PROMPT #151 – “IMAGES AND IDEAS”: GUEST HOST – LAURIE KOLP

/ Poetic Bloomings
POET AND PHOTOGRAPHER LAURIE KOLP

POET AND PHOTOGRAPHER
LAURIE KOLP

This week we travel back to Texas to tap our next Guest Host. As you will read, she is an accomplished and well published poet and photo artist. I am happy to help her announce that her first full poetry collection,  Upon the Blue Couch, was released just yesterday. See the link below and learn about Laurie Kolp’s accomplishments. And as always, thank you Laurie for your help this week!

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Laurie Kolp lives in Southeast Texas with her husband of 15 years, three kids and two dogs. Although she was born with Irish and German blood, her native tongue is poetry. She writes in a 3 by 5 corner, one wall an outlook visited quite often by cardinals, mourning doves, grackles and blue jays. The other side open to eyes behind her head always watching the goings on of her family. This type of lifestyle has led Laurie to believe at times she must have developed attention deficit disorder (ADD). One second she’s nitpicking a poem, the next kicking Nerf balls with her boys… or off to shop with her daughter for those last-minute things teenagers need… interrupted by chores that lead her on tangents. But she always ends back in her little nook fingering keys and reading books of poetry. By the way, Laurie’s first full-length poetry collection, Upon the Blue Couch, comes out this month. Learn more at her website http://lauriekolp.com.

 

Discover more about Laurie at  her blogs:

Laurie Kolp Poetry
Bird’s-Eye Gemini.

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FIRST OFF, LAURIE AND WALT, IN CONJUNCTION WITH MARIE ELENA GOOD, WOULD LIKE TO WISH YOU ALL A HAPPY EASTER!

PROMPT #151 – “IMAGES AND IDEAS”: Take a word image (“cloudless sky”, “rainless thunder”, “twilight’s last gleaming”…) . List some of the ideas your choice elicits and write them into your poem.

WALT’S IMAGE:

CLOUD FILLED SKY

Clarity is a rarity,

patches of blue shine through

vaporous mists, floating suspended,

a never-ending journey never touching down.

Thoughts muddled in mind and heart

find a way to start, an expression

to soar, confused no more.

© Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014

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LAURIE’S IDEA:

GRASSLESS FIELD
 
a sprint from home to track
when news too much to bear
chases her, a wasted thief
 
kneels in grassless field
and waits for steady breathing,
sweat nourishment for desert floor
 
so close the dirt a glove
for fingers sinking down
her asylum, one with earth
 
a fortune doomed childless
as barren as this paddock- –
she looks into the sky and screams
© Copyright Laurie Kolp – 2014

159 thoughts on “PROMPT #151 – “IMAGES AND IDEAS”: GUEST HOST – LAURIE KOLP”

  1. LAURIE! What a sopresa! Good to see you on deck, manning the Enterprise this week. Btw, I already ordered your poetry book 🙂 swwweeeeeeettttt!!
    Your poem and Walt’s are very thought provoking. Got me thinking a bit. Fun prompt!

    • Hey Laurie! So great to see you at the helm with Walt this week…love the prompt and both your poem and Walt’s (although, I don’t think they could be any different, and that’s cool all on its own)…really like the last stanza of yours Laurie; it has me coming back to re-read – “a fortune doomed childless/as bare as this paddock–/she looks into the sky and screams/” Pow – it hits me where I live.

  2. Well done with your examples of this week’s prompt, Walt and Laurie.

    And speaking of Laurie, welcome to the chair of weekly decisions. You get to make choices, pass judgments, and wave to excited visitors all at the same time this week, my friend. But no worries. You’ve got experience in that sort of thing. Glad you’re taking a tour of duty with us at the head of the class. 🙂

    And, just so you’ll know, your poem’s final stanza was more than powerful for me. It was all a vision, to be sure, but it was also a kind of validation. Great job, Laurie.

    Yours, too, Walt. Reading it was one way to float or soar, while remained anchored by the earth. 🙂 Love it.

  4. MOUNTAINS IN THE MOJAVE

    The mountains rising from the heat
    can make the day seem calm and sweet;
    and mountains framed in clear starlight
    place heaven closer to my sight.
    But desert sunsets loose each peak
    to full fruition, grand and meek;
    for sundown bares, in soft degrees,
    their purple mountain majesties.

    copyright 2914, William Prestom

  5. For Love of Old Woody Carrots

    My mess disorders and sharp distempers,
    aches of weakness and sway bridge rocking,
    I am lessened of bones and vigour stolen,
    damn these limbs of pensionable use.
    My mood sinks, a weighted stone in open
    water, and yet I am twice the person now,
    compared to when I possessed my fine
    full youth — but still, one day, I shall
    succumb to the heat and moisture, and
    decompose like an old woody carrot.

    ~

    (LOL! My joints ache today, so I’m rather self-absorbed.)

