Poet. Writer. Photographer.
I found a pile
of moments,
once treasure,
memories preserved
in sensitive limbo,
or waiting
in purgatory,
or for surgery,
or autopsy
to know, to have
final say-so…
Is it the light and shadows
that determine
if each, or collectively,
are worthy
to keep their sweet
olfactory hold
on our soul,
or simply the decision
of a heart to cradle
or let go…?
I am fueled by storms
and coastal wind
as I raise my arms to each
and channel them
until empowerment rises
boldly from within…
But it is in the still
and minute,
in the soft scent
of beautiful,
in the trust of subtle,
the barely discernible,
that I feel the forgotten
soothed,
those buried-alive
non-truths;
the golden elixir single ray
finding the torn petal
coats in those places
I am not able to ever reach
on my own.
Up close and personal
is the only way I know
to heal my heart,
to feed my soul,
and that, I believe,
is the path that leads
home.
Poem and images ©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
It’s been sunny and seventies, and the seasons
have not so much been confused
as they have been seemingly
just leisurely mingling, amused,
some stalling, some joyfully letting go;
nothing in the South rushes though.
Like melting cubes of ice in tea,
we take it sweet and slow down here.
It tickles me pink to have the mix
sprinkling personal messages so clear.
Today started differently,
gray with a bit of nip in the air.
Certain trees partaking in autumn
are almost now bare,
covering the patio in a bland
blanket over stone,
which made the flowers
I did not grow
even more the focal point
of my windowed soul.
I smiled for how they have become
so deeply rooted in my journey.
Marking my heart’s pages,
so many petals and leaves held so dearly,
imprinting with their colors and scents
my most powerful untold stories.
She fans silken petals,
the softest of shells,
not to be coy, just discreetly
distancing herself,
comfortable cocooned,
guilty of pretense,
privacy preferred
over others’ presence,
never unfriendliness,
just not social;
passions and interests
captivate most when alone.
Tending to her own tendrils,
internal biodome,
nirvana nurtured,
nature, home.
She shows the sides
she chooses;
do not assume
that’s all there is.
No longer fear-restrained:
for the first time,
she fully lives.
She fans silken petals,
simply introverted,
but continuously gifts
translucent colors and
serenity’s scent.
Poem and image ©LauraDenise
My heart was fragile,
tissue-paper thin.
Only you could
continuously drip
the nourishment
I needed
in a way in which
I could absorb it all
without tearing
or having my petals
fall,
and you saw
past the false
decoy colors I donned,
knew beneath,
my heart’s truest hue
was pure,
a dove,
and the peace
within myself
soon followed,
all because
you were the rain
that found me
from that cloud.
Words and images ©LauraDenise
Fallen blossoms,
change of seasons,
the beauty, though,
still reaches
through the years,
across dimensions,
memories’ scents
forever lifted,
wafts of love
brush the heart
as silken sighs
and subtle whispers…
Poem and image ©LauraDenise
When the petals fall,
make potpourri
to keep fresh the scent
of the sweet memories.
When the rain falls,
look to the trees;
wet feathers never deter
the birds from singing.
When loneliness sets in, know
it’s but one leg of the journey;
paths cross for reasons,
and someone special is coming…
Poem and images ©LauraDenise
Buds and cocoons
can only contain
our potential for so long;
sooner or later,
we must bloom,
our colors don,
feel the rain
and the sun
upon petals and wings
and believe
that when we emerge,
love will be
waiting…
Poem and images ©LauraDenise
Laura Denise 