Amidst and Between

Amidst the thorns,
beneath the wounds,
we can take turns
bringing self-love
to bloom,

we’ll smooth
the edges
so raw and jagged,
each lend the silk
of virgin petals

birthed in kisses
and gentle touches,
countering the poisons
of previous “gardeners”
with ill-intentions,
fencing us from
freedom.

We’ll remain
faithful companions,
take turns in the cycle
of taking and giving,

in sun and shadow,
through every internal
season and weathered vane.

We’ll simply heal
and learn
what love is,
together
the right way

until we both
blossom white,
centers exposed
to feel
the cleansing
rain.

Love will
beget love
which will
beget love
to spread.

It begins
with us.
It begins
within.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Too Early to Title

Are you here?
You’ve been searching,
collecting clues;
perhaps this segment
of sea will weed or
reveal identity truths.

Just you here
and your mind.
What do you carry?
What have you
left behind?

Look about.
Family. Strangers.
One in the same.
Or entirely different?

Who has come
to search,
and what for?
Who will leave
with less,
with more?

So many shells,
filled and hollow.
So many opportunities
made and lost
among people.

Memories can be made.
Promises broken.
Second chances given.
Losses counted.

Each drop significant,
each drop matters,
though so vast is
the ocean’s water.

Water is one,
a singular thing.
We don’t count drops
until we are thirsty.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Fungal Reflection

I don’t usually like to know the scientific facts about the subjects I find and photograph in nature, even basic identification. It spoils the wonder and mystery to me, the thrill of all my imagination hatches, the magic, the mysticism, the fantasy, the tales, the divine creation we think we know all about. These are my discoveries; I am the first explorer to ever lay eyes on the new species. Instead of sketching them in my diary, I photograph them; I am both from the future and the past.

I couldn’t resist though peeking into the portal of cyberspace regarding this spectacular mushroom variety I haven’t seen before (I don’t think…). “Puffballs” they are, supposedly common. And of course, as reading when you are a born lifelong reader tends to go, I read a bit more… They have a poisonous “Death Cap” doppelgänger, well imposter anyway, being the most interesting fact to me.

These I spotted underfoot between my car and classroom back door going into work the other day. To photograph them meant anyone could be watching and definitely would wonder even more about me. Of course, I risked it all and got down low and took the shot. It was too intriguing in and of itself but also because they were paired and the morning light and shadows were beautiful. I love couplets of anything in nature because I am a romantic. I also champion the overlooked or undervalued in nature, especially weeds and fungi.

Where to begin with what I could spin from this encounter and image souvenir?…

Two as one
connected,
shadows merging,
agreed to be
shared,

to increase
the surface area
so the darkness
lightens
in lichen-like
dual-stabilization:
paired.

One absorbs
more sun
than the other
but feeds
its partner
the light
not so directly;

at times
they reverse roles
when the other
needs
to shrink
into safety
awhile
and be protected
temporarily.

The world passes by,
so many times before
both cruelly and unknowingly
treading upon them;

others of their kind
turned poisonous,
but these two
remain true
to themselves
and their commitment,

not letting others’
judgement affect
their joy
or quality of life
and above all
love,

testament to
there being someone
for everyone
and such a connection
vital,
to feel that touch,
to trust…

or maybe I am seeing
too much
in these balls
of mushroom puffs
I stumbled upon
on my way
to work
this morn.

Holding Photographs

nostalgia bittersweet
joy so genuine, effortless
radiating, echoing
from fading photographs

touched, held between
ringless fingers and the fumes
of a heart on empty
from the moment
so distantly removed

time does not warp
those precious instances
forever suspended
feelings will flutter on
thousands of centuries

bittersweet for the bliss
is eternally retrievable
but if the present is less
then the tears
breach suppressible

falling is the gravity
of sadness, all rain
nature running its course
to cleanse the panes

we simply must
adjust the frames
order the montages
strategically arrange

so when we step back
to take in the collective
the rainbow across
our present
gets light-refracted

See Past Shells

You are not broken.

