Mother’s Messages

Nature has a way
of knowing
us so personally:
when is the last
time you slowed
or stopped to notice,
to receive,
the messages
in clouds
and leaves?

Embrace

Love is not a fall
except in the tender embrace
at last season’s end
just before
The Rising.

Leaf in the Web

Seasons are part
of Divine’s design;
we are not meant, however,
to become
ensnared in any particular
one.

Break free and fall
upon the breeze.
It’s time to see
what’s next to come.

Poem and image @bylauradenise

Dawn

I always get there early
in the section to myself
and wait in the dark
for her to reveal herself.

Ahead of her core,
her aura swirls the void,
until the rebirthing beauty
is granted to my eyes.

Well Mirage

By clinging together,
raindrops resist
at the edge
of the cliff,
the abyss,

at the border between
life
and the cracking brown
that begs for tears
to re-quench
what has already been
drowned:

concrete, manmade.
How futile it is to keep
watering the pain.

Green and blue
reflect and infuse,
ever so gently pull
toward better use:

decide instead
to feed growth
and desert these looping
barren roads.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Hammock

I gently lay
my heart to rest
upon a sea-oat-
suspended hammock

and let my Maker
tenderly sway
through the breeze
my cradled malaise,

and after this dose
of soaking wounds in warm gold,
I’ll convert this sling
to sail boat…

Torches

Raindrops at rest,
blown glass upon glass,
aglow from a torch on the lawn
and in my chest,

I willfully enter
the abstract enchantment,
slow dance
with the gentle benevolence,
in and out of the past and present,
flickers as glimpses
of truths, dreams,
and premonitions,
possible directions,

barefoot in the wet,
around the fire,
awake in the trance
of extinguishment and desire.

Reverie

These illusions and pitfalls along the way
in which my heart, so sure, unveils to stay
only to have to again prove my strength,
revive the beat from buried and scathed,

I hope again are changing
to sojourns not so painful.

In the aftermaths and in-betweens,
the shrapnel in me remains indelibly inked
and paroxysmally bleeds,
keeps me still from seeing
any heavenly reasoning.

Still, I must keep faithfully believing
in His thaumaturgic design of feelings,
love and all my deaths
in the pursuit of requitedness.

Again, I am clinging
as a raindrop to a moment inevitably fleeting.

Covenant

Single glistening gossamer thread
catching and releasing rays with wind,
perhaps a bridge
between the yellow and white
wildflowers aglow with golden morning light.

I sit transfixed
by its intermittent existence…

Shadows have yet to be filled in
by Sun still half in bed,
and my ataractic trance
is interrupted by silhouettes:

two “mourning” doves,
omen of good fortune in love

or celestial messengers
like yesterday’s hummingbird
letting me know He’s been present all along,
and this is the amaranthine after-(last)storm calm.

Origin

Sometimes miracles happen
in one downpour
of the heavens,
and sometimes it may be
we need to learn
that last lesson…

Tucked within,
regardless,
I have come to believe,
are the nudges and nuggets
that to the origin
of our Created selves
lead and rebirthe
free.