  6. SILENT SKIES

    Restless eyes
    scour the sky
    scanning, panning
    left and right
    for mom and dads
    spirited gift
    bestowed
    now adrift
    little Jimmy’s
    birthday kite
    he pondered the loss
    and wondered why
    raised his arms
    then asked the sky
    did you give my kite a lift?
    little Jimmy waited…..
    frenzied for an answer
    from celestial vault
    until silence rained down
    exposing his fault
    his countenance
    gripped sour with guilt
    his eyes weathered
    teared red with pain
    slowly made the trek home
    clothed in shame

  7. Pingback: Unending Sea of Sky and Blue | Metaphors and Smiles

  8. Unending Sea of Sky and Blue

    Unending sea of sky and blue
    somewhere on earth’s very center
    span of sky and sea meet in a thin line
    forever separate ever together always distinct,
    a circumference that bounds on long and arching
    circling round to surround in a pinstripe of sapphire.
    Fire of day star rises on the horizon, too bright to look at,
    an orange rosy glow breaches the surface of salt and water;
    in the stillness of morn a new mirror of the atmosphere is born,
    ocean and air hold likeness – a fresh image in this early rising time.
    It is then that one can truly see they’re birthed from the same lineage.
    Ocean and air hold likeness – a fresh image in this early rising time,
    in the stillness of morn a new mirror of the atmosphere is born.
    An orange rosy glow breaches the surface of salt and water,
    fire of day star rises on the horizon, too bright to look at.
    Circling round to surround in a pinstripe of sapphire
    a circumference that bounds on long and arching
    forever separate ever together always distinct,
    span of sky and sea meet in a thin line
    somewhere on earth’s very center,
    unending sea of sky and blue.

    Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014

  9. Wonderful!! Thank you you two for hosting! So good to see and hear from you Laurie…love your poem and congratulations on your poetry collection!

    :)’S Happy Easter everyone!

  10. FRIENDLY SKIES

    Silent skies stretch
    round about
    all over the earth
    circling revisiting
    high mountain peaks
    contemplating
    the great needs of men
    Shall I…
    bring the cloud?
    release the Sun?
    send rain again?

  12. STORM

    Hot-wiring the horizon,
    Lightning accelerates skittish clouds
    In a breakneck, thundering frenzy
    While twin suns on tangerine fire
    Crackle in our eyes.

    Holding hands on the sofa, we watch
    The late-afternoon sky show
    Through our backyard window,
    Electro-etching one more
    Memory in the making.

    When I look back at you again,
    You are still there.

    #

  13. Pingback: The Smell of Death | georgeplacepoetry by Debi Swim

  14. The Smell of Death

    They urged me forward, go say hello,
    they said, but he was asleep… I hoped
    he was sleeping behind the wrinkles of pain.
    I wish I could remember him tall and gentle,
    a shy smile lighting his eyes, toting the black
    bag he carried to doctor sick animals.
    He took us kids once on a call in his big black
    whale of a car. By that time he was retired,
    just keeping a foot in for friends and passing time.
    I was just a child and this room dim with shades pulled
    and the sounds of puffs through thin lips
    an occasional quiet moan, a sheet drawn over
    parchment paper skin and sharp bones
    frightened me. My first experience with the ancient foe.
    But what I’ll always recall is the smell of death
    not quite disguised beneath the medicinal scent of Lysol.

  15. Pingback: Silent Cries | echoes from the silence

  16. SILENT CRIES
    (a shadorma)

    Brokenness
    is muffled by her
    silent cries;
    tears spilling
    soundlessly from pools of blue
    will never be heard.

    2014-04-20
    P. Wanken

  18. Castle Rock

    It rose up
    against the slate
    New Mexico sky,
    arched by a muted rainbow.
    I stared, searching for castle doors,
    but saw none.
    Why do real castles in a storm
    seem like ominous monsters
    while their rock counterparts
    appear as a work of beauty?

  19. Muddy Shoes

    Inside the farmhouse door
    a mass of muddy shoes
    guarded the shiny kitchen floor.

    Family and friends
    padded along in socks
    until chores call and break ends.

  20. Cluttered Sink

    A jumble of dishes
    stack higher and higher
    while the shower runs,
    the hair dryers hum,
    the shoe search ensues
    and then it’s a mad dash
    out the door to go to church.

  21. This is my early attempt. I’m looking forward to reading everyone’s. Another week of verse. What could be better?

    Enriched Formula

    When did my life
    begin with a formula?
    Did I arrive in the world
    with such swaddling
    to give it substance,
    meaning.

    Questions swirl and foam
    Inside my mouth,
    Seeking answers to my
    Existence, my purpose.

    Was my formula defective,
    if it needed enrichment?
    Did it not nourish me
    enough to make my life
    count?

    And how did I enrich it
    these many years gone
    to create the enriched
    formula I now enjoy?

    Surely laughter has brought
    flavor to the body of my life,
    and tears have salted the
    ground on which I built a
    future.

