Following Flowers

I am fueled by storms
and coastal wind
as I raise my arms to each 
and channel them
until empowerment rises
boldly from within…

But it is in the still
and minute,
in the soft scent
of beautiful,
in the trust of subtle,
the barely discernible,
that I feel the forgotten
soothed,
those buried-alive
non-truths;
the golden elixir single ray
finding the torn petal
coats in those places
I am not able to ever reach
on my own. 

Up close and personal
is the only way I know
to heal my heart,
to feed my soul, 
and that, I believe,
is the path that leads
home. 

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Hummingbird At The Pane

My heart sighed,
the exhale combined
with the incoming uplifting
screened spring breeze;

despite the birdsong,
my eyes welled up,
as I began to walk into
Sadness’s alluring stream…

But my nature friends
and forces always seem
to intervene!

To my pane came
a hummingbird who hovered
until I forgot
all of my soul’s woes

and again felt
Hope’s flutter
and the feeling
of not being
in this world
alone.

Despite it all,
life is truly beautiful
as long as there is
this Presence I feel
so connected to.

Cut me open. I don’t think
I will bleed.
I am sure
butterflies
will rise
out of me

and to the moon,
my essence return,
merging light
to warmly glow
in a belonging
forever.

Let Me

Let my honeyed-elixir voice
in your left ear
reach down to the raw & scarred
present and past tears,

those rips in the abyss
of the soul:
let this touch caress
and these words slowly dripped
from my lips
coat.

I know
each deep,
dry-well fissure
all too well:
let me stitch you
with these
golden threads
like I’ve sewn
myself

and fill you
with the feel
of liquid hope.
Let it
overflow.

Lay down your armor
beside mine,
undress so I
may dress
the wounds
unable to be healed
by Time.

You are safe
tonight.
Let me take care
of you
until the return
of Light.


Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Umbrellaless On Purpose

Moments drip
drop, first
molecules
floating
to fall,
and when
the basin
is filled,
our time
is up.

Let me taste
each one
individually
upon my
upturned
mouth.

May I spend
the least
amount
in flood
or drought,
paned,
sheltered
or drowned.

Let me feel
it all
though;
to offer an umbrella
or call me inside
is to deny me
each elixir dose
to my soul’s life.

Moments
shared
with others,
even fleeting
in passing,
make up
the ocean
of emotion
that fills and
propels me
most deeply.

When the last sun sets,
I know I cannot take
any drops with
even though they became a part
of my very composition,
but heaven is in the clouds
for a reason,
and I believe from these
drops within,
another birthing
will begin… 

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Garden Escape

“Marguerite Gachet in the Garden” by Van Gogh

I have always been one to so easily lose myself, to be lured so very far away, in a painting, a song, a window…

In the years of his cussing at me, I would often detach, escape, into this 1890 white-wooden-framed window… Thank you, Vincent.

I was overweight and often wore comfortable, baggy, masculine clothes. He said dresses did not look good on me. My hair was much shorter then. He said I didn’t look good with it longer.

I was trapped in that marriage, I always (erroneously) felt. From the beginning, it seemed. From the very, very hesitant, “I do” when I was six months pregnant. Twenty-four slow years of the same-old cycle (after cycle), same broken record played over and over.

I wanted to be the young lady in the painting. Mostly because she was far away from the cigarette-butt-and-beer-can scented patio. Mostly because I bet she could hear the birds singing. Mostly because I felt the freedom in the breeze that teased her tresses and hem.

When he finally agreed to leave once and for all, he took the painting. I think he knew…

My daughter wanted to get it back for me. Eventually, I asked too. He said no. This past Christmas, my daughter was going to get me a replica. I told her I don’t really want it anymore, that he ruined even that for me.

But then I realized, I didn’t need it anymore. Because I was now her.

Cussing cacophony
chokes me.
Into my secret garden,
I escape;
surrounded by white flowers
and open air,
I inhale both in deeply.
If his bowl were not empty,
the words would not be
so nasty.
A bottle smashes,
but I know I will only be beaten
verbally.
I run farther
into the open fields
until all I can hear
is the birds’ sweet euphony
soothing me.
The lady left behind

is a statue of stone.
Eventually, he will pass
out cold.
I’ll stay out here a while
longer,
tuck behind my ear
a keepsake wildflower,
run
my fingers
over the soft-tipped grasses,
consider staying forever
on the other side of this glass,
but I can’t leave her.
I head back.
Morning rays have again
made their rounds,
but upon the wet pillow,
a petal has
drowned.


But that was then, and this is now.

Thank you, love,
for the continuous cleaning
of the mirrors of my past,
for your endless patience,
for making me
every day blush
calling me beautiful and princess,
for being my rain and sun
blooming me into
this miracle of
self-love
.

❤️

Flickers

Fear resides on both sides,
in the direct sun and in
the borderless shadows;
the light, however,
competes with mine,
so my soul still remains
largely unexposed.

I unzip my skin
behind the bushes
and dip into the sea
of all that I am
and all that I have
yet to be,

a flame underwater, inextinguishable,
no longer chained to the illusion
of drowning;
I dive deeper in belief
of my self
and arise, wet and glowing.

In my new skin,
a more comfortable fit,
I swirl together
the sun and shadows
as I dance,
and the flickering
upon my upturned face
reveals another transformation
taking place
within.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Pitfalls and Wings

I remember you describing it like trap doors.

That unexpected drop we don’t see coming. It’s one thing when you are watching your footing, placing your soles carefully around the eggshells, having been conditioned, trained, skilled, at moving around in this on-guard, defensive way. It’s another when you’ve just started to have confidence in the spring in your step upon trusted ground. I was outdoors, in my favorite place, when it happened this last time.

A trap pre-set by a predator disguised as a friend. Another very unexpected fall. No problem. I’m used to it. I know what to do. It’s all very logical. Except when I go to grab onto the root to begin the climb, it opens another hole. I unexpectedly drop again. I reach, I lift myself, I lift myself, I reach for the wrong root again and another hole opens… I don’t understand these. They come from deep within my own self. These were not set by him. There is no logic; I’ve tried every pattern. Eventually, I make it out.

And then another pit sends me plummeting.

I’m thinking about these pitfalls today, sitting upon a rock in a favorite dress on a beautiful day, revisiting the scene, the trap pre-set especially for me. I find myself thinking the all-too-familiar question for each of us, so universal, so personal: why me?

I honestly do feel I should have been spared by my higher power. I’ve paid my dues. I’ve done my time. With Trauma. But what sense of entitlement and special treatment is that? Not to mention the whole free-will clause which others can use to interfere with my own hard work and desires.

So I do now reflect on the possible reasons. Does God have yet another lesson for me to learn, yet another trial to overcome? How strong does He want me to be?! And why?… When I think of this, I do not feel like a victim; there is very little woe is me. I actually get a bit excited that He is preparing me for big things. Like I am a chosen one. And if ever I were to be in training or to serve, I would definitely want it to be for Him! I feel empowered. I feel an ego I never thought I had. I always thought I was selfless to a fault.

I did it. I think. Again. I’ve lost, yet won.

Are you proud of me, God?


I think, too, about how much I have control of and how much I don’t. I know how we react is everything, our miseries often self-induced, self-perpetuated, the way we keep ourselves trapped and prisoners; we look down sometimes and see the cuffs and chains are unlocked, and we scramble to re-secure them. Why?

Is it all fear?

If so, are we really trusting God is with us, sees what is ahead? We cannot get there if we keep re-locking ourselves when He keeps setting us free.

My past is my past. I have freed myself from it. I must shake the dungeon dust fully off. Perhaps that is the purpose of these new wings.

I feel the breeze of your and His love…

Thank you for always believing in me.

I suppose with wings,
these pitfalls can

no longer sink me;
I’ll keep my eyes

forward in these skies
and focused
on the portals
to my dreams.

Words and images ©LauraDenise

Finally

I am changing again,
another metamorphosis,
finally with wings

delicate yet indestructible,
soft but dipped in
a protective celestial coating.

I think it may be your love
combined with His blessing.

I think this is my last rebirth,
no more rising from the ashes
of my previous selves.

I am ready to fly,
though already home,
so comfortably snug
in your heart.

Coastal breezes
keep me blissfully hovering
above the benevolent sea

as the rising sun
warms my soul
without singeing
my dreams.

The Petals I’ve Known

It’s been sunny and seventies, and the seasons
have not so much been confused
as they have been seemingly
just leisurely mingling, amused,
some stalling, some joyfully letting go;
nothing in the South rushes though.

Like melting cubes of ice in tea,
we take it sweet and slow down here.
It tickles me pink to have the mix
sprinkling personal messages so clear.

Today started differently,
gray with a bit of nip in the air.
Certain trees partaking in autumn
are almost now bare,
covering the patio in a bland
blanket over stone,
which made the flowers
I did not grow
even more the focal point
of my windowed soul.

I smiled for how they have become
so deeply rooted in my journey.
Marking my heart’s pages,
so many petals and leaves held so dearly,
imprinting with their colors and scents
my most powerful untold stories.