Tag: Identity

At The Trestle

Navigating rapids,
being battered by waves,
flailing in riptides:
for decades, the assay.

Perhaps that’s why
these ripples and reflections
call to me now
to make amends. 

I let my soul be stroked
with the bristles
coating with liquid layers
in redemption, baptismal:

acquittal.

A sibyl
reinstated.

Something about this river
brings back the scribbles
on my slate. 

I linger
at the trestle bridge, 
toes across inverted sky, skim. 
I know it is a portal
to where I have been.

I chant the rising words
to be let
in… 

Confirmations

Some set off to find themselves; 
some say wherever you go, there you are. 
Some never choose paths to explore
but remain stagnant, wishing upon stars. 

(But stars are evermoving,
taking those wishes with them,
beckoning the dreamer to follow
the paths constellationly charted.)

I set off with no objective,
but upon returning, the self-reflection
(thoughts actually in the clouds!)
made me realize about myself
that I am exactly who I thought I’ve already
found.

It’s the lightest I’ve ever felt
upon returning, for now, to the ground. 

Mountaintop Beauty

I hiked to 8,000 feet above the level of the sea
only to confirm my reputation of being a freak, 
for at a summit with world-famous views, 
I am the only one mesmerized stooped, 

having spotted the little bloom…

I feel the familiar flutter in my soul. 
My heart flies home. 

More minuscule than ever, 
the wildflower reminds me
of the mountains I have moved
to get here, to these
identity truths. 

And I remain committed and proud
to be the freak they deem me as, 
the one with eyes turned
in the other direction 
still following maps
to the treasure
that I am. 

Too Early to Title

Are you here?
You’ve been searching,
collecting clues;
perhaps this segment
of sea will weed or
reveal identity truths.

Just you here
and your mind.
What do you carry?
What have you
left behind?

Look about.
Family. Strangers.
One in the same.
Or entirely different?

Who has come
to search,
and what for?
Who will leave
with less, 
with more?

So many shells,
filled and hollow.
So many opportunities
made and lost
among people. 

Memories can be made.
Promises broken. 
Second chances given. 
Losses counted. 

Each drop significant, 
each drop matters,
though so vast is
the ocean’s water. 

Water is one,
a singular thing.
We don’t count drops
until we are thirsty. 

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Undam Me

It is the red-flagged waves, 
the storm sirens, 
that wake who I’ve been
for centuries dormant; 
arms by themselves stretch, 
welcome, open, 
remembering the calling,
my true name on the cusp
of being unspoken,
on the cusp of the crescent, 
my dreams dangled,
the cusp of my heart 
releasing the rush withheld, 
on the cusp of my emergence
from the cocoon that protects
the self. I am not afraid!
May these waves finally break
this manmade dam
and reveal once and for all
who I am! 

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Printless Sand

What would prompt me

if not a photo?

Where would I go

if I had but one tomorrow?

 

Of the flames lit inside of me,

which is the one

that fuels naturally?

 

If the slate were blank

and the mind cleaned,

what colors would rise

to the surface to bleed?

 

If the water were so still

no ripple dared move,

would my inner reflection

be revealed in truth?

 

If you were here beside me

and fear never conceived,

would our souls

breathe into each other

sighs of relief?

 

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