Shifting

shifting sands
grains unable to be grasped
slipping through fingers
sieve of my existence
footprints vanishing
in vain trying to leave
an imprint, fingerprints
fossilizing

as I watch
sea drops dry on shells
shells of mankind
displayed non-selves
on shelves

shifting painted shapes
offer to take me away
only to lead to the next
drifting cumulous cloud
lateral when I need
to be higher
homeward bound

shifting sands
I open my hand
spread my fingers wider
I know what the answers
are not
to feel the silk
is to feel
nothing caught
but sensory strokes
the void
in the curve
of my palm
no trail found
to my entrance
into the sea

saltwater can’t sting
when the wounds
are too far beneath
the body’s surface

arms open
I invite
the above in
home-
sick
let me know
I am not

forgotten

Dimensions

My heart and soul
tire me out,
always frolicking
away and about,

relentless in their
prodding and searching,
no toe-dips,
just all-in swan-diving

into every unknown,
exploring, testing, challenging
the boundaries
of this world,

restless to breach
every deterrence
placed by societal rules
and norms…

So much fear
in potential soulmates
with whom to travel
these magical non-roads.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Still Life

Still as silhouetted dragonfly wings
is all that used to swirl restlessly in me.
I hold my breath and so does the breeze;
we both stop time for centuries.

The secrets from the ancient flier
can only be imparted in complete silence;
any ripple in the universe jeopardizes
this which is rarely achievable in this life.

Perhaps this is my umpteenth time…

I recently had a supreme spiritual moment;
not now, but when I was again freshly broke open,
my soul exposed again to worldly poisons
and decades-rotten ingested false notions.

It is only in these complete ruptures, it seems,
can the bad get out and God restitch the seams.
Perhaps it is true that the rock bottoms are needed
to unclench the fist and open the palm for receiving.

I was mended with light again by His own loving hand.
And inside me, this time, another something planted.
I feel it in the silhouetted dragonfly wings suspended,
except I think it is me that it and the breeze are sensing.

I feel our connectedness,
the same serenity seeds inside of us.
It’s hard to go back to the way it was
when gratitude, which I’ve always had,
are blooms in such surplus shooting up.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

After-Storm

Unedited after-storm sky,
heavens open up
as if to apologize
for the tribulation
necessarily survived,
though still withheld
must be the why.

Instilled with a knowing
a higher power so loving
is in control when I spin
in my free will off trajectory,

I simply pause all the swirling
emotional turbulence within
and feel the wind,
the exhale of the one above,
mighty breath on my skin;

my hair and soul lift up,
and I wish my feet would.
Grounded on this earth for now;
let me master all the lessons.

There is nothing but comfort
in the after-storm sky,
a sojourn wrapped in serenity,
a glimpse of afterlife.

Sometimes The Heavens

Sometimes the heavens
seem to shout
without a sound,
send in golden tsunamis
to knock us out
of our sacrilegious head-bows,
hunched over the false light,
oblivious to whom is beside
let alone above.
Another tidal wave of wonder
crashes against an overpopulated shore
unheard and unseen
despite its colossal reminder
that we were not meant to be
islands caught up in the streams
on screens
of mind-numbing nonsense when
the caged spirits within
continue their deafening
pleases turned to pleas and
silent screams
to be released.
Our souls see
heaven’s reach,
but our eyes and minds
are locked
in self-imposed
escapism stagnancy.
And another stair to heaven
disappears, as the case
little by little,
shrinks.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Cobwebs Between Petals

Ninety-three million miles away,
yet upon the cobwebs of a flower,
Sol’s ray reaches, haloes, frames.

How powerful
that gentle, golden beam is
when it finds and reminds us our
insignificance

is more important and personal
than we think it to be,
for the Creator made sure
the cold and darkness
would always have
returning light and heat.

We are turned away each evening,
in a rotation beyond our control,
perhaps to make possible
the continuous rebirthing
of new-day gratitude and hope,

to make possible these moments
that universally lift up our gazes,
to freeze-frame and coat in gold
these nuggets of humble
beauty appreciation,

like cobwebs on a flower
that still me with revelation:
in the tapestry and labyrinth of life,
we are woven and connected
by hidden common thread,
and love could always,
then and now,
win.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

In The Eye

Don’t tell me there is no divinity
when I am looking heaven in the eye,
infused with the essence, soul-transfixed, lifted,
swirling upwards as colors become light,

and the ingress solicitously entices the spirit
as form sublimes, shapeshifts until undefined,
and passes through the full transfusion of serenity
through the glowing portal in the after-pouring sky.

Poem and this evening’s photo ©LauraDenise

Everyday Gold

Golden upon golden,
liquid light layers,
how much more obvious
can it be that there is a
heaven and
already among us?

Upon the dark and blank
canvas,
with tender and loving
brushes,
He stroked us
into existence
and all
that surrounds us,

has never left us,
and reminders
each day,
He has rise
from the earth
and others’
divine parts,
in likeness made,
which we should
reverently celebrate
and feel blessed by
every day.

Deep in the Thicket

Deep in the thicket,
the beacon seeks and finds,
no seed nor bud
neglected nor lost;
keep faith in the Light.

Deep in the thicket,
when the first ray shines,
no beauty can parallel
the humility and grace,
that relieved reach
for renewed life.

You will be found,
for you were never lost.
God has always been there
tenderly removing thorns
and lovingly healing the loss.

When that darkness
gets illuminated,
you will see
all the others who
were in the thicket too
who are like you,
and me…

Sometimes we must
wait patiently for the beam,
but we are never alone,
no matter how it seems,

and that wait, I truly believe,
is necessary to fully bloom
among the weeds.

Alar Faith

To be too heavily drenched in dogma
hinders the flitting of my wings;
Spirituality keeps me soaring
to dispense light into others’ dreams.

My morality is Mendelian,
deeply imbued before birth.
Religion-commitment issues
plague me; a dozen flirt.

I believe. With all that I am.
I believe. I always have.
Supreme Being(s).
Loving Creator.
So much more before,
so much more after.

I infuse myself with nature,
immerse myself in the mysteries,
the divine origins steeped
in all-natural history.

I believe in light
begotten by love,
and in my soul,
there are restless doves.