Poet. Writer. Photographer.
The sky is not
the limit
but the start;
the sun
never sets,
just lends
its rays west
and the stage
to the stars.
Wildflowers cannot
be weeded if
they sprout
from the heart;
you cannot stop mine
from rising beyond
the highest heights
of love.
Looking out my bedroom window
a long while, late on a spring day,
opposite weather inside of me,
a seductive swirling veil of gray,
to choose which to follow,
if either non-path at all,
takes the breaking of the trance
when both come so subtly to call.
I didn’t wait for the new day;
I chose the remainder at hand,
clipped the leash to the too-excited dog,
laced my sneakers and simply began.
I let a trickle of hope in
on the way to the pond
to stir the stagnant layer
hovering weightless
but still clouding
my heart.
Perhaps I could find
beauty or love or both
in my always-open lens
that filters and feeds
light to soul.
I did. For it is always there.
Mother Nature never folds
her extended arms;
She unconditionally heals,
cares.
I knew a new day
would soon come
tomorrow,
and all would
feel better again,
but the thing about
choice and action is
that Momentum
can also be a dear
friend.
I did not wait for New Day.
I drank the sunset medicine instead.
It brought me soft romance
and a happy non-end.
Poem and images ©LauraDenise
The pull of the day,
of the years,
of everyone’s needs
leaves shadows
and cavities
from ebb’s
never-ending
taking,
but the sun’s
reflection
warms me
in oranges,
and the glow
stays.
The light
one way
or another
will
illuminate,
independent of
ever reaching
that haunted,
hollowed
space.
Poem and images ©LauraDenise
You’ll find her beneath
the dandelion canopy,
refueling her yellow,
feeding her sunny,
nectar for her sappy,
when the sun is setting,
the crazy nature girl
bending, squatting,
making magic
out of “nothing.”
Witnesses stop asking
what she’s doing.
Make fun of her
but don’t interrupt
the wildflower child
when she’s crouched,
hair dangling down
in the dirt,
as roots reach up
to genially greet her.
Never mind her
echo to the birds
or her silly grin
as she whispers
to unseen
chimerical creatures.
You’ll find her beneath
the dandelion canopy
filling her heart’s fancy
with macro memories.
Poem and images ©LauraDenise
Tide flows,
tide ebbs,
changing, hiding,
revealing the edges
of division.
I watch
the transitions,
half dream-drifting,
half paying
detail-attention.
Always thinking.
I ponder on
the ebb and flow,
how one takes
and the other gives
in its rhythmic dance
to and fro
and how taking
can also be
giving,
and giving be
taking,
and for each,
the difference
is in the
seeking and releasing.
We send bottled messages
afloat, hopeful for
its accurate delivery
and offer what we desire
for burial at sea;
we collect treasures
and look for clues
from gods and mermaids
Destiny-strewn.
I notice in the wet sand
in between surf’s blanketing,
a secret passageway,
a ladder to dreams,
unless, of course,
it’s an evil illusion,
a detour or trap
set by opposing forces.
I wonder
how much
is serendipity
and divine intervention
verses taking control
and free will’s actions,
if choosing the evanescent
option not on the maps
is a test of fortitude
or foolish brassiness.
Another option,
nonetheless, is presented:
two piers to walk,
but only one may
have no end.
Poem and images by Laura Denise
Not a beanstalk,
but it might as well be,
magic seeds
sprouting the way
to giant dreams,
and in the center,
a sunbeam
passes through
a hole in a leaf
purposefully
to reach me,
or is it simply that light
is at the center
of all belief?
Insignificant
the manmade pier seems,
foolishly leading
horizontally…
Poem and image ©LauraDenise
Sunset-lit pier
fades from focus
as the miniature shell-bridge
draws me closer
and gets me thinking…
about what we extend
in our reach to connect,
and what we retract
when we fear-react,
and all that’s gained
and lost from the taking
and passing of chance,
from the courage
to not or to
act,
and how far the distance
can be misjudged from perspective,
and in the grand scheme of things,
how important it is,
and how often we miss
and what we learn
when we look up
or bow our heads
to discern
the difference.
Poem and image ©LauraDenise
Sometimes, I
prefer the blur,
the softness,
of out of focus,
where it all becomes
muted and fuses
with the natural horizon,
and even my femininity,
graceful and soft-spoken,
has a voice among the hushes,
my lyrics freed but the language
not audible or of this world,
for it is my soul who recognizes
this celestial light befalling before
the sun bids us adieu, never
resting, only sharing itself with
others too, as this speck of a
planet shifts, and upon
this ray, I lay this kiss
to be sweetly
delivered
to you.
Poem and image ©LauraDenise
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.
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
Laura Denise 