Overbloomed

Overbloomed, drooped,
raised head falls
into yesterday’s tears
pooled.

Waiting, weighted,
to regroup.
Have faith.
Whether or not
growing gets blocked
at the top and the
root.

The Gardener
has no flesh
to wear gloves,
but His hands
will cup and lift
to transplant
with love.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Forever Nested

Empty nest
discourages sadness,
too beautifully woven
with flowered wild grasses,

nostalgic strands of the past
leave the heart
to imagination,
a reminder that love remains
behind in every season,

as well as the next:
from eggs come wings
to independence
to touch for oneself
the clouds’ edges.

Home, they say,
is where the heart is,
and a part of my heart
flies with you and will
beyond this world’s
and life’s limitations…

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Seasons

Seasons about,
seasons within,
seasons of life,
seasons begin.

All seasons end.

This brings about what pleases
and that which disappoints,
that which shatters
and that which fills with joy,

but who are we to judge
what’s in our best interest
from our non-omniscient,
limited perspective?

Who is the narrator?
Who is the character?
Who is the author?
Who will read it

in the end?

Dusty cover,
spring breeze,
dust to dust,
seasons never cease.

I resist the gales of change
even though I’ve grown wings;
sometimes our comfy cocoons
are stirred on purpose
by the leaf.

Premature nostalgia
begins to take hold;
I try to focus on the excitement
of what He has in store.

Seasons never cease.
“Nothing gold can stay,”
but it returns so loyally,
and in its absence regrows

faith.

I will harvest the gold
in the center
as the petals unfurl,
life within life…
keeping or returning to
the purity and light,

I believe,

is the eternal goal.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Always Surmountable

We are never trapped,
just fated to faulty perspective,
succumb to specious perception;
it’s all relevant, related –

one more rock-move away
from the light
on the other side
of the avalanche,

one more “wrong” turn
lost in the forest
before hearing
the anabranch…

much is necessarily experienced:

near suffocation sometimes the only way
to motivate a life-saving change,

the legs of the journey
in the humanless woods
lead to the reflection
and feeling of wounds,

and all paths probably have purpose
among the universe’s higher powers.

Without the lonely, looping trails,
we could not emerge anew
with our truest selves

and others we met along the way
not-so-coincidentally placed.

We are never trapped.
We are never lost.
At least not for very long.

No change was ever ignited
without the spark.
So many opportunities
missed, passed up, though
after being gifted matchsticks
but still refusing to start
the fire.

Holding Photographs

nostalgia bittersweet
joy so genuine, effortless
radiating, echoing
from fading photographs

touched, held between
ringless fingers and the fumes
of a heart on empty
from the moment
so distantly removed

time does not warp
those precious instances
forever suspended
feelings will flutter on
thousands of centuries

bittersweet for the bliss
is eternally retrievable
but if the present is less
then the tears
breach suppressible

falling is the gravity
of sadness, all rain
nature running its course
to cleanse the panes

we simply must
adjust the frames
order the montages
strategically arrange

so when we step back
to take in the collective
the rainbow across
our present
gets light-refracted

Sea Dance

Barefoot atop the deep waters,
white dress and wild tresses flowing,
sunken-ship cemetery of the past beneath,
I twirl in this present moment.

The sea is mine
as my dance floor,
and I skim across
to my pick of shores;
I explore, I vacation,
not searching, just jubilation
of losing
worries and fears,
exaltation of the lightness
of the lifting of those stormy years,
each moment an eternity
to get to the next,
each stepping stone
sinking with each vine grasped,
no beanstalk discovered
to bring me to the clouds,
only faith each day
for decades
of a better tomorrow.

That tomorrow is today,

hence the head-raised dance
in the sun and in the rain,
embracing with wide-opened arms
the achievement of having started
upon this horizon
I only viewed from the beach.

The stepping stones still sink.
I just realized the only missing factor
was to fully

believe.

They were never needed.
Self-love was the only key.

I was always worth it.
Eventually, I fought
for me
and this
dream.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

The Tiller

Trust in the shadows;
they are benevolent too,
dimming the wrong ways
so the beacon may shine through.

Listen for the truth;
it whispers faithfully through the gale.
Turn your back to the blustery lies;
the bitterest of winds best fill the sails.

You don’t need a map
for an evacuation route;
just follow the signs
He’s already laid out.

He knows all,
including what’s up ahead.
Listen for The Light;
drown out the ghost voices
haunting your head.

You took the steps.
You left that land.
These turbulent waters
will lead to the end

of that decades-long storm
that shredded every kite you raised
that lightning struck
on its way down
to reiterate
that you will never
be freed from this fate.

But fate was a falsity
and now you will know
that destiny
is all within
your control,

and He wants you to have
all your heart desires.
He will lead you there
through these uncharted waters,

but He wants your hands
on the tiller
to feel
the power you have
that He instills.

He calls upon the winds
and every fin in the sea
to escort you on your voyage to
your chosen dreams.

For A While

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?

IMG_E8181

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?

IMG_E3775

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.

Upon the Wind

Another season
ushers in
winds of change
from the heavens;

purpose aplenty,
all four bring
something special
meant for each.

Still yourself
outdoors to discover
the whispers of hope
and messages for you.

Open your heart
to receive the blessings
hidden in nature,
and offer thanksgiving.

Mother Nature
and Father Time
work together,
know your desires.

Turn not a blind eye
nor deaf ear,
doubt not ever
that your miracle
is near…

It is written in the stars
and delivered upon the wind;
be attune to the gifts
presented in each season.

Thank Goodness for Seasons

Thank goodness for seasons
and changing skies
to provide the movement
needed in our lives,

movement to bring in
and to carry away
the hopes and sighs
of the everyday.

The winds seem to change
to nudge emotional stagnancies
unbeknownst to us
thwarting the plans of Destiny,

for the blessings lined up for us
can only be received
if after the winters,
we can open our hearts
once more (and again)
to spring.