We all have our chips,
scabs and scars,
stories hidden,

the search and strive
for perfect,
itself a myth;

you are perfect
as is,

each soul a treasure,
measured not by appearance
or the illusion of wholeness,

for we are equally complete
when love washes over us

for no shell is enclosed,
though we shrink within,

open and in rotation,
vulnerable hearts
search for a fit.

The ocean knows
and sings the wisdom:

each of us beautiful,
not just enough,
but the only one for another
and in God’s hands, cupped.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

The Journey

The journey, they say,
is in itself the key;
I’ve been down
every wrong road
multiple times
it seemed,

but to surface,
I wish I could say unscathed,
with the treasure of me
in this mirror
now held
sacred,

I’m hesitant
to lay blame
on my past,
for who I am
was definitely shaped
by every shadowed,
obstacle-strewn
path,

and the key
that ended up being me
fits perfectly
into the lock
around your heart;

I look forward
to every step
we now get to take
together,
journeying to meet our Matchmaker,
hand in hand,
to that eternal
start.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

For A While

Times are changing,
the earth keeps rotating,
seasons arrive and depart…
Change is always hard on my heart.

No shadow now joined to my hip.
Gradual independence.
Children grow up and detach.
How can we know which kiss may be the last?

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Years unravelled from finite twine;
at the end, the kites will fly.
If Father Time were to grant my wish,
which moments would I revisit?

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The sands keep slipping;
no way to flip it.
How should I spend this day?
What memories can I make
to leave my family as legacy
to have, to hold, to keep
as the distance continues to grow
and life leads us down different roads?

Tomorrow is never promised,
another sunset never guaranteed.
Priorities must be organized
so nothing overshadows the people.

This moment may be all we have,
so when I reach for your hand,
let me draw you nearer.
Come sit for a while and talk with me, dear.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Footprints & Silhouettes

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So many silent, untold stories

in yesterday’s leftover footprints,

in this morning’s sunrise-silhouetted

figures in the distance.

I am a people watcher,

always curious about

human nature,

collectively and within each

individual character.

When the stage lights are unlit

and the microphone off,

I wonder about each’s

private feelings and thoughts.

We are not actors

on life’s stage;

we are each keepers

of our own private plays,

longing to be brave enough

to raise the curtain, so you

may get but a glimpse

of a scene of what we’ve

been going through.

So many footprints and silhouettes

crossing paths,

so little we know

of the bodies’ souls

leaving the tracks.

What lies inside the impression,

what lies within the shadow,

those are the mysteries

I continuously wonder about.

Which footprint seeped love,

which footprint seeped grief,

which figure is weeping,

which figure rekindling dreams?

Hearts upon sleeves

are taken up by the wind,

feelings in chests

locked and buried again.

So many untold stories,

so many opportunities passed,

to initiate conversation with another

and simply ask.

Present Turning

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

The Wind

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A colorful kite dream

flying

among the cumulous clouds

above the sea

in the endless turquoise

lifted her heart

from a buried

chest

and set it free

upon wings of hope and

joy,

but the wind died,

and no matter how she tried,

she could not

find favor with the weather.

The rains came;

the clouds turned gray.

She put her heart

back away

into the chest

with the kite,

recognizing that dream

without his wind

would never take to flight.

After she cried,

after much time,

she returned to the sea

and launched yet another new dream,

one in which the wind

came naturally from within,

independent of any

he.

Sometimes a destiny

can only come

from letting go

of what was

never meant to be,

however impossible at the time it was

to see.

She still dreams.

And believes.

With or without the wind.

For in every season,

despite the unknown reasons,

she held on

to faith

in Him

and realized

she could let go of the kite

for she had wings

and the Spirit

to lift her

anytime she liked.

https://youtu.be/GIsCvI-d6vc