syllabic wings

the golden came
faithfully again to paint
pinetops as they gently sway
the glistening above
the reaching rays

autumn’s premonition
or southern grace
contributing to the
habitual change
of shades

just in time
as I was searching
for a place
to perch post-pain

to begin again
with syllabes
freeing my soul
to create

Captive

Beneath my private canopy,
I poise my fingers to dance, to sing,
but into the world of nature, I float,
its most willing visitor captive to hold,
to stroke with soft, soothing sounds.
Single strands of silver web appear when
the intermittent breeze allows;
in and out of lines, I likewise weave myself…

I could leave now
for the day,
or in this poem
forever stay…

Golden Become

Golden become the leaves
part from equinox,
not from autumn yet
but the hour before the fall.

Glass Portals

If I have to have walls,
give me windows
big and bright
where shadows can dance for hours
with the light,
windows that open
wide
to invite the breezes
inside.
In all mental-health seasons,
I so easily slip away
for days,
lose myself
in those sunny sills
and rainy panes,
faraway thoughts
that need not be
sorted nor restrained;
even my muses need
a holiday.
The spaces inside
my dwelling fade
in comparison
to the glass
and screens I need
for my soul
to not suffocate.
If I have to have walls,
give me windows
through which to endlessly
escape.

Rooted to Trees

Tree-hugger for as long as I can remember
(my favorite nature companions),
known sky-and-cloud obsesser
to those who discover a drop of who I am.

I write of the sea
because I have been living by the beach,
and if my writing you currently read,
you know mountains aren’t my thing.

Wildflowers, especially white ones,
have become infused into my self-journey,
but if I could only keep just one,
I’d have to keep the trees.

In the national forest,
I seek the inner grove,
the largest sequoias I can find
so I can visit my soul’s home.

A hand, a hug, upon the giants
fills my heart, and my authentic
smile naturally shows.

Some and Me

Some were built for height,
some false with imitation bark,
some ill-fated by others’ fires,
some have witnessed the sparks.

The dark, the light,
rotates and falls
upon each equally.
Some were meant to
sky-reach.
Some use the sun’s love
to bloom in delicate
and fleeting beauty.

At the feet of giant trees,
with whom I have always
felt most rooted,
in white lace and ray’s kiss
still fresh on my crown,
I have never been so at peace
with who I’ve found
I’ve always been.

Wherever I go now,
it is me who I am.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

I Will Never Tire

I will never tire of

morning birdsong,

the daily rising of the sun,

the ways the rays

beam between trees,

the clouds that form

in such artistry,

the freedom flaunted in wildflowers,

all the colors of twilight hours,

the breezes that rouse my desires,

the stars that kindle my dreams afire,

for as long as I am alive,

I will never tire

of these natural delights,

never tire

even when the seasons fade away,

for a spirit saturated in the natural

never decays.

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Poem and images ©LauraDenise

A Mix of Seasons

about and in me
acrylic and turpentine–
a mix of seasons

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

These Trails

Despite what the markers say,

these trails have no end,

for we only reside in a portion of the middle

of the Maker’s creation.

This tease of greater things

is meant to last us,

sustain us,

with enough awe

to make all believers,

our time so short yet long

enough to discover

what this part of the journey is for:

to revel

in the natural wonders

and each other,

for every day

the beauty surrounds us.

We are cloaked and dripping

with blessings

and the potential of

love.

This mountain trail has no end,

the silence on the way up

prepares me for the summit’s message

prepared especially for me.

I proceed leisurely

but attune

to the psalms whispered

between the trees.

These trails have no end

for when the footpath stops,

I will carry on,

carrying these moments

in my heart

until I return

again.

Tree of White

My personality is a thousand bright, vibrant colors,

yet I am drawn to the white,

such petal purity quiets me,

embodies the beauty of life,

of souls,

condensed into a power source so soft,

it entrances me so that I may hear

the universe’s secrets and angel song,

and when the sun so celestially infuses it,

all doubt-shadows disperse, leaving me with

only the goodness, the best of all of this,

especially the mysteries and yet-to-comes,

and at the core of it,

pure love.

Spare me the colorful cut flowers; 
take me to a tree of white 
and let me stay for hours...