Morning Kiss

The sea oats
have grown tall;
I let them
skim my palm,

feel the tickles
gifted from heaven
as the sea’s soul
is orchestra lifted

above the tides
of this earth
to scoop me up
with open arms
into the surf.

I offer all I’ve brought
to sacrifice to God,

releasing the heavy,
releasing the pain,
hoping the ghosts
will choose escape

as I make it more
uncomfortable
to haunt these
inner spaces

tarnished, turning gold
from the light
of love
joining the soul’s.

My feet sink
in the warm silk
as my heart,
with you inside,
even more
fills.

Buoyant become
the weights
as the shackles and chains
give way
to become part
of the dark, watery
grave.

Today, I take
back my life.
Today the curse,
I unwind.

Wet feet,
sand clinging,
I walk back
and through my fingers,

the sea oats feel
the difference

as the sun
awakens,
rises to kiss
me so gently
once

again….

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Erasure

Winds to be reckoned with
do more than make waves;
all evidence of human existence
is entirely without-trace erased.
Reset is the playing field.
Wiped clean, the slate.

Denied are the attempts
to leave any more prints.
The only impressions saved
are those upon the heart.
Is your legacy of love
enough to advance
to the next
start?

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Ebbing Regrets

Before they drown me,
I set them free,
release regrets
to the benevolent sea.

The negative leaves
in the ebb,
and in return
brings baptism.

Another rebirth,
a buoyant start,
no more weight
syncing me
to the dark.

Crest reflects
heaven’s light,
angels waking
at sunrise.

Arms spread wide
as the flow approaches,
submerged in the healing
saltwater solution.

Poem and image ©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

Return Me

Moonrise, ocean waves,
lull me awake;
wash over me
your indigo dreamscapes.

Ankle deep, the magic waters seep
up into the inner streams
of my being,
flush out the day’s impurities
until I’m cleansed of the trivial
that tries to cling.

Moonrise, ocean waves,
take me farther away:
return my form
for an hour
to mermaid.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Undam Me

It is the red-flagged waves,
the storm sirens,
that wake who I’ve been
for centuries dormant;
arms by themselves stretch,
welcome, open,
remembering the calling,
my true name on the cusp
of being unspoken,
on the cusp of the crescent,
my dreams dangled,
the cusp of my heart
releasing the rush withheld,
on the cusp of my emergence
from the cocoon that protects
the self. I am not afraid!
May these waves finally break
this manmade dam
and reveal once and for all
who I am!

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

If Sunflowers Can

If sunflowers can
root themselves in sand
to choose the sea,
so can I
morph into myself
and choose my own
destiny.

Words and images ©LauraDenise

Blooms in the Night

Blooms in the night
I transform into moons
to increase the light and
make mystical the mood,

darken the rest
to a sea of black
so the glowing floral and I
can float or dance

on water or air
or maybe both,
which is why
they reflect drops
of The Eighth Sea’s soul.

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.

In the Sea of Shells

In the vast sea of shells,
you found mine,
on the island upon which I buried
the saltwater in my eyes.

Or is it that…

In the vast sea of shells,
I finally found you
upon a remote shore
with a heart I’d renew.

Who found whom?

Perhaps not a finding at all
when God as Matchmaker
guides two souls
together to love
and to forevermore hold.

So grateful to finally be led
home.