Let Me

Let my honeyed-elixir voice
in your left ear
reach down to the raw & scarred
present and past tears,

those rips in the abyss
of the soul:
let this touch caress
and these words slowly dripped
from my lips
coat.

I know
each deep,
dry-well fissure
all too well:
let me stitch you
with these
golden threads
like I’ve sewn
myself

and fill you
with the feel
of liquid hope.
Let it
overflow.

Lay down your armor
beside mine,
undress so I
may dress
the wounds
unable to be healed
by Time.

You are safe
tonight.
Let me take care
of you
until the return
of Light.


Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Umbrellaless On Purpose

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

Fissures

Fissures shift,
the inner lifts,
though I wish
to keep it
enclosed.
Exposed
to the elements
becomes my soul.
The tears rise
and flow.

When the painquake subsides,
there are less toxins inside.
I suppose it is nature’s way
of eliminating the accumulating waste,
that which we bury in false deaths,
that which we hide beneath the surface,
a sort of protection and procrastination
of that which we cannot bear in the moment
to face.

Two-faced
are we all.
How are you?
Good, thanks.
Why do we ask
that question
in passing?
Too often fake.
How am I?
Probably actually
similar to how you are
especially in the way
that we guard
the answer.
Brief eye contact.
Continue walking.
If only we acknowledged
anything.
Hands on phones,
hands of clocks.
Bombs inside.
Tick. Tock.

Fissures by nature
are meant to be breaks.
Down is mine. Again.
No brakes.

Not a fall
but an opening.
An involuntary wound-seeping.
Weeping.

My inner, risen now.
What will you do
with what’s come out?

Red is the heart
and magma
at the core.

I’ve left a puddle
of lava
upon your floor.

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.

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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)

If I Could Reach It

There is a pain in you
so exquisitely piercing,
in depths that cannot
be reached;
if I could dive
into the abyss of you,
I wouldn’t hesitate
to retrieve it.

But even then,
it could too easily
well up again,
so instead,
I would trace the source,
swim upstream
through your tears
and pluck
from the duct
the thorn.

But I cannot.
The furthest I can reach
is your heart
and transfuse the antiserum
from my own scars,
hold your hand
and see you through
each storm,
and all of my faith
add to yours
and send up
our plea

to the stars.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Mystery to Me

Heart-sensors

extra sensitive,

picking up mixed signals

of every human emotion,

eyes brim with

unidentified sadness

but do not spill over,

for tears that mix

simultaneously with

happiness

get recalled to the cauldron

to start over

in the feelings-concoction,

stirred not by hand

but all that I am,

have been through,

have yet to see,

and the substance

that holds it 

all together

in the center

comes from the faith

I feel

He has

in me. 

I am transforming

into exactly who

I was always

going to 

be,

still a mystery

to me.

Lord, keep making me

an instrument

of Your peace. 

 

The Prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi 

Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace;
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is error, the truth;
Where there is doubt, the faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
And where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master,
Grant that I may not so much seek
To be consoled, as to console;
To be understood, as to understand;
To be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen.

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.

IMG_8937

 

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.

img_8534

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

The Well

 

To those

feeling parched,

soul-holed,

alone,

like dry-well stones

in the rain-doubt drought

beyond a season,

let me give you a reason

to nurture the last drop of hope:

you will get out,

you will be found,

you will taste again the rain

and be filled,

and the filling will flood,

overflow like a trickling fountain,

from the source of a new happiness

sent from above,

and you will remember the days

you ached for anything

to make that pain go away,

and before you toss your

wish-kissed pennies in,

you will listen

to make sure there isn’t

someone else stuck in

that well

that you could help

lift out.

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Love, Laura
(formerly Tektite Tears)

Above It

IMG_7679

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