Almost Worthy

The silent tear
and its companion,
slipping away
from a hidden river
subterranean,

an inner well
I wish to visit,
I pay the obol
but am refused
admission.

I touch the solution
risen to the surface,
released to me
at the green-galactic
entrance.

It absorbs, vanishes,
as if it were only
imagination,
but I know it exists within,
the ancient pool
of my essence
preservation,

disturbed
by a pressure,
a fissure,
from the near past,
a conflict of interest
to who I am

attempting to contaminate
the purity of my heart’s intentions,
sent from the sacred waters
to get my attention:

two harbinger drops
to warn of the bubbling,
but how can I mend
the underground rupturing

when I cannot access
the pre-war,
cannot reverse time
to remove the source

that lies beyond
the lies
in layers
of conditioning,
beneath the protection
of pain
self-buried?

Desperate, kneeling,
thoughts begin spinning,
I get dizzy
in the spiraling,
plead for the ripples
to take me down
into the spring.

“I want to go there!
I want to come!
Let me face
what I know not
head on!

I am brave!
I am strong!”

The portal
closes shut.

What more must I do
to be worthy
enough?

Unforecasted Rain

Rain and storms, natural parts of the cycle;
why do I let them sometimes level 
me? Perhaps it’s the blindsiding.
What if I had a service to alert
when my past in shallow puddles lurks?
Tentacles too quickly encircle
around my ankle–
down the rabbit hole
again. Yet even then,
I know from experience, 
the falls are physically
harmless. What’s another
puncture in a wound
unable to be seen?
Though no bodily pain 
I’ve ever known 
makes me so heavily 
internally bleed 
out. Hemorrhaging soul. 
Still, it is inevitable:
the weather changes 
back again every time.
What’s left behind?
A piece I bury, not of me,
but a part of the repetition 
of unhealthy;
one less tentacle grows back, 
unable to regenerate. 
One by one, I slay them, 
and the only way 
to pass through the portal
is through those puddles,
so I brace 
for the rain. 

Poem and images ©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

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The Green Returns


The green returns
as sure as the sun;
the seasons keep spinning,
web-weaved by the One.

There must be a purpose
for the phases of the heart,
like the moon always whole
but only showing certain parts.


Shadows and winter and
stormy weather undesired,
but without feeling the chill,
what would be the motivation
to light the fire? 


What could wake, shake, and
empower my soul
if not for the thunder’s
inciting rolls? 


How could the beacon
so clearly light the way
without the shadowing trees
contrasting and parting
for the ray?


The green returns
as sure as the sun:
my heart turns again
in its revolution. 

Thank you, love, for being there for me in each of my seasons. 

Poetry and images ©LauraDenise

An Angel Bumped Me

An angel bumped me

just after the very unexpected
ambush of tears
began their backstabbing escape,
and coffee drops leapt up,
not part of the premeditation
but as if to retaliate;

they fell onto the new sheets,
so I had to spring up and pretreat,
and while I did that, the pup annoyed,
untrained in such furniture matters,
so I had to grab some biscuits 
and re-train the “off” command.

Then “An Angel Bumped Me”
seemed like prose or poetry
pleading to be written,
but only a few lines in, 
my heart leapt up
from the sound of
my favorite notification.

Hours later, back at the screen, 
I chuckle at how 

angels intervene. 

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

My Buoyancy

When a million mixed feelings rise up in me
despite the dam I’ve so meticulously built,
and the tears threaten to overtake, 
in the emotional disturbance, overspill,

and I get so frustrated
for not being able to keep it down,
and I get exhausted from 
the not understanding
of these things too buried within myself, 

and upon my pillow, I offer up the prayer
for God to calm the waters for good, 
and right on cue, I hear the notification
that you have both heard, 

and through the start of the tears
that may have come down for days, 
my smile, just like that, returns
from your excited, happy emoji face, 

and upon my cheeks,
the sunless warmth is felt, 
and the flood recedes 
before fully rising out, 

and just like that, 
I feel the peace
like a rainbow promising
that both of your love
for me,
now two doubled-up,
will always be
my buoyancy 

in every real and unrealistic threat
of drowning. 

Poem and images ©Laura Denise

If I Could Reach It

There is a pain in you
so exquisitely piercing,
in depths that cannot
be reached;
if I could dive
into the abyss of you,
I wouldn’t hesitate
to retrieve it.

But even then,
it could too easily
well up again,
so instead,
I would trace the source,
swim upstream
through your tears
and pluck
from the duct
the thorn.

But I cannot.
The furthest I can reach
is your heart
and transfuse the antiserum
from my own scars,
hold your hand
and see you through
each storm,
and all of my faith
add to yours
and send up
our plea

to the stars.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Mystery to Me

Heart-sensors

extra sensitive,

picking up mixed signals

of every human emotion,

eyes brim with

unidentified sadness

but do not spill over,

for tears that mix

simultaneously with

happiness

get recalled to the cauldron

to start over

in the feelings-concoction,

stirred not by hand

but all that I am,

have been through,

have yet to see,

and the substance

that holds it 

all together

in the center

comes from the faith

I feel

He has

in me. 

I am transforming

into exactly who

I was always

going to 

be,

still a mystery

to me.

Lord, keep making me

an instrument

of Your peace. 

 

The Prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi 

Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace;
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is error, the truth;
Where there is doubt, the faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
And where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master,
Grant that I may not so much seek
To be consoled, as to console;
To be understood, as to understand;
To be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen.