Poet. Writer. Photographer.
Sunset strips the day of its colors;
the last drips disappear before drying.
The empty swing hangs still from the tree,
its motion, too, retreats into time.
All the world seems silent, pauses;
all the years universally fossilize.
Only I and the earth subtly shift as
the sun reaches, in gold capsulizes.
I could tell you my story.
Especially since
I am now able to look back.
But I’m selfishly enjoying too much
this present.
And I’ve already devoted
so much of my life
trapped in the chapters
riddled with sadness and strife;
the stale stench still makes me
choke,
the dust better left
at rest, that half-book closed.
I feel a bit guilty though.
If I let you read it,
if I let the light of day
shed gold on the yellow,
perhaps it may
help you find the way
to the upcoming blank pages
in which I freshly ink,
like you will too,
upon the pure-white slate
the realities of the dreams
I almost buried, gave away.
Perhaps I will indeed share my story,
verse by verse as poetic allegory,
and you may see what you wish,
and I can remain comfortably hidden
behind the metaphors,
between the lines,
but always reflecting back
for you
beams of light…
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.
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.
Sometimes you need
to let go
of both the past and present
to make room for
your future
waiting so patiently
to embrace you
if your heart
and arms
were not so
full
of nonliving yesterdays
and unfulfilling todays;
though they may haunt
and though they may sustain,
it is only your future
that can bring
what you can’t help but
need
and deserve.
Eventually,
the future, too,
moves on.
And before you know it,
you’ve achieved
survival
until you’re
g
o
n
e
.
Let your future
bring you
Trackless sand
reset for me,
endless horizon
the non-boundary:
first carefree steps
I take into my own hands,
reshaping my destiny
as I head for Dream Land
wide awake.
I will make
it reality.
footprints in the sand
headed to the sunset,
the present turning
to memories
with each leisurely step
time stands still
yet it doesn’t,
simultaneously
moving
while holding forever
the moment
no turning back
as history proceeds,
no undoing
impressions
once the pressure
is released
and the shape
is ingrained
indelibly
though the tide
may wipe
the slate clean
and the imprint
may no longer
be seen
only time
may be able to change
the feelings
what kind
of trail
are you leaving?
footprints in the sand
headed to the sunset,
the present turning
to memories
with each step
minute details extraordinaire
captivate with their shape
patterns enticing the iris
whisper enchantment
lead the way
opening portals
to fairy worlds
offering wisdom pearls
when petals unfurl
glorious creation underfoot
under-appreciated
so often overlooked
mindfulness, lack of speed
photographer’s lens steady underneath
is granted access to the kingdom
not so secret
but gifted to those who simply
seek it
so much is lost
to height
get down and lost
in the wonder of
wildflowers in the light
About this photoshoot: Did you know I usually have the leash of a large, wild puppy in my other hand while photographing? Here are some photobombs by him (but also cute)…
My teenaged daughter is also a photographer (and has a MUCH better camera than me). I love to sneak pictures of her taking pictures, especially in that same golden light…
Here are the patches of weeds/wildflowers from a distance…
Paths cross.
Some, like I,
believe for reasons.
I get disheartened when
the trail diverges
and someone again
leaves me,
but even in that,
as I take more steps
into the great unknown,
I know
so many
are not supposed
to walk with us
all the way
home.
You came along
and were soon nested
in my mind and heart;
your patience,
your shoulder,
your understanding,
you offered so selflessly
from the very start.
My laugh
you seemed to arrive with,
the greatest gift
I continuously unwrap.
So many fears
you convince me
to relinquish,
that together we
can combat,
my biggest being
the path diverging
up ahead
again,
but you assure me
you’ll keep walking
the way I go,
like our path together
has no end…
Poem and images ©LauraDenise
Yesterday, yesteryears
are taken away
with the setting sun;
to keep the beauty,
learn from mistakes,
release regrets
helps us move on.
The specialness of each
gifted present moment,
we miss
when we get hyper-focused
keep our gazes affixed,
keep treading, keep heading
into that unreachable West,
and before we know it,
time,
life,
love
have passed.
Let us wake
and lift our faces
to the light
and live
for today,
careful we don’t become blinded by the East, though,
for chasing the future
in sunrises
still takes us
away.
Disclaimer: If your present is unbearable, live for tomorrow, retreat to the past, wherever the warmest ember is, and for now, hold on to that… ❤
Poem and images ©LauraDenise
Motherhood memories
framed in faded fall foliage
stay forever green in me
and bring me messages––
younger, naive eyes,
somehow knowing,
look to me as a reminder now
that time keeps moving,
and I try not to count the moments
we could have made better,
for forward is the direction of
and lesson from nature,
and each year of these passing seasons
brings more (numbered) moments
we can make evergreen
for we are never too old
to catch
snowflakes and leaves.
Laura Denise 