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

Final Light

Night disintegrates 
in the middle,
as the final white light
pierces:
noiseless epistle. 

All
fall
still, 
some through the trap door:
one prophesy fulfilled. 

Approaching the light,
limited time, 
shadows evaporating:
Truth’s combine. 

Back of the line
moving quickly forward.
Eyes widen:
final bipartisan border. 
  
So many hands raised. 
Some bargaining in pleas, 
some opening to receive. 

Regrets’ final drowning
in bucket lists,
all possessions vaporized 
into ash and lint. 

This is it. 

Approaching The Light, 
limited time. 
If He speaks, 
what will you
reply?…. 

Poem and image ©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

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. 

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

In The Eye

Don’t tell me there is no divinity
when I am looking heaven in the eye,
infused with the essence, soul-transfixed, lifted,
swirling upwards as colors become light,

and the ingress solicitously entices the spirit
as form sublimes, shapeshifts until undefined,
and passes through the full transfusion of serenity
through the glowing portal in the after-pouring sky. 

Poem and this evening’s photo ©LauraDenise

One (More) Prayer

Blinded by tears,
but sight not needed
when folded in prayer
and the heart is leading

through the dark,
no darkness able to extinguish
the soul’s pilot light igniting
the vigil of candles
in a community’s deepest wishes,

one prayer
all I’ve ever believed
to be needed,
but at the same time,
what if one more
is all that’s needed…

when any fellow brother or sister
is pleading
to the stars and moon
and higher powers
to feel the tourniquet
wrapped around the bleeding.

Some prayers in my most lonely hours
were mine alone for another,
and I always hoped it was enough,
just my solo anguished heart lifted up

to God.
I think one is always
enough,

but just in case
yours makes the difference
in jumping the threshold,
let’s pray together,
let our heard and unheard
hearts unite
as one.

We can go back
to being distant
when we’re done.

Or we can hold on
to the memory of this moment
when we joined
the angels’ solemn song.

Let His will be done.

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. 

Everyday Gold

Golden upon golden, 
liquid light layers, 
how much more obvious 
can it be that there is a
heaven and
already among us?

Upon the dark and blank
canvas, 
with tender and loving
brushes, 
He stroked us
into existence
and all
that surrounds us,

has never left us,
and reminders 
each day, 
He has rise
from the earth
and others’
divine parts,
in likeness made,
which we should
reverently celebrate 
and feel blessed by
every day.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

The Green Returns


The green returns
as sure as the sun;
the seasons keep spinning,
web-weaved by the One.

There must be a purpose
for the phases of the heart,
like the moon always whole
but only showing certain parts.


Shadows and winter and
stormy weather undesired,
but without feeling the chill,
what would be the motivation
to light the fire? 


What could wake, shake, and
empower my soul
if not for the thunder’s
inciting rolls? 


How could the beacon
so clearly light the way
without the shadowing trees
contrasting and parting
for the ray?


The green returns
as sure as the sun:
my heart turns again
in its revolution. 

Thank you, love, for being there for me in each of my seasons. 

Poetry and images ©LauraDenise