Re-Lighting

Rough week. Double red flags waving. The bay wilder than the ocean. It called me home. Here’s to the ones in the throes of it. Let’s relight ourselves. Again.

I give my light freely,
but sometimes it is taken,
emotional perpetrators
breaching my innermost spaces.

They underestimated 
my strength
and did again
today,

for as long as there
is the sea and my God,
I will raise my arms
in faith;
you will never 
keep me down
as long as there 
are waves and rays. 

I will wash 
what you left
away. 

You underestimated 
our strength. 

Wind and Wings

I will bend to please,
for I put first others’ needs;
overempathy makes me weak.

Forceful winds,
whether intended or not,
push with invisible pressure 
until my insides knot. 

In opposite direction
of secret desires,
the flight I am put on
with unpurchased ticket
takes me higher

but farther
on false wings
to where I wished to be;
nonetheless, I relentlessly
look for the positives 
in my surroundings. 

Rock, boulder, 
my anchor,
my center,
is never stationary.
I move the mountains
with the strength
of your arms 
and my unshakable faith
in the Almighty. 

Bent tree. 
Flight path. 
Criss-crossing trajectories.
I will bend back.
I will disembark. 
And wherever that leaves me, 
I will find where 
the wildflowers are. 
And if you pluck them all, 
I will water the seeds
in my heart. 

I will persevere as me,
no matter how many rounds
I smartly, politely, or wearily
concede. 
Each of those fertilize 
bloom potentiality. 

I will grow my own
wildflower fields
until they rise
out of me. 

Hope Is A Red Balloon (With Audio)

Hope is a red balloon. 
To dream is to release,
To let the heart again believe:
Benediction granted wings.

Hope is a red balloon. 
To fear is to release. 
Self-shackling to the ribbon needed
For freedom to be achieved.

Hope is a red balloon.
But with passenger and knapsack attached,
It becomes the passageway
Between spirit-death and life hatched. 

Hope is a red balloon
That may burst at any moment
Over deep, dark uncharted waters 
With drowning a likely occurrence. 

Hope is a red balloon.
Faith is to ride it into the winds
Knowing the trajectory
Is calculated and adjusted
by Him,

Delivering to safety,
Granting the dream.
Because you held fast
To Hope’s string. 

Poem and image and recitation ©LauraDenise

Always Surmountable

©LauraDenise

We are never trapped,
just fated to faulty perspective,
succumb to specious perception;
it’s all relevant, related –

one more rock-move away
from the light 
on the other side
of the avalanche,

one more “wrong” turn
lost in the forest
before hearing
the anabranch…

much is necessarily experienced:

near suffocation sometimes the only way
to motivate a life-saving change,

the legs of the journey
in the humanless woods
lead to the reflection
and feeling of wounds,

and all paths probably have purpose
among the universe’s higher powers.

Without the lonely, looping trails,
we could not emerge anew
with our truest selves

and others we met along the way
not-so-coincidentally placed.

We are never trapped. 
We are never lost. 
At least not for very long. 

No change was ever ignited 
without the spark.
So many opportunities
missed, passed up, though
after being gifted matchsticks
but still refusing to start
the fire. 

Sea Dance

Barefoot atop the deep waters,
white dress and wild tresses flowing,
sunken-ship cemetery of the past beneath,
I twirl in this present moment. 

The sea is mine
as my dance floor,
and I skim across 
to my pick of shores;
I explore, I vacation, 
not searching, just jubilation
of losing
worries and fears,
exaltation of the lightness
of the lifting of those stormy years,
each moment an eternity
to get to the next,
each stepping stone
sinking with each vine grasped,
no beanstalk discovered
to bring me to the clouds,
only faith each day
for decades
of a better tomorrow.

That tomorrow is today,

hence the head-raised dance
in the sun and in the rain,
embracing with wide-opened arms
the achievement of having started
upon this horizon
I only viewed from the beach.

The stepping stones still sink.
I just realized the only missing factor
was to fully 

believe.

They were never needed. 
Self-love was the only key.

I was always worth it. 
Eventually, I fought
for me
and this
dream.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Unstoppable

I am unstoppable.

Though I have fallen,
though I have felt
sealed in a tombed fate,

I have risen,

I have relentlessly followed
that one ray of light.
I have never
lost faith.

I have found my way,

and the light of day
blinds my eyes
and its warmth soaks into
my soul;

I have found my glow.

Which way to go?

D
o
w
n

upon my knees
to once again pray;
in complete humbleness,
I express to Him
my thanks.

I feel His hand

finally
upon my shoulder
as He lifts the clouds
and clears my path
with the other.

I hear the Spirit

in the wind whisper,
“You may go whichever way you choose.”
Every single one of the paths
to me seems
so equally beautiful…

What will I do
with this new power?
Go back
and help the others.

 

The Green

Golden sunbeam

finds me

between the leaves;

I cannot hide

from nature’s loving

reach.

Each new day

offers new ways

for sleepy dreams

to be rejuvenated

and for goals

to be reached,

for the only thing

between

is belief,

and will

to go after

each,

for guaranteed

after every winter

like spring,

the potential

in every bare branch

and buried seed is

the green.

IMG_1303

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

One Drop Dreaming

IMG_6470.JPG

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