Eruption

I stop kissing you
all over
with the arrival
of those colors,

that fleeting burst
of wonder
to remind us of our
benevolent Creator.

The sky erupts
in pastels and light;
the windows get tinted,
so I fly outside.

By the hand
and heart,
still connected, 
you follow suit,
smiling topless

in your jeans.
The light reflects
off my evergreen
irises.

You say it’s hard
to tell which is brighter
when my eyes are affixed
on the horizon,

but even you
succumb to it:
the moments of glory,
the magnificence, 

and just like that,
the day descends,
and we resume
our sweet indulgence:

lips dancing
beneath the stars
that wink between
themselves 
about the lovers

they brought together
by aligning 
when He finally gave the nod
in the timing… 

Poem and unedited sunset ©LauraDenise

The Harp

In the garden
of my dreams,
I reach
to strum the harp of
our reality

to transport me back
into your arms
where you catch me
falling hard,
deeper daily
in love

in fluttering
yellow sundress,
wind-tousled
hem and tresses,
as you twirl me
and call me princess

among pink
Himalayan Balsam,
kiss-me-on-the-mountain,
on the mouth of
the River Wensum

as I skinny dip in
the abyssal iris blue
of our bliss,
and time falls still
as the windmills hitch
their breath…

as our lips
brush
before the blush
that watercolors
the canvas,
and all of Norwich
looks up
to see the sunset
we created.

Somewhere Along the Way

I suppose somewhere
along the way, 
this became 
about me, 
this once person
conditioned
to inwardly
mistreat,
neglect, 
bury
prematurely
at sea,

too busy
keeping them
afloat
in puddles,
sacrificing my soul
for others, 

in the lows 
between lowers
in that life
unstable,
vows before God
to remain 
(abusive) spouse faithful,

the escape-clause
contingencies blurred,
repercussions lingering 
in the years after,

children ten years apart,
and always children,
I keep on 
giving,
Silverstein tree 
down to the trunk,
instead of remaining
to be sat upon,
I leave my roots
to carry on,

re-sprouting from
acorns and seeds
to reach the end
of land
as a sunflower, 
brazen yet desperate,
in the sand
to be plucked
by a youthful hand

and sprinkled
into the surf
for the mermaids 
to collect 
and bring to the site
of where I left
myself
and resurrect 

from Davy Jones’ Locker
the Heart of the Sea
still alive
in its keeper:
me. 

The ducks and swans
gather to greet
at the pond
where I used to
weep. 

Donned now
in floral dresses
and locks
long enough 
to dance freely 
with the breeze, 
(he always said
neither looked good
on me…)
the reflection I see
is another plot twist
in my ongoing story

with an ending
yet to be written 
but full of God’s 
golden glory,
His daughter’s strength 
ever-growing. 

Somewhere along the way, 
somehow this did become
about me. 
Another struggle lifted,
another soulful healing. 

In the setting sun,
I reflect upon the journey
and look so forward
to the fulfilling
of my legacy.

I will never drown,
for you can only
hold me down
so long, 
years but moments
in the eternity 
of dawn. 

Hope unconditionally
floats
from the buoyancy 
of love. 

This is my story, 
long overdue 
to be 
self-sung.

I actually do like to sing those soulful songs.
(He always changed the station if I even began to hum…)

The Gardening

I saw a miracle,
or how a miracle
would be explained
by scientists
ignorantly:

I saw a wish
become a dream,
then belief
birth it into
reality,

deep feelings
igniting all synapses 
in a total firing, 
a supernova
of the heart,
a soular sunburst
with only doubt
dying,

for when the purest
of whispers
get heard by 
benevolent Night,
legend has it
the stardust falls
to earth as seeds
from the sky,

and in the last
of the day’s rays,
Sun conspires
to highlight
the wishie
sent individually
to each to inspire

the closed eyes
and active breath
to start the 
miracle process,
as the angels
all about us

continue the collection
and sprinkling,
their glowing silhouettes
sometimes detected
in that golden hour
of gardening. 

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Sunsets in Mirrors

Sunsets in rearview mirrors
we notice then drive off into the future;
the golden moment morphs orange
and is extinguished as we turn.

The past is over our shoulders
the instant we cross it;
no two sunsets the same, though
the next we take for granted.

While I still can, I u-turn and loop again,
exerting control over this moment
so my daughter can get a better shot;
soon, she’ll too leave my nest. 

Lots of what I hoped to instill
seems to have slipped through 
the sieve-holes of time,
but this hobby I’ve shared
I think will remain
as a tie that mother-daughter binds. 

I take my own shot
of the second shot at
making subtle pleasant memories, 
freezing the golden and the orange
to develop and hold
when we are both older;
I hope we grow closer
in this future I turn to again
and hesitantly proceed. 

Sunsets in rearview mirrors. 
Years later, I sigh nostalgically, 
holding my grandbaby’s hand
and tearing up over her mother
with the requited affection
that the years since her teens did bring.  

Sunsets in rearview mirrors:
never let go of the more
that they may someday be. 

Petals Along the Path

Just another golden bloom
beneath the golden rays,
just another petal in the path
to my heart’s hearth
at the end of the day

where you’ll find me always
and just the same,
as faithful as sun & moon
taking turns to
light individual ways,

but you know the direction home
by the scent of the dream,
and you make your way 
off trail through the fields
to me;

the wildflowers whisper,
familiar with us both,
and excitedly sway, tickled by
our love’s natural growth.

In the distance, 
your soul espies 
its shared light source:
love of your life
predictably hunched over
wildflowers beyond the garden. 

Inside your chest,
a million daffodils
spring up,
your silhouette 
against the setting sun, 
itself, like hers, 
haloed in the golden, 

and the gods gently shake
with a smile
the sacred snow globe of love,
officially changing the season,
and all of creation again
wakes up…

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Give Me Cloudy Days

Give me cloudy days!
Fill the skies
with grandiose displays,
billows of magnificence,
those ever-shifting shapes!

No sunrise will I miss
when those clouds get their first kiss
and set off on their journey
blushing with pink bliss.

Let the clouds continue to bloom
when the skies default to blue;
all day long, let them come
and show off what they can do.

I’ll still be looking up
when the sun begins to drop
and kisses again the clouds goodnight
as night begins its watch.

In front of moon, the clouds pass
in my favorite nocturnal dance
in lines floating by
that captivate and hold me entranced.

Thank you, Creator, for garnishing with clouds;
how boring the view would be without!
Thank you for the constant reminder
that You are still undoubtedly around.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise