Little Pieces

little pieces
of sunny
reach up from
buried,
inhale,
and ignite,

reminding me
I can too,
one breath,
one ray,
at a time

Poem and images ©LDBS

One By One

One by one,
I pluck the thorns
barbed-wiring my heart in;
obstacle after obstacle
I surmount to prove
that love
will win.

Naturally, the plucks
unclog also the ducts
that keep the dammed rain
bayed,

but that doesn’t mean
the salt will wilt
the bloom who’s too far
on its way….

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Drops of Fuchsia

A sojourn among the wildflowers
is what my soul needs
in regular doses,
down low
among the “weeds”

where time does not stand still,
but the world does,
for nothing exists in the moment
except for us,

and no greater beauty
can there be
than in the nonmanhandled,
outside-the-garden-lines seed
that blooms so gracefully,
silently defying,
yet exuding pure peace;

that peace
transfers into my essence
as I listen with my soul
to the whispered sapience,

no lesson or story
captivates my interest
more than what the petals transmit,

and to think how often it goes unnoticed –
underfoot, sole-crushed, disregarded –
the natural therapy for inner balance.

If you happen to have the interest,
I’ll share with you what was imparted
on this Tuesday morning in my own backyard
during my daily sojourn

among the wildflowers….

I wish to simply be
the color in your gray,
to open your heart to seeing
every season has new days,
and there always exists
little blessings sent
personally your way…

We all at times lose focus
as the world becomes tear-blurred;
that’s why we were given each other
to lean on, lend strength, stay near.

When we get closer
through the growing trust,
we become less guarded
and show the rest of us,

the complexities,
the other ways through
the protective shield,
the scars, the webs, the truths,

and we find,
though all unique,
we are the same
in our sufferings,

made so we
take turns with it,
return to the circle
of falls and lifts.

I am here
to share my hues,
overflowing now,
but once like you.

And when you come
into fuller bloom,
pay it forward
so others may too
become imbued.

Poem and this morning’s backyard photography ©LauraDenise

Resilient Hearts

I am NOT a gardener.
Though a gardener I’ve never tried to be…
Every natural wonder I’ve ever encountered
has been there before me,
remnants from previous tenants’ tastes
and sculptures wild and free
lovingly planted in my path
by the Creator Almighty
and meant at the time of discovery
to be the personal messages needed.

And so it is with my hibiscus pinks,
cut down to the ground by the men
so they could build a fence more easily.
Flowers dear to me for the way they so faithfully
after such meaningful moments took turns blooming
to mark the milestones in my healing,
to commemorate the special blessings,
to symbolize with such humble beauty
the changing seasons within me.

In the soft, golden morning rising sun,
they lift themselves again to greet me.
Not defiantly. Just filled with inspiration.
An example. A reunion. A smiling.
I approach and spend some moments
I do not have according to clock and duty.
The buds seem from an extra-long green
hibernation to be defrosting, thawing.
I know what lies inside. The knowing
denies mystery but does not anticipation-impede.

My heart does indeed too beat again,
my dear friends.
They can never cut short
our aspiring stories.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Gravitational Falls

We all fall. Sometimes.
It’s inevitable. Natural.
Stumbles and knockouts
along the way.
Bumps and potholes,
from obstacles and pitfalls,
All paved roads, manmade.

No wonder we get lost.
We make through-streets
when we are meant to meander
on foot, following brooks
and the day-star beacon
through the trees.

I believe it lights
a different direction
for each.

Newton’s laws are really
a Universe thing,
term ego-coined by humanity,
but even that which
has no momentum to soar,
has never been granted
the boost or breeze,
seems to fall
with a harder thud
from crawling.

Perhaps the greatest
and most needed fall
is the one to our knees,
when we give it all
up and let Him
take the lead.

Perhaps in that moment
we are granted our wings.

But in that excitement,
will we remember
to fall silent and still
enough to feel our soul’s
gravitational pull?

We can now go anywhere
the heart leads.
This time I will stay away
from the paved
and listen to the whispers
of the wildflowers
and leaves.

I feel your heart
out there
gravitating toward
me.

Concrete Bloom

One single bloom

in the crack

of the concrete

stands out so

boldly

on a day

I need it most.

A reminder

of who I am.

The most stubborn

fighter,

Defender of the Spirit,

a beautiful soul,

and no matter how much

you throw on top of me,

I will grab hold

and rise up

and look you in the eye

and defiantly

smile

until you one day

give up

and shake your head

and finally give me

what I have always

deserved,

and it better not have any

monetary value.

This song is for all my other fellow risers…

Words and images ©LauraDenise

Revolutions

It is inevitable

that a sun must set,

must sink

out of view,

bringing darkness,

signaling that a day

is through.

So it is with the things

that come to pass,

regardless of our will

or grasp;

some things simply

get laid to rest.

But just because

a sun, a heart,

sinks doesn’t mean

there will be nothing

able to rise

from the perceived demise,

for life

continues on,

light and hope

will inevitably rise,

for the circle

of goodbyes-for-now

are inexplicably intertwined

with new hesitant hellos

in divine timelines unknown,

unable to be perceived

from such ignorant perspectives,

for we are all but glorious specks

confused in an organized cosmos.

We don’t see the significance

of the setting sun synchronized

with the rising moon,

for The One who created all of this

did so out of love,

making sure the darkness

never completely covers us.

The light is ever-present

even when we are absent.

There is always something rising

as something else sets.

Even if we fail at the time

to see it.

Trust in a loving, larger

picture.

In the Ashes

I walk through the airy white ashes

of all the extinguished yesterdays;

along my cheeks, I rub the dark soot,

not like blush, but battle paint

for strength in a war

for internal peace.

There is always a sadness

buried in remains

after the combustion and fall

of what used to reign

so steadfastly,

in the end of the life

of the final ember’s glow

when the rain

saturates the last ignition hope.

The clean up and rebuilding

takes time and effort;

no amount of it can

ever restore the devastation,

for nothing

should ever burn,

save the passion

of united hearts, pure.

I walk through the airy white ashes.

I wish I could have saved it.

The soot tickles my cheek

and encourages me to go on

living,

while remembering

and making out of this,

a difference.

Not all loss

needs to be buried.

We can both move on

and carry,

as long as what we take

is fertile,

so in the worst of conditions,

it will grow

the sprouts and green

of the happiness

we refused to leave behind

in the ashes.