Dress Pockets

Over the years, I’ve collected
the best fragments
from the jagged breaks
of the past,
revisiting the scenes
after the immediate threats
have into ashes passed.

When the sun faithfully returns,
each ray seems to gently lead,
reflecting in intermittent beams,
to rebuild resilient dreams,

refracted off each of these
gorgeous shards of glass.
I add to these, the heartifacts
unearthed from avalanche

and dug up from old spots,
buried for protection,
washed and polished rocks
diversifying my unified vision.

In dress pockets,
I tuck into shadows
the reflections resurrected,
reunite them with the rays
as I sentimentally
deconstruct them,

assembling a mosaic
stained-glass arboretum
to grow from pains and grief
a new garden of suncatchers
and walk among the rainbows
into a new and beautiful future.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Today, I Choose

Today, I choose
to mute the gray,
encroaching ghosts,
and the negativity
of others attempting
to block the rays.

I turn up the colors,
the cardinal’s song,
my own showtune voice
singing along,

the sky blue,
the verdant greens,
the leaves infused with
late summer’s breeze…

Today, I choose
to mute the grays,
to focus only on
the beauty gifted
in this day.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Forever is the Sunrise

Forever is the moment 
that stills me
when everything
is swirling inside
my heart, my soul, 
my mind…

Forever is the moment
that absolves me,
that nature bestows,
head bowed or not,
heart knotted or atoned. 

Forever is the moment
that holds me
so personally close,
the rays extended
to touch 
with warmth. 

Forever is the moment
that soaks me, 
in waves that rebirthe
or ripples that trickle
to my inner caverns

where I buried
the treasure
of me 
in a chest of fear,
where only the mermaids
are entrusted 
with the key
shaped from 
my tears. 

Forever is the moment
I carry with me
in every moment
I am away
from the sea. 

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Wild Bound (With Audio)

Natural material
but man-constructed
walls me in
instead of fences,
I breathe best
in more open spaces.
Wildflower ascends,
climbs up the border –
two-by-fours frame
her bold yet soft colors,
star-shaped for a reason,
skyward bound, rooted
in treason, restrained
by seasons –
toward freedom,
back to the wild
shunning the restrictions
they keep trying to place
upon her style.

I will follow,
eventually,
perhaps at the end
of the lease.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Remembering Colors

Inner chamber protected, 
guarded. Scarred. 
Misused and abused
before. 
Colors over decades
fade. 
Doors and windows
boarded. 

The softness of you
like dawn. 
Patience watercolors
shared canvas in pastels.
Gradually, I reach 
to try some,
apply upon my soft shell. 

Day by day, ébauche
to a never-final coat.
Overflowing well within
now self-saturates. 
Self-love’s ducts
unclogged.
A Master peace of love:
brought together, 
soulmates. 

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Dynamic Art

The things we edit…

When it comes to my photography, editing to me is not perfecting, so I suppose I should call it altering; it is transforming creatively the tone, literarily, though that often comes from color changes, cooling or warming, fading or imbuing, really a canvas with my technology as the brush, though you would be surprised with the media I use, an old iPhone about to give out and whatever standard editing app it came with.

My lab is my mind’s eye in reverse, creating what my soul wishes to express, I but a medium myself. I play until the aha moment, always knowing that is exactly what I was looking for. Each starting photo, a message itself I collect from nature. Sometimes it speaks as is, especially when it is lit. Sometimes it lends itself, whispers, “Do with me what you may, May Child; my metamorphism is in your trusted hands. Make me the more you believe I am.”

Sometimes I feel the nature challenges me in this way to keep going beyond and beyond, rebirthing new ways, not godlike, but godchildlike, spending my days attune to the spirit in the petals and breezes, in the rays and the blades, in the insect and the web. I create with images I creatively capture, crouched down and over the barely noticed, shrinking further than Alice into the macroworld, still infused with wonder, perhaps even more so. With each alteration, a new message, perhaps divinely inspired.

I do my duties in the world so I can retreat––into the yard, into myself, into the absence of voices except my inner one and the whispers from butterflies and the birdsong, and I listen and listen for The One as I visit my many companions of the natural realm. Often, I bring heaven down. To earth. Though I find enough evidence that it is already here. All about us. And as much as I avoid the humans, I know the greatest purpose here is to love one another. My purpose the same but from afar. Bringing light and hope to you is how I try to do my part. 

