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Laura Chouette Books

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The Willow Song

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When Dusk Falls

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“The Price Love will probably kill me,
Long before I fell out of it,
Or madly in with another. It will rush like a red hand,
With doubt and steady stillness,
Of another lover into something else. It will kill with everything,
But a feeling of full self-despair,
And a moment of bitter nostalgia. Love will probably kill me,
Leaving everything I am behind,
Or giving me anything I owe it in return. It will blush my cheeks with tenderness,
Wailing my veins into stray lines
Of another’s love, an undying lie. It will be neither slow nor gentle,
But rushed into words and memories,
And give out nothing but love, again.”

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Book:The Willow Song
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“Walking away from someone you love doesn’t break you— it changes you into someone else. With each step, you feel yourself losing something—forever. And it will never be the same— not tomorrow, not even in ten years. You have to live with the person you are now and forget the two you left behind back then: The one you loved and the one you once were— they are gone.”

ChangeLetting GoHeartbreakPersonal GrowthMoving OnPoetry LoveLove And LossPhilosophical PoetryEmotional StruggleWriting About Life
Author:Laura Chouette
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“As the wind bears the leaves aloft, In the gentle evening light, the day goes soft, The end approaches with a tender pace. Swallows trace their final flight, Shadows lengthen, time slips by in quiet light, A growing longing in the human race. Like the lilac by the garden's side, Silent eternity bends wide, Reaching down to the cool earth’s place. In this stillness, spreading clear, Summer lingers briefly here, Before it goes away with you.”

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Author:Laura Chouette
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“DYSTOPIA Dark, early streets and high walls of empty houses a lonesome bird singing a hollow duet with its own echo - autumn feels like spring once you have lost everything and stand with nothing to hold onto at winter's edge - walkways glooming in buzzing orange neon light imitating fallen leaves, making the city's concrete jungle a forest - soon November is here, crawling along the pavement and dulling the grey of the ruins they call buildings - sudden flickering accompanied by loud buzzing: the lights went out while winter's edge cuts violently through the streets & building cracks - the bird stopped singing.”

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Author:Laura Chouette
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“FLORENCE Soft emerald valleys lay in crimson light beneath the rolling hills; the waters of the Arno gleam like bronze the city's vein, so still. Each artist at the shore of the river stares in wonder and delight - how far do the lines reach across the bridge, beyond their work? One may seek rest under the cypresses and soft light of the August amber sun - here, at his grave, the city walls lay high around the garden, he knew once as paradise. His dark eyes still seem to pierce the lines of the hills, like he searches for his soul - still; (somewhere between the Arno and the nightfall). The trees - heavily laid with summer's fruit - stand high above the city in marble glance. Clear is now the dark sky - full of shards which dreamers call the stars.”

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Author:Laura Chouette
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“THE MONSTER & THE MAN One obstacle pierces his soul and calls him down the dark road - heavy sighing he must carry on and at last, the thorn is retrieved - with agony in his brown eyes - he suddenly sees: Fever dreams, scarlet on blue velvet, like ink drowning in words - words drowning inside his veins - words that pleaded in vain - words so scarlet... so stained. Empty lines for empty souls that carry too much inside; empty pages for empty hands with nothing else to hide nor to control the beast inside his soul.”

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Author:Laura Chouette
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“SIENA I wander down the steps along the walls of bricks and high houses - down to the waters that lay deep. Streaming down from the hill on which the old city was built with a tower standing high, that reaches up not far from the grave that these waters lay in. Alabaster is the hand that reaches in it and cold is the heart that touches the pale divine. Beating fast after climbing back to the light and narrow streets - I found now what it seeks. Descending down, down to the hidden stream - oh Siena, my goddess without a pomegranate seed.”

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Author:Laura Chouette
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“THE BALLADE OF SUMMER'S FALL Hues of pale green, on delicate olive branches the soft rustling of somberness along the fields of gold that lay themselves to gentle rest after another long summer. I have nothing to bury under them except my own heart -that is my soul's greatest regret, once my lines begin to fill in autumn, under the velvet gloom of shortening days. The admiration of the Florentine sun had doomed my words to become eventually a remembrance once September falls in October's pale hands. I shall have nothing to grieve for once the winter arrives, coming over the distant hills and laying bare the orchards along his way. I doomed them to become ruins by overthinking, hoping - at least once too often - for change; So, let it be then. I will mourn my mere passion for life in the presence of death - though my art may be eternal.”

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Author:Laura Chouette
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