, never fully setting,

in the swirling abstract showing

what each individual soul has mourned, is yearning…

This is poetry.

And art. And music.

And, I suppose,

love.

Unpredictable Paths

Lost souls,

lost love,

lost forever,

separated by time

and circumstance:

Fate’s cold and

cruel hand.

So they thought…

but simply understood

not,

Timing’s kind hands

were cradling them both,

and they were reunited

forever

when the paths

converged again.