Poet. Writer. Photographer.
In the dark,
as a harbinger
of horizon’s light:Â
the herald’s song,
solo bird’s
opening line.
What hope floats
through my open window
to remind:
courage upon blindness
most often rides.Â
In the lightening mist
before the sun arrives,
the first chords inspire
the chorus to rise…
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…
Artificial light
will suffice
when I employ
on quiet walks
my creative devices
to make art
during heart-
survival crises
until it all naturally passes,
as all weather is designed to do;
I need to do better with storm preparations,
though He always sees ahead and sees me
through.
Tonight, to distract
with creative play,
I replace and extend
a stem with manmade
until the flower becomes a tower,
and then I ignite the beacon,
and let the moon console
a lonely orb romantic-dreaming.
I do these magnificent things
not only to take focus away from the pain
but because it gives me the control and power
as an abuse-survivor to manipulate
in a positive way.
I do it for you, but really and also
for me, selfishly,
but if you and I both need it,
how comforting it then becomes for us
to become “we.”
You’ve been here too,
I know, as I have been there,
not these same tracks
but in the aches that echo,
shared.
Focusing on the edges
blurs out the sun,
but drifting into reflections
makes it drown.
So I’ll try again
to arrange
the composition
to slowly allow the flames
to warm the hearth
from within.
Poem and images ©LauraDenise
Sandpiper scurries
to and fro
with the fanciest of footwork
from tide’s leading flow,
dipping, receding,
with each orchestrated ebb,
back and forth
in time, once and again.
I raise my arms
and curtsy too
and dance
with the wind
despite the gray and
black and blue.
To pause the pain,
I watch the wind
spin petaled pinwheels
as the colors blend.
I reach to turn the wild-
flower kaleidoscope,
hiding in the hues
of an alternate vision
of beauty and hope.
Perhaps I will not return
to my world of gray;
perhaps I will, but disintegrate
The Cloud with these
faith rays.
All poems and images on this site ©LauraDenise
Injury to the heart
forever alters the beat:
weeping wounds, scar tissue,
yet a chamber still
sings…
Words and image ©LauraDenise
Moments drip
drop, first
molecules
floating
to fall,
and when
the basin
is filled,
our time
is up.
Let me taste
each one
individually
upon my
upturned
mouth.
May I spend
the least
amount
in flood
or drought,
paned,
sheltered
or drowned.
Let me feel
it all
though;
to offer an umbrella
or call me inside
is to deny me
each elixir dose
to my soul’s life.
Moments
shared
with others,
even fleeting
in passing,
make up
the ocean
of emotion
that fills and
propels me
most deeply.
When the last sun sets,
I know I cannot take
any drops with
even though they became a part
of my very composition,
but heaven is in the clouds
for a reason,
and I believe from these
drops within,
another birthing
will begin…
Poem and images ©LauraDenise
tears dry
like rain subsides
weather a part of nature
designed with intent
by our Creator
feelings, emotions
love and joy
despair and heartache
all part of what
deems us alive
would you trade it all in
for numbness instead?
if you already did
what could bring you back
from the breathing-dead?
perhaps a lot of it
comes from our own doing
and neglect
how many times we must
get in the way of His plans!
His plans for each
never carved in stone
I do not believe
for fate takes away free will
and free will shackles and frees
these pains must too
have a purpose
maybe more than a force
forming us
these tragedies…
who is to say
the why until
it is revealed one day
it is the blind eye
that is turned
rather than the cheek
that I think each
must explain
for admittance
through the gates
will He play back the footage
what will He deem as the highlights
will they match with what we think
we’ve done to please with our lives?
tears dry
like rain subsides
even the sky
cries sometimes
Poem and image ©LauraDenise
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.
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)
Laura Denise 