Gossamer Bridges

Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.

Walt Whitman

I spend time and thread
reaching out for
places to land,
and sometimes I do,
but then I feel the wind
signaling again
that the respite is but transitory,
and I am not even
the spider
but a phoenix
whose wings have singed
over centuries
beyond this dimension
as I eternally morph
evanescently,
reaching out
for a home
for me.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45473/a-noiseless-patient-spider

Gossamer Bridge

Seasons

Seasons about,
seasons within,
seasons of life,
seasons begin.

All seasons end.

This brings about what pleases
and that which disappoints,
that which shatters
and that which fills with joy,

but who are we to judge
what’s in our best interest
from our non-omniscient,
limited perspective?

Who is the narrator?
Who is the character?
Who is the author?
Who will read it

in the end?

Dusty cover,
spring breeze,
dust to dust,
seasons never cease.

I resist the gales of change
even though I’ve grown wings;
sometimes our comfy cocoons
are stirred on purpose
by the leaf.

Premature nostalgia
begins to take hold;
I try to focus on the excitement
of what He has in store.

Seasons never cease.
“Nothing gold can stay,”
but it returns so loyally,
and in its absence regrows

faith.

I will harvest the gold
in the center
as the petals unfurl,
life within life…
keeping or returning to
the purity and light,

I believe,

is the eternal goal.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

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

Symbols in the Sand

A detour, soulful tugging,
I find myself impulsively
knelt again on the white sands
before the altar at an end
of the earth,
surf symphony
rising predictably
to greet me,
but I casually look about
for the signs He wanted me
to again come ’round…
between my toes
ancient mountains ground
to grains,
quartz granules,
sugar-soft,
appropriate backdrop
for the hieroglyph
written for me:
it freezes me.

So easily,
I succumb
to the enchantment
of silence,
save for those waves
and occasional sea birds
with personal messages calling.
(It always baffles me
how I can so often have
this parcel of paradise
to myself…)
I stay a long, unhurried while
just trying to feel
what this enigmatic swirl
of sea oat in the sand
is all about…
Something about curves
is always so sensuous,
aesthetically strokes
my soul…
I don’t need a translation;
in fact, I prefer
this sacredly-carved symbol.
I make it my own
and add it to my collection
of clues
leading me leisurely
home.
It is the journey
after all, and I have nowhere else
to go.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Shifting

shifting sands
grains unable to be grasped
slipping through fingers
sieve of my existence
footprints vanishing
in vain trying to leave
an imprint, fingerprints
fossilizing

as I watch
sea drops dry on shells
shells of mankind
displayed non-selves
on shelves

shifting painted shapes
offer to take me away
only to lead to the next
drifting cumulous cloud
lateral when I need
to be higher
homeward bound

shifting sands
I open my hand
spread my fingers wider
I know what the answers
are not
to feel the silk
is to feel
nothing caught
but sensory strokes
the void
in the curve
of my palm
no trail found
to my entrance
into the sea

saltwater can’t sting
when the wounds
are too far beneath
the body’s surface

arms open
I invite
the above in
home-
sick
let me know
I am not

forgotten

Catapults

Internal disposition
of slipping
into loss
of direction,
contingent upon
situation, 
origin, intention,
catalyst participation,
leisurely initiated or
punitively inflicted,
meditation or conviction.
Usually welcome
as an introverted creative,
this episodic disillusion 
stripping me of all pulls
keeping me rooted
to anything… 

The void.

Loss of hearing
among the noise.

Galaxies inside.

Gravity denied. 

Lifetimes paused,
unable to decide

anything at all.
Desirous of a

f
a
l
l,

anything to move the air
to revivify my trackable pulse,
the beat of my heart
back on the radar
to be found again,
though I am not

lost.
I’m right here. 
The voice,
gone.

Why did I wander
so far 
from home?

The fall,
granted:
my return,

a

c
o
m
e
t

flung from
catapult. 

This will hurt
us all… 

Poem and image ©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.