Tag: Courage

Dimensions

My heart and soul
tire me out,
always frolicking
away and about,

relentless in their
prodding and searching,
no toe-dips,
just all-in swan-diving

into every unknown,
exploring, testing, challenging
the boundaries
of this world,

restless to breach
every deterrence
placed by societal rules
and norms…

So much fear
in potential soulmates
with whom to travel
these magical non-roads.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Hope Is A Red Balloon (With Audio)

Hope is a red balloon. 
To dream is to release,
To let the heart again believe:
Benediction granted wings.

Hope is a red balloon. 
To fear is to release. 
Self-shackling to the ribbon needed
For freedom to be achieved.

Hope is a red balloon.
But with passenger and knapsack attached,
It becomes the passageway
Between spirit-death and life hatched. 

Hope is a red balloon
That may burst at any moment
Over deep, dark uncharted waters 
With drowning a likely occurrence. 

Hope is a red balloon.
Faith is to ride it into the winds
Knowing the trajectory
Is calculated and adjusted
by Him,

Delivering to safety,
Granting the dream.
Because you held fast
To Hope’s string. 

Poem and image and recitation ©LauraDenise

Always Surmountable

©LauraDenise

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. 

Story Roots

Don’t think my sunny outlook 
comes from a lifetime of easy;
I’ve walked through the dark wood
and from depression’s cliff,
still find myself sometimes clinging.

I’ve cried my share of flash floods,
drowned several lives in the deep, 
survived decades of verbal abuse,
spent my time vowed and banded to Lonely.

I’ve been there and back,
having spent most of my life there,
but through it all, I kept the marker on
where my dreams were buried,

inside a humble chest
beneath the patch of wildflowers;
I watched the live hues grow
as the turpentine slowly stripped 
my own colors.

But the spirit, like pain, is buried deep,
like music in the heart, cannot be reaped
by any other, and perhaps the tears
upon those wounds are the rain needed
to combine with the light of the soul
in that long, desolate season,

and we finally figure out
how to use that manure
to fertilize our strength and desire,
and the sprouts from within
finally catch fire
and rise up to inspire,
and the wildflowers burst
from that buried chest,
breaking the lock 
from the inside, having had
enough of that old
non-life.

So when I see all that I now see in each bloom, 
know I, too, like you,
am the seed, the petals, the stem, the story, 
the roots.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Gripping Sand

Sometimes we must firmly
grip the sand
instead of merely wishing
to be carried to shore.

Sometimes it is best
to escape through the window
rather than open
either door.

Sometimes when the photo album
has so many empty pages,
it’s time coloring the sickness yellow
since it can’t fade non-faces.

Sometimes in the dark wood
instead of striking tear-soaked matches,
we must look up for the beacon
of light through the branches.

Sometimes from the cliff of depression
instead of digging our nails in,
we must be willing to release our grip
and reach for the offered hand.

Sometimes for a while longer,
it’s good to remain on our knees,
but He cannot help us rise
if we let lie His gifted bravery.

Sometimes when we grip the sand
and claw our way to beach,
we complain it’s the wrong island
and forget we were just
drowning in the deep.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

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

Dandelions This Time

I am sooooooo excited and honored to have my dear blogging friend, dragonfly-whisperer/photographer, and fellow believer, Mike Powell, recite my latest poem! This is a very special poem to me and to have a special-to-me person recite it makes me a bit teary… Thank you, Mike! Please do pay Mike a visit to enjoy his nature stories and photos at Mike Powell: My Journey Through Photography here on WordPress. 

Sprouted from past tears
that saturated the buried
teeth of lions,
lies that rotted,

but underground,
those roots reached
blindly for a dream
in the suffocating darkness,
light faith-felt
not yet seen;

we forged through
lifetimes of winter
determined we too
deserved to find
in our hearts that
spring,

strained to hear
the birds sing,
to inch upward
when strength allowed,

recovering each time
any lost ground
from sinking,
from pressures
above

that could only
hold us down
for so long,

could only
depress us
so many inches
as we gripped
the dirt
and resisted.

I think it was
the feeling
that you were 
near,

reaching yourself
for something unclear,

but both of us
persisted
in breaking
earth

to breathe 
the air
of any season,

to feel
on our faces
the warmth;

finally
our time came,
double golden-crowned
and kissed goodbye
by Fate,

released
to freedom
on the same day,

never knowing
if our parallels
brought us
side by side,

but the sight
of you
upon my eyes
was no chance
but the gift
of a Gardener
divine.

Survivors
continuing 
a shared story,

memories 
of the season
before
eternal winter
return as familiar 

as the stars.

We will live
until we together
embrace
the next season,
and when our stems break
and we are but seeds 
again 
in the breeze,
my darling, 
this time,
we will not 
be separated
by anyone or
anything. 

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Fins and Fairytruths

I gave others
just about all
of me selflessly,
and it drained
and
d
r
a
i
n
e
d
me
until I was left
baking in the sun
at the bottom of
a dry well,
fossilizing.

You found me. 
Gently lifted
my head
and breathed
a fountain of life
into me,

and the well filled
as our hearts did,
and instead of treading water, 
we taught each other
how to swim

in the direction we needed to,
dreamed of once,
instead of being at the mercy
of others’ currents,

and we rose together,
buoyant and free,
grew fins and made
a home of the sea.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise