Ceiling Window

Storm damage,
barriers broken,
dirty, yellow sickness,
weathering construction;

sky lights,
greening branches,
reach to pull through window
perspective victim.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Today, I Choose

Today, I choose
to mute the gray,
encroaching ghosts,
and the negativity
of others attempting
to block the rays.

I turn up the colors,
the cardinal’s song,
my own showtune voice
singing along,

the sky blue,
the verdant greens,
the leaves infused with
late summer’s breeze…

Today, I choose
to mute the grays,
to focus only on
the beauty gifted
in this day.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Light Bulb

In lieu of petals,
on a barren stem,
a bud of light
hatches open.

The message clear:
it’s all a bit more than
a matter of perspective.

You can focus on the loss
or fill it in.

One comes from stagnancy,
the other action.

We can do so much more
with what we are given.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Concrete Canvas

Concrete cannot barricade
my imagination from its escape;
especially on rainy days,
I paint with puddles
like Van Gogh and Monet –
bright colors, ocean waves,
always naturescapes,
to keep from drowning
in the daily mundane.

Concrete cannot barricade
dreams that refuse to fade to gray.

Always Surmountable

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.

Wish Depletion

No wishes for you;
they’ve all been used –
all that’s left,
dark silhouettes
on a backdrop
of gray doom…

not entirely true!

These particular wishes
attached to prayers
have all been
sent by another
who cares,

and with each
of those breaths,
so many more
seed-wishes
with wings

were launched
to find where
you are
and rebirth
your dreams.

Turn around and see
the field gifted to you
from me.

❤

Poem and images ©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

The Past In Your Palm

Natural beach tangleballs
messily woven with care;
the tides tidy the past,
clean up the yesteryears,

least-cherished experiences
ready for burial but not at sea,
rejected from the ocean
to keep the present clean.

From the depths, the debris
from storms and dune erosion
get collected and rolled like snowballs
and returned to the shores,

sand burial for these non-treasures
heavy in the chest
that successfully sunk
but then resurrected.

Inspect it, if you can,
at this time of the future,
the mess and the once unbearable
now so compacted,

once thrashed about
then captured by the dark and deep,
now in your palm, non-crystal ball
looking back controlledly–

the imagined lines and ropes
and exoskeletons of past selves shed,
the stench of rotten wounds
and splinters of the shipwrecks,

all detailed in
the collection of symbols,
the litter of your old life
ready for respectful burial.

Dig the hole
in sand or dirt,
and if so desired,
place a marker on it,

then walk back to the water
and submerge yourself:
the present is clear,
and blissful is this
new soothing swell.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Laura’s Lenses

Flowers in the spring–

such an extra colorful blessing

among the natural offerings

gifted to us so freely.

Nothing in the natural

does a grateful heart miss,

fail to be moved by

with awe, always open

to be filled with the bliss,

and when the grateful heart

resides surrounded by the soul

of a poet,

every blade and petal

and note of birdsong

is impossible

to forget.

Add the sui generis lenses

of Spotted Iris and Canon

and the art collection

personally held

in the mind’s eye and heart

allows for instant access

to light and tranquility

even in the turbulence and

dark.

Fleeing to the Sea

Is it the colors
or clouds
or water
that draws me here?
I think it is losing
all I think I know
in exchange for the
Great Unknown
eliminating my fears.

When it all builds up,
I flee to the sea
to speak to
Almighty Majesty
and offer it up,
the waves like His
reach,

and whatever I wish
to rid from me
gets lifted,
gets washed
out to sea.

And in return,
His spirit fills me,
gifting with seeds
of peace
planted in the places
science cannot
reach.

All images taken by me last night.