Tea With Honey Bee

Few things do I find
more peaceful 
than the golden hours
I make and spend 
with non-people
in those euphoric moments
I string together
between the shadows, 
sitting among the bees
in neither garden
nor bramble,
a weedy yard 
as proxy for the meadow
I have yet to discover
as my special 
place to feel 

In the meantime, 
longer still, 
will I spend 
unweaving the web
to the portal. 

I watch in comforting
company each
peculiar movement
of a single honey bee
again in the perfect
light, so celestial. 

I bet he’s seen
my meadow. 

I strain to hear
the whispers, 
the clues, 
as I always do,
and add them to
my map

I take into my essence
the message 
of a single bee
on the webbed edge
of the dark and deep, 
and I remember, 
too late or in perfect timing, 
that I also have and always have had

Perhaps this whole map thing
is what deceives, 
keeps us stagnant 
with the planning
when we simply
need to faithfully begin
the journey, 
all of it too fleeting
to waste another moment
not believing
we can achieve
right now
our dreams. 

We are never truly defeated, 
jilted, ill-fated, 
except by ourselves
when we lie down
too long 
where we don’t belong,
succumbing to the sunset song of the poppies
when the field of sunny, new-day daisies
is just up ahead. 

I never heard a buzz from that bee. 
Funny how later and always, I will remember
the way it pollinated
these dreams. 

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

A Fallen Blossom At Dawn

Another fallen blossom…
like the ones before
in years passed
I photographed
and told stories for.

Each of these moves me
in such profound ways;
what’s underfoot,
what others pass,
stops me in my tracks
with the silent beauty
so profoundly displayed.

For a lifetime, I feel
I could sit and contemplate,
reflect on all the lessons
and secrets it portrays…

This is how I know
I’m different, 
for off the beaten path,
tucked away,
alone in nature
is my happiest place. 

The soft morning light
haloing the fallen lady
bids me pay respect 
and paint legacy allegories.

Not as sad as the last one
I payed homage to, 
(but of course that is influenced 
by my inner untappable currents
and current surface mood,
no doubt, in turn, affected by
the recent tides and moon…)
this fallen beauty, still so poised,
fills me with bittersweet truths,

for we, the best things, this life itself…
all fleeting, all blossoms plucked by breezes
in the grand scheme of it all,
these hundred years if we are lucky
(but who’s to say that’s luck
when we know not
what’s next and beyond;
perhaps those taken early
were needed for something else,
angels only visiting
to help us with ourselves…)
nothing at all, 
a blink in time,
though insignificant
nor the center 
of the universe 
should we feel;
we are each dearly loved,
part of the same mother tree
unseen but a morph of every variety,
the keeper of every seed and leaf
releasing us one by one
into the world 
upon the breezes
in perfectly timed seasons
to root ourselves
until it’s our time
and we are called back again
like this beautiful blossom
having just detached.
I always wonder if it’s 
a leap of faith or
sacrifice or circumstance.

In any event, who could not
ponder the rest of their life
happening upon

a “fallen” blossom
at dawn. 

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Single Lady Beetle

One single ladybug
upon the petals pink. 

Enough to thrill me,
unwrap my childhood glee,
take me back to
pure and natural naïvety; 

my hair wrapped up
atop my head messily, 
but I feel it fall
into playful pigtails
and hear my childhood
call, giggling. 

I am such a nature freak,
perhaps geek.
Probably both. 

But it’s been seven years
since I’ve seen one of these,
after having moved to the South.

What a special surprise!
What could I find
to read in the sign?… 

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Of Wildflowers

In the texture of petals,
in the lifelines and veins,
I silently read the private stories
in the evaporating, evanescent after-rain. 

In the ones with the audacity 
to rise and bloom where they please, 
defying borders and surviving pesticides, 
I feel myself for the first time breathe. 

In the tiniest, overlooked complexities, 
I scrutinize worlds within,
chosen and privy to the revealing
of the fantastical magic kingdoms.

In the golden-light when the first or last rays
highlight the most delicate paired buds
in their mutual vulnerable opening,
I feel the blessing from the heavens
upon the greatest of humble love
stories unfolding.

In the darkest of thickets, surrounded by thorns,
I witness the miracles of mysticism
when the beacon checks in on the meekest first
faithfully after every storm.

Walk the manmade paths
through the planted gardens:
I will always be watching my step,
one with them, in
the uncharted, shifting lands
of wildflowers.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

It is the Sky

Awesome and tranquil Sea
soothes me, strokes me with peace…

The Mountains huddle protectively
and I feel snug in the middle of their majesty…

The Woods beckon me to wander endlessly,
enchanted by flickering sunbeams between trees….

Unsurpassed beauty in the petals’ intricacies,
I hesitantly unfurl with the Flowers delicately…

But of all of the nature in gifted creation,
nothing captures my heart quite like the heavens,

the glimpses of paradise where angels reside,
looking down on us, their love reaching with light.

It is Sky that makes my heart leap the most,
can’t take my eyes off of; it’s entranced my soul.

The clouds carry my every dream and hope,
and one day, will lovingly carry me home.

Give Me Cloudy Days

Give me cloudy days!
Fill the skies
with grandiose displays,
billows of magnificence,
those ever-shifting shapes!

No sunrise will I miss
when those clouds get their first kiss
and set off on their journey
blushing with pink bliss.

Let the clouds continue to bloom
when the skies default to blue;
all day long, let them come
and show off what they can do.

I’ll still be looking up
when the sun begins to drop
and kisses again the clouds goodnight
as night begins its watch.

In front of moon, the clouds pass
in my favorite nocturnal dance
in lines floating by
that captivate and hold me entranced.

Thank you, Creator, for garnishing with clouds;
how boring the view would be without!
Thank you for the constant reminder
that You are still undoubtedly around.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Sunflowers in the Sand


Sunflowers in the sand

baffle my preconceived notions,

such a traditional earthy flower

sprouting alongside the ocean.


It draws me in,

such an unexpected sight,

yellow-bursting heads,

mini-suns against the muted,

so bold and bright.


So many thoughts

beyond the beauty

begin to orbit

in my mind.


I am reminded

of childhood,

encouraged to

color in the book

true to experienced life,

don’t make the sun blue,

stay within the lines,

learn early

to close your mind.


Sunflowers in the sand

seem to defy,

toss their heads proudly

yet their humility

roots a portrait

symbolic of choosing

one’s own path

and life.


People on the beach

pass by,

seem oblivious

to the mini-miracles

and massive messages

that entrance

and shape me

from the inside.


And that is the difference

between the photographer-poet

and the others:

we see beneath and beyond,

we hear the whispers.


We capture it in the lens

and ink-dipped pens

and present it back to you,

artfully gifting

a beautiful impression,

another perspective,

a deeper connection,

hoping you’ll pause

long enough for



Sunflowers in the sand

should never be overlooked.

You would never find them

in a coloring book.


Poem and image ©LauraDenise


I escape undetected

slip past the sea-oat rimmed fence,


cross the bridge

to the great blue expanse,

Version 2

leave behind the land

until toes get lifted

from underwater sand,


and I am in the

unstable hand,


at the whim

of my moody

but trusted friend


to take me

fathoms deep

into the abyss

of an empty head,


afloat in the saltwater solution

that expels the world

with each exhaled breath.


I only focus occasionally

on the shore

to reality check

my location

while away indefinitely

on my solitude vacation,


in no hurry to return

to the daily obligations.

I shift back my attention

to Sea’s lovely manipulations,


back and forth

with occasional playful splashes.

Cradle me awhile longer,

at least until the next pelican passes…



Poem and images ©LauraDenise