Brook and Ocean

I am a mix of classic, 
old soul, timeless, 
monochromatic, 
black-and-white
nostalgic, 
dreams suspended, 
cared for, frozen
in time
to thaw, 
hopeless romantic,
most faithful 
disciple 
of hope
and love, 

but also from my core
seeps light and color,
the desire to bleed out
the excess,
emptying, 
unable to harbor;
outwardly, it overflows
a constant flood of emotion. 
Few are able to sustain
that much ebbless influx
from a misplaced
ocean. 

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

May I?

May I never lose my way
to getting lost,
may I never resist the urge
to leave it all, 
may I never shelter my face
from the storm, 
may I never let my arms fall
in the downpour,
may I never fully wash off
the grit of the sand, 
and may I never be restrained 
by clock or human hand.

May I never negotiate with my soul: 
may I never let anyone close the window. 

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Princess Duties

I am not claiming to have a gift,
to be the one sought out
by enchanted beings,
but can anyone else see
the crab in the leaves
peering at me?

Clearly, he has a message,
to have crossed the busy street
from the beach;
does Titan need me
to immediately return to sea?

I hope all is well.
I get up close
to my crustacean friend.
I listen with my eyes
and take heart
to what he’s said…

misplaced habitat
red crab stares from the bushes
nets my attention

Overlapping Storms

Choking on saltwater waves
that relentlessly batter,
you smile and assure me
you don’t need the preserver. 

You insist I take it,
even though we both know
I am the better swimmer. 

I pass it back. 
I can tread
these waters
longer. 

We will alternate. 
Save your strength. 
You can give me
intermittent breaks. 

This is my
domain. 
Titan hears you
pleading
my name. 

Mermaid fins 
are reinstated.
I transfer them
to you instead. 

My faith and your support
will keep me afloat. 
Our love will make peace
with the tempests
and be our lifeboat. 

And when we 
feel the shore firmly
beneath our feet, 
I will let you again
carry me. 

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Humble and Free

Innately humble,
previously crumbled,
leveled beneath the rubble
of decades of reinforced
word-misuse,
untruths, 
I now know,
this self-love journey
continues to unfurl
quite like the protective petals 
finally believing 
the whispers of the golden
morning light.

img_5169

I have done more
than bloom:
I have begun the rise.

Saltwater rightfully weathers
tears petrified.
Scars from my past
cannot be erased,
but the open wounds have sealed
and the sting of the waves
I no longer feel,
only the saving 
grace. 

(Photos of me by my daughter)

Abandoning Ghosts

If just for today, my darling, 
turn your back on them;
let’s leave the ghosts behind,
full circle turn the penance.

We’ll frolic through the fields,
tuck some petals behind our ears;
let the coast drown out those distant wails,
let our laughter be what we hear.

Take my hand, my love;
too beautiful is this day!
Let’s get lost on our deserted island;
let me take you to our favorite place. 

In the breezy, salty air
beyond the slow windmill, 
when the light catches just right, 
let me entrance you with my sea-spell; 

look into my eyes,
let my soul-windows reflect
every reason I fell for you
in all the seasons since we met

to remind you who you really are,
to discredit all their untruths,
I’ll seal the re-revelation in
with a stolen kiss
and by your initiative,
endless more will ensue;
we’ll topple down into the warm sand
and love away the afternoon. 

Your ghosts can wait. 
Be mine today, 
my forever
groom. 

I smile and hide that the breath
delivered with that kiss I trapped inside
was laced with a mermaid-gifted
antidotal light
to transmute the creviced shadows
that had slowly been eating you alive. 

A daily dose I’ll provide
as your forever nurse-
bride. 

If just for today, my darling, 
turn your back on them;
let’s leave the ghosts behind.
Stay here in my eyes. 

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Gripping Sand

Sometimes we must firmly
grip the sand
instead of merely wishing
to be carried to shore.

Sometimes it is best
to escape through the window
rather than open
either door.

Sometimes when the photo album
has so many empty pages,
it’s time coloring the sickness yellow
since it can’t fade non-faces.

Sometimes in the dark wood
instead of striking tear-soaked matches,
we must look up for the beacon
of light through the branches.

Sometimes from the cliff of depression
instead of digging our nails in,
we must be willing to release our grip
and reach for the offered hand.

Sometimes for a while longer,
it’s good to remain on our knees,
but He cannot help us rise
if we let lie His gifted bravery.

Sometimes when we grip the sand
and claw our way to beach,
we complain it’s the wrong island
and forget we were just
drowning in the deep.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise