December Pinks

The pink blooms I never planted
are more beautiful than ever
as I return rejuvenated
to the patio in December.

Autumn has rained
its traditional hues too;
warmth in the setting sun
dries a wet spell of the blues.

I am tickled by the message
of the southern bell for whom it tolls,
waking the possibilities in me
of choosing the way it goes.

I’ll keep growing these pink blooms
even if they get winter-taken,
for I’ve reseeded in my heart
a season of hope to never end.

Spring Frosting

Frosted silver-blue in spring
ushers in eucalyptus dreams.
I inhale the heavenly possibilities 
wafted through my senses 
and altering my inner being, 
frosting me with the sweet
scents of what can be
and what can never be lost,
centuries of hope long ago
and perpetually seeded
that spring up each annual season
despite the body’s expiration
sacrificed for the birthing
of eternal angel wings. 
Every heart’s whisper, 
every tear that ever watered,
becomes a part of me, 
as I am a part of each,
all of us connected,
evidenced in these
ambrosial eucalyptus
leaves. 

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

A Fallen Blossom At Dawn

Another fallen blossom…
like the ones before
in years passed
I photographed
and told stories for.

Each of these moves me
in such profound ways;
what’s underfoot,
what others pass,
stops me in my tracks
with the silent beauty
so profoundly displayed.

For a lifetime, I feel
I could sit and contemplate,
reflect on all the lessons
and secrets it portrays…

This is how I know
I’m different, 
for off the beaten path,
tucked away,
alone in nature
is my happiest place. 

The soft morning light
haloing the fallen lady
bids me pay respect 
and paint legacy allegories.

Not as sad as the last one
I payed homage to, 
(but of course that is influenced 
by my inner untappable currents
and current surface mood,
no doubt, in turn, affected by
the recent tides and moon…)
this fallen beauty, still so poised,
fills me with bittersweet truths,

for we, the best things, this life itself…
all fleeting, all blossoms plucked by breezes
in the grand scheme of it all,
these hundred years if we are lucky
(but who’s to say that’s luck
when we know not
what’s next and beyond;
perhaps those taken early
were needed for something else,
angels only visiting
to help us with ourselves…)
nothing at all, 
a blink in time,
though insignificant
nor the center 
of the universe 
should we feel;
we are each dearly loved,
part of the same mother tree
unseen but a morph of every variety,
the keeper of every seed and leaf
releasing us one by one
into the world 
upon the breezes
in perfectly timed seasons
to root ourselves
until it’s our time
and we are called back again
like this beautiful blossom
having just detached.
I always wonder if it’s 
a leap of faith or
sacrifice or circumstance.

In any event, who could not
ponder the rest of their life
happening upon

a “fallen” blossom
at dawn. 

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Tears and Tears (Triple Haiku)

fresh spring rain on green
salty drops clinging to cheeks
all water cleanses

tears and tears the same
heteronyms for the pain
one dries, one remains

tears and tears post-storm
one can let the light reach through
one can bloom from love

Poems and images ©LauraDenise

More of my haiku and nature photography on Instagram! https://www.instagram.com/bylauradenise/

I Walk With Thee

Beneath the Prunus avium Plena,
I walk with thee,
our souls the same
double bloom,
pure white,
light-laced,
bound tenderly.

Graceful and gracious
is this love;
we bow humbly.

The birds sing.
Eternal spring.
Hearts hatched;
finally, the Birthing.

My life began
when you reached
for my hand,
and we strolled 
into our dreams leisurely,
intentionally losing
ourselves together
among the double white
cherry trees.

Photo sent to me by a friend ❤

Stream of Spring Consciousness

Morning coffee on the patio:
it’s been awhile. 
New neighbor children
and puppy raising
led to a different lifestyle.

Reconnecting with my cursive, 
reunion of paper and pen,
a classic hand-dance, 
electronics self-banned.

Still seeming like a bird sanctuary
despite limited trees,
motley of species, local and snow,
join voices to unharmoniously sing.