The things we edit… 

Often, in relation, we edit by removing blemishes, by cropping out all the real, showcasing our best fake versions of ourselves and our lives, for behind the cameras lie the whole truths. We compete. We turn the cameras around onto the shells of our selves, lose the nature and others, snapshots of ourselves as the universe’s center, lenses in reverse yet outward, for our inner selves are not the focus. 

There are pieces of heaven in each of us. Because we were each made the way He intended. What we make of ourselves from what we were given: that is the welcomed art of continued collaborative creation. Excavate the light within. Keep painting with your truest inner discovered colors. We should never settle for being done when we are each and all continued masterpieces in progress. May we never fade permanently to sepia or still life; though both of these are essential to the process. 

I still believe we can beautifully alter all of this… 

All words and images on this site ©LauraDenise

Always Have Been

When the voices inside,
whether yours or theirs,
start to rise up and disguise 
the lies as truths,

look to the sky
and see the ray
of light shining down
on false transparencies 
refracting all the
beautiful colors
that make up you.

Don’t use artificial
looking glasses,
for the perpetrators
can too easily
hide behind them,
your doppelgänger included. 

See your reflection instead
in the windows of the souls
of those who genuinely love you:

the portals will be clouded over
for only non-love pierces
with ulterior motive
and unwilling hypnosis.

The only one being used
when the truths are real
is the messenger revealing
how God sees you
as his beloved creation.

You are precisely as He 
has lovingly with purpose
made you. 

You are more than enough. 
You are perfect in His eyes. 
Don’t let unreliable narrators
convince you otherwise. 

You are the story. 
You are also the pen. 
You are the blank page
today again. 

Don’t succumb
to writer’s block
by others injected:
each day you leave
the space unmarked
is another win for them. 

To be held in captivity 
is only a matter of the mind:
there are no chains binding you.
However messily you need to, 
just write the first line 

of today. 
And do it again tomorrow. 
Until you remember
where it was you were headed

before getting derailed, 
detoured, delayed…
You have the power
to begin 
the change. 

Pick up the hose
to see the rainbow;
don’t wait for the next rain. 

You don’t need to search.
You are the gold. 

You always have been. 

Blooms & Moods

White and ivory blooms,
intact with their earthy roots,
just right in the soft sunlight,
will always be my favorite
for the way my soul connects
to a home I know I once
knew…

And the bright yellows
that herald in spring,
flower trumpets
kicking off the jubilee,
insisting that every face
turn toward the sun
and celebrate –
those do make my heart
leap!

But when it comes to romance,
kiss me beneath the softest, silkiest pinks,
like the subtle blush of our cheeks
just after our lips brush,
having found the perfect song
among the scented breeze of the trees
that shelter and witness our sweet
love.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Gray Plague

Gray Plague

Part choice, part determination
it seems to be
to avoid the extermination
while still living
caused by the loss
of feeling
when we fall
into that state
of complacency,
the dangerous hibernation
of our dreams,
the steps we take
turning our back
on the way
it could be,
should be…

It’s not easy
to keep the gray
from taking
our colors.
We fade,
part victim,
part converter;
we don’t sell
our souls,
we give them
now away
in exchange
for tickets
to nowhere
but in that gray
for longer,
forever,
to remain.

I feel the pull
of the evolution
of the devil,
the camouflaged
minions, the demons
no longer with arms
now casting spells.

I feel the brush,
the tickle of tentacle;
to kick it off
takes more than will.
Too many sleepers
not getting taken
but tricked into nonthinking
by the sweet song of sirens.

I climb the mountain
and expectedly find
the gray shadow
spreading like
turpentine.

I wrap my limbs
protectively
around my colors
and flee to find
my favorite
awake other.

Together, we embrace,
not in fear
but as survivors
thankful for
our non-superpowers.

We will not
succumb
to the non-fate
of the others
who gave freely away
one by one
each of their
colors.

We will keep painting
on life’s canvas
to preserve
hope and beauty
with each
brush of our breath,

not with fire,
but signaling
with bright hues
to the others
who may be out there still
imbued.

Ultimately, this poem originated from reading a dear WP friend’s poem and listening to a song he posted (which I shared above). (If you are not connected with Ivor Steven, then your life is not as bright as it could be because the light of his soul shines like none other.) Ivor’s poem captures, despite the melancholy mood from the song, a wonderful moment––a pastry, a poem reading, a friendly unmasked smile. Simple. Yet everything really.