This Present

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Yesterday, yesteryears

are taken away

with the setting sun;

to keep the beauty,

learn from mistakes,

release regrets

helps us move on.

 

The specialness of each

gifted present moment,

we miss

when we get hyper-focused

keep our gazes affixed,

keep treading, keep heading

into that unreachable West,

and before we know it,

time,

life,

love

have passed.

 

Let us wake

and lift our faces

to the light

and live

for today,

careful we don’t become blinded by the East, though,

for chasing the future

in sunrises

still takes us

away.

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Disclaimer: If your present is unbearable, live for tomorrow, retreat to the past, wherever the warmest ember is, and for now, hold on to that… ❤

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

The Bridge

Version 2

 

Sometimes a bridge is a portal

between states of mind,

but those trolls

keep you from crossing

to the other side.

 

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But happiness comes from within

and the colors to paint with ample,

so if fear keeps you trapped,

start making your own side beautiful.

 

And before you know it,

your side will blend

so smoothly

into the place

you used to dream of,

 

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and you will show others the way,

how to dissolve the illusions

of trolls and hopeless horizons…

 

Version 2

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Where It Soars

Freedom of the spirit,

the release of the heart,

lies within us all

in that potential-spark;

 

beneath the scars,

wrapped in chains,

the whisper persists

guarded by brain,

 

but only the heart

knows the direction,

can guide the way,

to authentic ever-after.

 

Hear the fear

to track its source.

Defeat the wraith.

Uncage the heart

 

and follow where it

soars.

 

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Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Critical Heart

Sometimes a heart

simply wears thin,

the muscle becomes tissue

paper, translucent,

 

and the wind

and the rain

threaten to tear it,

but as long as its color

holds permanent,

 

the heart

will mend

itself

again.

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It is the heart that darkens

that is a critical matter,

its pigment abrasively stripped

from harsh despair;

 

it becomes ugly and overpassed,

judged and seen as an outcast

until it believes in the masses

and caves into itself at last.

But even the most charred heart

can grow back its color,

and though love is the way,

it is not through the kiss of another.

 

Only the withered bloom itself

can ignite the reverse process

with self-love,

 

and if but one beholder

can convince it of its beauty,

that heart with its scars

is the one that grows into the greatest

 

love story.

 

Every heart is worthy.

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Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Concrete Bloom

One single bloom

in the crack

of the concrete

stands out so

boldly

on a day

I need it most.

A reminder

of who I am.

The most stubborn

fighter,

Defender of the Spirit,

a beautiful soul,

and no matter how much

you throw on top of me,

I will grab hold

and rise up

and look you in the eye

and defiantly

smile

until you one day

give up

and shake your head

and finally give me

what I have always

deserved,

and it better not have any

monetary value.

 

This song is for all my other fellow risers…

Words and images ©LauraDenise

Above It

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I once wrote about a revelation I had while on an airplane, that the sun is always shining above the storm clouds.

I think about that still and now. How many people are trapped in their moods and even life circumstances, how sad it is that they are not able to experience the sun from that perspective and position, how many years they may spend under those dreary gray or turbulent-storm clouds, how they forget, don’t realize, or simply lose hope that the sun is there and will inevitably return to their view, that they will again see the light and feel the warmth.

I am currently above the storm clouds, looking down, in a sense. I see those individuals, I see you, I see my past self. I think of ways I can reach them, reach you, reach my past self. I think of my gifts and talents and how I can use them for that purpose.

In that reflection after that flight, I wrote of still not fully finding my place or purpose. There is a new realization in me now, though, that tells me I am close. Perhaps we never truly feel soulfully satisfied because we are not meant to yet. Perhaps the purpose of this life as we know it is to get as close to our purpose as we can. Perhaps a higher power knows the results; perhaps this is a test, a challenge, a journey for the purpose of a journey, with unknown results. Perhaps we will amaze or disappoint our higher power. Perhaps the uneasiness many of us feel is an indication that we are off track, individually and collectively. Perhaps the more on course we are, the more peace we experience within.

