Soar

When the world is silhouette
in the darkness of new day,
and The Maker begins to add
the first colors of paint,

beginning with the sky
and blending into the sea,
as each ripple begins rippling
and the seabirds spread their wings,

my heart awaits the bristles
upon the lonely shore,
always hoping He’ll add wings
so my love can finally soar.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Psalms

Beside them the birds of the heavens dwell; they sing among the branches.
Psalm 104:12

Emerging from tepals,
I simply listen
to the birds’
morning songs
before the wakening
and bustle
of the world
in which we both
belong,
before the sun itself
beats its rays down;
thank you, Lord,
for the gradual
transitions
and living Psalms.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Precious Petals

Across the street from the ocean,
I reside,
at my everyday disposal
are the almighty tides,
the aquahorizon
with no opposite end
that blends with the sky,
no greater reminder
of the bigger picture
beyond this life,
and it does indeed
soul-energize,
but I’ve always known
the humility
of how insignificant we are:
I seek instead
the intimate inner warmth
I find crouched among
the non-garden flowers
inspecting the finest details
neglected and trodden,
and through my lens and art,
I depict how they feed
my heart,
shared roots and seeds
organically free
yet universally tied,
turning our faces
peacefully
to the shared light,
the Higher Power
who sculpted us both, all,
with intention and without
society-judged flaws,
precision in individuality,
every living piece
lovingly kneaded,
and when the rays
find and kiss petals,
this is the beauty
that stills me
breathless,
to see in crafted detail
the miracles of His Creation
and how love was meant
to prevail in every season.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Open Road

Open road gently unfolds,
morning stretches
between sheets of grandiose.

In excited anticipation,
my heart leaps up at every curve
as the sun rises in all its glory
and slowly churns

hues so bold and beautiful,
highlighting the rolling hills
of clouds –– windows down,
hair blown, coffee in hand,
and hours to go.

I will never mind an open road,
man-laid black carpet
leading into the natural horizon
beneath God’s effulgent throne.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Green Fling

Tropical paradise fans its greens at me,
draws me so teasingly out with camera to play;
too modest usually, I let my ego go
to freely compose with total control the frames.

Sun knows its among my favorite subjects
and extends its rays for me to pose;
I do bow in reverence, low to the ground
before immortally storing gifts so graciously bestowed.

Magnolia waves, knowing her place in my heart;
I practically skip over, slip under her glossy canopy,
excited for her next batch of pre-petal tepals
to be rebirthed into another spring.

Palms sway, brushing the blue above
as wisps of white clouds lightheartedly swirl in;
some days were simply created perfectly
by The Greatest Artist and so selflessly gifted.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

The Little Things

Something there is
in a soul’s composition
that personalizes light
from the connecting threads;

in the weave of mine,
part my art and part divine,
seems to be for the grandiose
some kind of rare blindness
in the mainstream sense,
for I only find it
in the minute and steeped in
mindfulness,

the larger picture
always blurred and muted,
unacceptably-by-society
dismissing sweeping views;

upon deaf eyes, the waterfalls,
for my soul only hones in on single drops,
the silhouette of an insect’s wings
even beyond the forefront flowering.

Too far away are the large and obvious;
I slip into the inconspicuous,
secret portals and nooks
that scan my soul
and recognize me in my
slow and scenic way home.

Don’t take me to the lookout point;
take me to the mountain where I can climb
to admire all the wonder along the trail.
The view at the top can never be the peak:
for me it can only be

in the little things.

You can hike with me
if you have the patience,
for a mile in nature
won’t get you fit,
but if you’d like to sit
awhile beside me,
I wouldn’t mind
the company,

but no attention would I be able to give you
when the sun sets on a solitary bee upon a pink bloom…

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Destinationless

Destination to nowhere,
traversing on foot,
no longer running away,
just enjoying the non-route
and what blooms
from roots wildly seeded
and the textures
of the season
and infinite skies
ever shape-shifting
like my thoughts
and the way I get lost
far away in them.
Dusk hushes.
Frogs belt out.
Alert for bears
and human predators,
I turn toward home
and the portal of color
gradually closes.
My feet return to pavement,
having being lowered
back to reality
which, these days,
is equally rewarding.
Outside in the mornings
and in the evenings,
essential to my emotional
well-being.
I can’t imagine
not being gifted
this amazing, tranquil
creation.
Thank you, Lord,
for the free and natural
cure-all medication.
In my backyard,
beneath the stars,
I continue my wandering
contemplations…

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Release Me

How many stories
can there be in petals?

How long can I remain
unfound in the meadow?

How can the same patch of land
be so ever-changing?

How many more potential bad days
can Mother Nature keep preventing?

How is it that I am the only one bearing witness
to so much magic on a daily basis?

How much longer can the toad’s eye keep me entranced?
And the intricate details in the anatomy of insects?

How much time has passed in that outside world
while I sit among the birds and squirrels?

How is it that nonhuman friends have become so underrated?
And introverts given such a hard time for avoiding socialization?

My colleagues are ordering their second round of drinks.
I confirm with the waiter, “Just water for me.”
Torturous are the hours I prove I’m not an island!
(What’s a few white lies to protect my safe-haven?)

A dragonfly stops by to wink at me,
shows off how he can fly away so freely into the breeze…

The conversation continues. I do not join in.
Release me back into the wild where I fit in…

Cobwebs Between Petals

Ninety-three million miles away,
yet upon the cobwebs of a flower,
Sol’s ray reaches, haloes, frames.

How powerful
that gentle, golden beam is
when it finds and reminds us our
insignificance

is more important and personal
than we think it to be,
for the Creator made sure
the cold and darkness
would always have
returning light and heat.

We are turned away each evening,
in a rotation beyond our control,
perhaps to make possible
the continuous rebirthing
of new-day gratitude and hope,

to make possible these moments
that universally lift up our gazes,
to freeze-frame and coat in gold
these nuggets of humble
beauty appreciation,

like cobwebs on a flower
that still me with revelation:
in the tapestry and labyrinth of life,
we are woven and connected
by hidden common thread,
and love could always,
then and now,
win.

Cloudscapes

Without a doubt,
one of my favorite
parts of life is
clouds.

The soft pastels
at dawn lift me up
and take me home;
sunset-backdropped,
at day’s end,
I am delivered again,
haloed in gold.

Nature-ensconced,
nature-infused,
nature my lifeline,
nature my truth-school.

I befriend every creature and petal,
explore every infinitesimal detail,
lose all track of time in the macro
finding clues about myself,

but nothing He has made
entrances me more
than the heaven-brushed strokes
of the cloudscapes Earth-adorned.

For cloudy days, I thank You, Lord!