New post-hurricane fence
still not for me;
I’ll always prefer 
non-new and non-walls
despite needing privacy:
my soul is old, antique. 

I do believe this is the first
day of return to a ritual
wrongly abandoned,
even though naughty
hasn’t been fully outgrown;
my labraheeler still needs
frequent redirection… 

I hover in my recliner
at an angle for looking up
while still being able to sip
comfortably from a favorite mug.

I notice my penmanship
has taken a great turn,
from pretty to scratches,
having unconsciously let down
my perfectionism guard. 

I relax into it all. 
Another bird calls… 

Recent storms have left my world 
still wet and semi-overcast; 
shadows and light perform
their beautiful, ritualistic dance.

Most of the flowers that 
christened the bushes and trees
have disappeared without a trace,
giving way to the growing green.

Leaves seem fully open
for a new season to begin;
how open am I, as a
creature of solitude habit?

Give me nature – and some way
to put down into words
these endless thoughts & feelings –
and a cup of tea or coffee:
truly all I’ve ever needed

until you came along
and nestled so deep
and cozily into my heart.
You refill my cup
and my soul
as you return 
to our love-sown 
garden. 

(The first three pictures are closeups of this wildflower.)

Keep Us Here

Gently, I shake my spring snowglobe
and shrink like Alice into the dreamworld. 
Meet me there, beneath our tree
in the shady grove beside the stream.
For a while, simply lie with me,
as we listen to the birds
and each other’s heartbeats
and feel the wild grasses
underneath our bare feet.
This paradise with you I’ll keep,
these stolen moments in which we
so easily let ourselves just be,
so freely, just you and me, 
entwined in love beneath
blue skies and green canopy
as the bliss drips and seeps,
honey-coating our souls with peace:
this is simply all I need. 
Angels, please shake again tenderly
our spring snowglobe eternally. 

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Out of Season

Determined to counter the moody clouds
others have been attempting to cast onto me,
I choose to seek out the sun, spring-infuse myself,
dip my soul into the fresh-blooming green,

breathe in the revitalizing April air,
let the warming rays seep in through my pores,
absorbed more in the whole of the reborn panorama than
focused on the details imploring to be explored, 

labrador-blue heeler happy for any outdoor adventure, 
not a hike but a mutually restorative leisurely linger, 
ahhh…a new season…

Circling back to the start, back to the car, 
I am not allowed to leave, it seems, 
until Mother Nature imparts
a lesson, whispers words of wisdom 
through some not-new, refusing-to-be-forgotten
leaves from two seasons ago, 
still here, and starkly so, 
weathered, fossilized autumn,

a reminder of the past
not so easily dismissed;
buried or not, it insists
on revisits,
coming to you
if you neglect it, 
but what we make
of what is, 
that is the endless work
or blessing
depending on the nature
of what was–
bright, shiny yellow
of yesterday
against the conglomerate
of rocks, man-manipulated
into asphalt,
a yellow sickness
or stubborn
fading sun,
either way the marring,
tattered edges and holes,
do not seem to take the whole,
still here despite the winter
with a fortitude to witness,
to reunite with the green 
it was itself once.

I see a reminder that
we can turn
our back on the past
and run to spring,
but all seasons remain, 
never really leave,
inside us always
are the memories,
tears of joy and loss,
the scars of life;
we can embrace it all, 
co-exist in peace
with all that is inside. 

I choose to find 
the positive,
even in the stumbling 
upon the past
in my determined
celebration of the
present moments,
all presents indeed,
and then I find a smile
in the concrete
when I see
yet another unexpected
chapter of a
love story,
so pure and yet to be
complete…

I wonder what those
resigned to defeat see.
Perception can sting
regardless, some things
we simply must feel
but perspective…
that is the key
in our control
and possession,
a powerful tool we
can self-weld and
self-wield,
manipulate,
to preserve
our internal
peace.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise