Bridges and Piers

Sunset-lit pier
fades from focus
as the miniature shell-bridge
draws me closer

and gets me thinking…

about what we extend
in our reach to connect, 
and what we retract
when we fear-react,

and all that’s gained
and lost from the taking
and passing of chance,
from the courage 
to not or to

and how far the distance
can be misjudged from perspective,
and in the grand scheme of things, 
how important it is,

and how often we miss 
and what we learn
when we look up
or bow our heads
to discern 

the difference. 

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

A Dream on a String

We all (hopefully) have memories and associations tied to kites. For me, it conjures up the idealism of carefreeness, takes me back to childhood, my own but also nostalgically, in general, observing the kite-fliers about me in the present, often older generations enjoying the tradition with younger ones. As an adult, I have acquired the added symbolism of hope.

Hope and dreams go hand in hand, need to if you are hoping or dreaming “properly,” in my opinion. And everyone needs hope and a dream. I think it is absolutely essential for good mental health. We all need something to believe in and the allowance of the “someday” or “some how,” the permission for the “maybes” and the “what ifs.” It is the hope that launches and fuels the dream. Dreams should all be allowed to be launched, no matter how foolish, no matter if just make-believe. I see no harm in keeping possibilities alive, no harm in even far-fetched fantasy.

Those who do not believe in any kind of higher power, believe life is meaningless, that there is nothing after or beyond this… what a dreadful, bleak outlook. I can’t imagine going through one day with that attitude, walking a mile in those shoes. I can’t even see colors when I look through that lens.

I am a dreamer. I spend a lot of time with my head in the clouds. I wish upon stars and tell my secrets to the moon. God knows what is in my head and heart, but I repeat affirmations aloud, as if to convince Him of the depth and degree of my feelings.

A kite for me symbolizes a dream launched by hope. A possibility. A future with unlimited potential, in which anything is possible, whether it be peace in America, peace on Earth, or personal inner peace.  I watch the kites in the clouds, in the sea breeze, hovering with the seabirds above and in the endless blues. I watch the kite fliers, their concentration making adjustments to keep the kite soaring at its fullest potential. The kite, the dream, seems to want to break free, but I am torn when considering rooting for that. If the kite broke free, it could reach an even greater height, but it would soon come plummeting down in a destructive crash. Control and patience seem best, to be able to raise and lower the kite at will.

And so it is with dreams, I suppose, to launch them in the best moments, yet be able to recall them and tuck them away for a while until another day. Maybe dreams are best allowed to fly on the perfect days, maybe on the worst of days. Kites and dreams are made of colors like rainbows decorating the sky, reminding us that the breeze or breath, a sigh, of hope is all that is needed to keep the dream in flight.

I grab on to the kite tail and let it take me away for a while…


What are your kite-related memories or associations?

All words and images ©LauraDenise 

A Dream Sustains

Can a dream sustain,

keep you afloat

in a bubble or cloud

bobbing above the

things that can pull you down?


I think it can

if you are willing

to both grab the string

of the balloon or kite

and open the pocket knife

to cut yourself free,


and let the breeze

take you where you’ve never been,

but you have to be ready to jump

onto a drifting cloud

and then again

and again


with no guarantee

of where you will end


but up

is away,

and where there is a will,

there is a way,

they say,


so be willing

to not only dream

and hope and believe,

but take that leap,

for a dream can sustain

whether or not

you ever arrive

at a destination.


I am cloud hopping,

but at this height,

it feels close enough

to flying.


Poem and image ©LauraDenise