Perhaps The Storms

Perhaps the storms
are simply meant
to rouse our inner
empowerment,

faraway rumbles
culminating
into the now,
waking from hibernation
the reminder
of the how,

for fate is passive
sitting ducks,
and destiny
the arms
in the winds
resurrecting
the self up,

believing in the achieving
part of dreams,
rousing the soul
to with that single bird,
despite the conditions,

sing.

I dance in the rain,
and the bird
wishes it
were me;
we chat about exchanging
wings and feet
but decide each are intentionally
meant to propel,
and here we are together
celebrating freedom
from cage and cell.

Second Apiering

Tide flows,
tide ebbs,
changing, hiding,
revealing the edges
of division.

I watch
the transitions,
half dream-drifting,
half paying
detail-attention.

Always thinking.

I ponder on
the ebb and flow,
how one takes
and the other gives
in its rhythmic dance
to and fro

and how taking
can also be
giving,
and giving be
taking,
and for each,
the difference
is in the
seeking and releasing.

We send bottled messages
afloat, hopeful for
its accurate delivery
and offer what we desire
for burial at sea;

we collect treasures
and look for clues
from gods and mermaids
Destiny-strewn.

I notice in the wet sand
in between surf’s blanketing,
a secret passageway,
a ladder to dreams,

unless, of course,
it’s an evil illusion,
a detour or trap
set by opposing forces.

I wonder
how much
is serendipity
and divine intervention
verses taking control
and free will’s actions,

if choosing the evanescent
option not on the maps
is a test of fortitude
or foolish brassiness.

Another option,
nonetheless, is presented:
two piers to walk,
but only one may
have no end.

Poem and images by Laura Denise

Bridges and Piers

Sunset-lit pier
fades from focus
as the miniature shell-bridge
draws me closer

and gets me thinking…

about what we extend
in our reach to connect,
and what we retract
when we fear-react,

and all that’s gained
and lost from the taking
and passing of chance,
from the courage
to not or to
act,

and how far the distance
can be misjudged from perspective,
and in the grand scheme of things,
how important it is,

and how often we miss
and what we learn
when we look up
or bow our heads
to discern

the difference.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Glimpses

I thought I saw a glimpse
of angel wings

with one tear clinging,

or maybe it was my imagination
or my dream

realized, or so I thought,
for in that fleeting brush
and drop,

a celestial
crystal ball
of truths;

after all,
I write
my own future,

and sometimes the signs
are only meant to be

clues

only detectable
in the listening
of the vision

within
that flutters
when the white wings
whisper, pay

a visit,
ironically when I turn
quickly,

situationally maybe
when I come to find

I am
the gift

yet to be
collected.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Little Tree On The Mountaintop

Little tree on the mountaintop
beneath sun’s celestial reach,
planted purposely at the very peak
or actively advancing toward dreams
from a seed,
more mighty to me
than the mountain itself
and all of the tallest trees
beneath
looking up.

Little tree on the mountaintop
Biblically reminiscent,
perhaps a Jesus story
never told,
or the Lord’s
seemingly futile reach
to have us remember
this precious given life’s
goals.

Who is changed upon the descent from the mountain?
Some things seem to remain as shocking as Moses’.

Drifting

Blue skies seem sometimes
behind us too far,
and when the oasis of nearness
dissipates into illusion
yet again,
we dangerously tire,

as the colors of hope
fade
like sidewalk chalk
in the rain,
and we drift
without care
into the storm.

But as long as there are
forks and bends
in the paths and roads,
what-ifs and depends,
Fate can only temporarily take
hostages,

for choice and circumstance
and weather will permit
the opportunities
to change direction
over and over again;
only lack of faith
can lead to the
false perception
of dead-ends.

Sometimes when we are
too weary to drive,
another takes the wheel:
sometimes God,
sometimes Satan,
sometimes someone
who loves you still.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Wishes and Prayers

When I pray,
I always add the addendum,
“…if it is in accordance with Your plan,”
for more than what I plea for,
superseded, I wish for us to remain
always in His hands.

I trust whatever may happen,
although I may not understand,
will come with a needed lesson,
a necessary occurrence in the process
of the destiny in becoming once again

who I am.

I was reminded of this
when a partial wishie lent
further wisdom for reflection.

Sometimes the biggest wishes
should not be spent, eyes closed,
all at once, in one breath and direction

but patiently
spaced out in seeds,
part self-initiated action,
part angel-breath breezes.

Sometimes what we desire most
needs time to germinate to non-perfection
and be released in parts for better chances
of fruitful multiplication.

I am always careful
in what I wish and pray for:
I don’t want to get in the way
of what He has in store.

I try not to be too cautious
in taking action with soulful instinct,
for the surest way to get lost
is to pass up what He hands me.

I do close my eyes
to bring up a whisper
from my soul
that launches another
seed of hope…

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Tears Dry (With Audio)

tears dry
like rain subsides
weather a part of nature
designed with intent
by our Creator

feelings, emotions
love and joy
despair and heartache
all part of what
deems us alive

would you trade it all in
for numbness instead?

if you already did
what could bring you back
from the breathing-dead?

perhaps a lot of it
comes from our own doing
and neglect

how many times we must
get in the way of His plans!

His plans for each
never carved in stone
I do not believe
for fate takes away free will
and free will shackles and frees

these pains must too
have a purpose
maybe more than a force
forming us

these tragedies…
who is to say
the why until
it is revealed one day

it is the blind eye
that is turned
rather than the cheek

that I think each
must explain
for admittance
through the gates

will He play back the footage
what will He deem as the highlights
will they match with what we think
we’ve done to please with our lives?

tears dry
like rain subsides
even the sky
cries sometimes

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

If Sunflowers Can

If sunflowers can
root themselves in sand
to choose the sea,
so can I
morph into myself
and choose my own
destiny.

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,