Split-rail fences,
wildflowers,
clouds and moon,
and golden hours,
cuddly pets,
pajama days,
all things cinnamon,
autumn ablaze,
friends’ hugs,
hugs in general,
generations working
on jigsaw puzzle,
chai latte,
tea in fancy china,
every sunrise,
29:11 of Jeremiah,
daughter blossoming
and other such miracles,
like the way you let him show me
Your love, unconditional…
these but a few
of my favorite things
I fill my album
with to keep
the good in me
to offset the pain
until I finally find
my way home again.
Tag: goodness
Love is Free
Take my hand, love,
and never let go
like you took my heart
and then my soul.
Hands clasped
in an infinity knot,
ringed fingers woven
but chained not,
for never freer
have we ever soared
than with each other
and each day more.
This love is light.
This love lifts.
This love is life.
This love, a gift.
Poem and image ©LauraDenise
October Blooms
How can I possibly focus
when you’ve gone
and set abloom
all the colors in me
in such sweetly-scented hues?
How can I command
self-discipline when
your inspiration stirs
my creative passions?
How can I do those things
I need to tend to
when my soul heard your non-whisper
calling me my own muse?
How can I keep order
with this flutter of fancy within
that came about when that destined breeze
seed-sprinkled your goodness in?
Poem and this evening’s photography ©LauraDenise
All Gather
All gather
to bear witness
to the last light
of day,
a ceremonious
sky-ignition
in heavily-saturated
hues ablaze,
spectacular finale
to celebrate
nothing more
than the beauty
of such a gift–
this life,
this moment,
this planet.
In the time
it takes
for the sun
to bid farewell,
we focus
only on this
blinding
glory
and forget
everything
else.
We are one
in this instant,
all creatures
stunned into
reverence
by the power
of another
sunset.
Perhaps we will be gifted
another tomorrow.
If so, let us come together
and celebrate again
beneath the solar light show.
May we learn like this
to raise up in praise
the best,
and into the surf,
continuously release
the woes and regrets.
Poem and image ©LauraDenise
Neither Lost
Neither of us currently lost
in the deep wood,
but alone on your long walk,
let me be reminders to you
of the good,
let me be that bright twinkling
on the water
when the sun and ripples
seem to come together
to call you,
let me be the single blurry bloom
coming into view,
a heart-butterfly
to whisper-deliver a message
just for you,
let me be that subtle extra beauty
that brightens up your day
and life,
as you were for me
when I walked alone
by the sea
and you made me realize
that beauty
can be gifted
but can also
be seeded
inside.
Poem and images ©LauraDenise
Lifting Spirits
To lift the spirits…
My spirits,
today, at this moment,
are sky-high.
Far from perfect is my life,
but I keep my eye
on the prizes
all about me,
for it is neither cliché
nor fantasy
that beauty
and blessings
are ALWAYS
present,
even in the darkest
moments;
sometimes our eyes
get clouded
with tears
and doubt
and distractions
and fears,
but the goodness
never disappears.
When you lose sight,
use your other senses,
breathe deeply in the scents
of the season,
reach out to touch
another
or the textures
nature offers,
taste the sweetness
of your lover’s kiss
or the fruit
that the earth selflessly
gives.
There is love
in abundance
even if you can’t see it,
for love is best experienced
through the spirit.
Sense all that the One
who created it
gives to all
without discrimination,
for you are loved
by the One
who created you.
Feel that spirit
wrap around you
when you are feeling
lonely or blue.
Poem and images (taken yesterday) by Laura Denise
What Remains
The weather inevitably has blown some of my hanging-flower petals about. There is a bloom that seems to have become one with my patio table. This is what I saw in it…
Sometimes, we become filled
with negativity
planted and watered by others
despite our desire
to be pure and free,
voices that internally scream
and override
fading beliefs,
transplanting them
with false seeds
and roots that
rot the soil
way down deep.
But sometimes,
a seed in shining armor comes
and whispers as it lies down
and stubbornly
refuses to leave
despite our pleas,
concerned for its safety,
for it surely
cannot survive
in this shady, weedy,
rocky quarry.
But the seed won’t leave.
The seed blooms white
with a pink, fuzzy center
and somehow its
delicacy and whispers
stick,
not in a sappy way
you want washed off,
but like the soft scent
that distracts you enough
from the stench,
that you find yourself
indeliberately drawing near it,
not clinging
but preferring it,
and the whispers
rub off
a bit from the petals
into your depths,
deeper than the evil roots
to the center of you
before the application of that supposed fertilizing
manure,
and you remember.
And now it’s too late
for any pesticide
to eradicate
the belief
that you are beautiful,
and no matter what becomes
of that selfless seed
or bloom,
its presence
eternally exists
in you.
©LauraDenise