I currently feel a new kind of serenity within myself. I have no idea where I’m headed, but I’ve slowed my stride and am simply enjoying basking in these moments. I used to feel many days like a dark cloud was always just behind me, following me. But I’m not below right now; I’m above. I am basking in the warmth, blowing cumulous-cloud balls like dandelion wishies. I may return to ground level soon, but now I have a knowing. And that changes everything.

I don’t know what’s beyond today. I don’t know what’s beyond this life. But I know no matter what your perspective or position, it’s not permanent. Dark clouds do not have targets, I don’t think. But even if they did, there is a constant above them: light. The sun is ever-present. You just have to choose to rise above it. To fly.

These days, these clouds, this rain, these storms–they will pass. Remember that. In the meantime, when it’s safe, go outside, put down the umbrella, and drink in that rain. Rainbows grace the skies only when the rain and sun meet. There is beauty in the rain and the in-between. Adjust your perspective and position if needed. Beauty is in there somewhere. You just have to want to find it, see it, feel it. Believe it.

Words and image ©LauraDenise

05/01/19

One Drop Dreaming

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I am but one,

already tired,

one tiny bent molecule

in a sea of salt water.

 

I drift with others,

ebb and flow,

too slowly moving

to really know

 

if we’re going forward

at all;

am I my own motion

or merely following

the crowd,

 

being pulled and tugged,

or worse, rocked to sleep?

Am I even awake

or is this a dream?

 

What would happen,

I wonder,

if I resisted the urge

to merely drift like this

because it’s easier.

 

I once heard

in hushed whispers

about a legendary drop

that caused a ripple

 

that created a wave

that pummeled the shore

that got the attention

of a grain of sand

who thought to itself,

 

I want to do more

 


I got lost in thought after reading this poem (below) by Will Pennington, and it inspired me to write the above poem. 

“Tattoos” by Will Pennington

This Strange New Land

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My hands are free.

It is an odd feeling

to be gripping so tightly

nothing,

but not like previous

free falling.

My feet are steady.

The fears, the desperations,

have fled, leaving me

drama free.

I have landed

in such a strange new land.

My muses, even,

have retreated,

not in abandonment,

but belief that I can stand

on my own.

Mother Nature and my higher power

whisper again the ways to go now

toward home.

Without the whirlwinds of that past life

deafening me,

I can hear them now.

And I’m not in a hurry.

To flee toward or away from

anything.

Normally, I would be on guard,

not trusting the calm,

knowing it is only the before

of the next storm,

but somehow,

I now know

even though I am still one without a home,

I am exactly where I should be.

I do not feel lost.

I am not lonely.

At this stage of relief

in my journey.

Is this serenity?

So many years,

I spoke the words

of that prayer.

Something or someone

feels so gently and thankfully

near.

My hands, my arms, my heart

are now free

to, if I choose,

receive.

Don’t Blink

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Don’t blink

or they’ll be grown,

living in different places,

separated by more

than miles,

by the race

of life.

 

Don’t blink

or you’ll miss

realizing this kiss

is the last one

they’ll permit

because they’re too old now

and that’s gross.

 

Don’t blink,

take it in,

a snapshot in your head,

perhaps the last

innocent, naive

grin they’ll have

before the world

gets hold of them.

 

Don’t blink

away the days,

taking for granted

all the ways

they wanted to play

for a while with you

when you had too much

to do.

 

Don’t blink.

But if you do…

 

know that neither time

nor place

could ever erase

the love you graced

nor the memories

you made,

 

and even if they

scrunch up their faces,

kiss them anyway,

no matter their ages,

 

and make a point

of making them smile

because more than ever,

they could probably

use it now,

 

and take the time still

to take time outs

in life to play,

send an airline ticket

their way,

 

and when the tears

of yesteryear start

to fill your eyes,

even if your loved ones

have left this life…

 

Blink.

Slowly.

Find them,

feel them,

in your closed eyes.

 

Blink

the sad tears away.

Let the happy ones

fall.

 

For all they have brought you.

For all they have of you.

 

Blink.

And just like that,

you are reunited again.