    Hunger has been satisfied
    For knowledge and growth,
    While senses have gathered
    Impressions for later mulling.

    Patience gathered brought
    faith as tolerance taught
    peace, conjoined with life
    To bring forgiveness and
    Love.

  23. Laurie – great to see you here – enjoy. Loved your poem! Your’s too Brother Walt.

    I have wanted to borrow (steal?) the last line of this poem (from a song) for so long. last night I decided that come what may I would use it today so thanks – perfect prompt.

    The Wild Blue Yonder

    a cloudless bright blue sky
    a blazing sun climbing high
    a good day to be alive – t’would be a good day to die
    with sword in hand and helm cast away
    the glory of the glory days
    the echo of times gone by
    a smile a wink a soft goodbye
    hit the road on iron horses
    horseless carriages on black top courses
    the adventure calls
    and the glad heart answers
    the blank page mystery
    the fantasy dancers brought from dreams
    with eyes that gleam and on and on the endless road
    so much time to think, so much time to ponder
    what lays there in the wild blue yonder?
    what mountains stretch across the path?
    what road will rivers ford? what plains lay green and broad?
    what crystal lake might make a bath?
    to wash away the weary day
    and as the head nods dreamland’s way
    somewhere over the rainbow
    somewhere along the Navajo trail
    some place still left to go
    some schemes and plans yet to fail
    the eyes close heavy and blink out the stars
    and the light breeze strums a sagebrush guitar

    Iain

  25. Nonsensessential

    By David De Jong

    Workin’ on a scratch numbin’ my brain,
    Movin’ along, like an up-hill train.
    Tryin’ to express, just how I feel,
    Searchin’ right words, make it seem real.

    Listenin’ to old paint while it peels,
    Polishin’ scuff back on the heels.
    Rusty old hinge, cryin’ at the breeze,
    Busted stirrup, buried deep in leaves,
    Settlin’ fence, fightin’ tumbled weeds,
    Broken wire, hidin’ inside the trees.

    See em with your ears, hear em with your eyes,
    Riddles of mem’ry on painted skies,
    They won’t be comin’ as no surprise.
    Sparks of a flame chasin’ coal-spent fires,
    Where a mind wanders when it retires.

    Lookin’ four ways on a one-way street.
    In a one-horse town, we all compete.
    When it all comes clear – it’ll sure be sweet.

  26. BETROTHED TO SILK

    I have an intemperance; for wrinkled
    silk, gliding past my skin. Caressing
    every nerve, firing sapid
    pleasures, wired in high speed  
    yet again. Bring sage silk,
    and let me bear it’s
    relentless splash.
    Betroth me,
    now, to
    silk.

    © Copyright 2014
    Benjamin Thomas

  27. Excellent poem, Laurie. I love the layers of meaning within the lines. And congrats on your book. I will certainly be buying a copy.

    I hope to write for this week’s prompt so I won’t read/comment on the other work until I do so.

  29. Congratulations, Laurie. I am very happy for you. Welcome to hosting!

    Got Gravy?

    Her? Oh honey, she’s riding
    the gravy train, plain
    and simple. Her fingers
    are thick with rings.
    Well, no wonder, she is
    half his age. Stage of life
    he’s in, he could go, snap!
    just like that. She is waiting,
    anticipating all that money
    she will inherit. There she goes,
    in her fine fancy clothes. Choo-choo,
    all aboard!

  30. Wonder Plays
    How to, translate this play by play
    Gazing through my kitchen gray
    Blue got pink and gold caught fire
    Purple clouds filled in desire

    Silent sunset spoke in hues
    Highlighting the evening’s news
    Flowers blooming in the sky
    Lotus slivers gleaming high
    Wings that shimmered, merged in point
    Then diverged through scattered joints
    Open arms with brushes grew
    Painting shades we never knew
    What music must that place withhold?!
    That lies beyond this open mould
    A glimpse into an unknown realm
    And I, SO yearned to hold its helm
    And then I blinked, and lo it seemed !
    It’s swallowed, in an ink filled breeze!
    A blotting paper sanded through
    A charcoal smudge with deeper grooves

    Those flashes now are memories
    As time just breathes and flows with ease
    A cradle glows inside my heart
    Stirring reds through hidden paths

    Each day the same sun comes to bat
    And yet a different game it chants
    Each moment marks and plays its part
    So stop, encrypt some wonder art—

    • The rise and fall of this poem takes the reader on a wonder ride, Priti. This images move like swells coming into shore, and at each one’s breaking, another comes to take its place. A great read that doesn’t let go of this reader’s attention for a nanosecond. Great job.

  31. I am fond of rhyming couplets, but can’t maintain them for a poem so long as this without forcing the rhymes. Here you do it beautifully.

  32. A Yard of Parchment

    The land so dry
    the grass has faded
    and nothing breathes
    as the drought in her soul
    lies heavy,
    smothering the faintest gasp
    for air
    and you don’t know if the land is defeated
    or just dormant
    waiting in parched slumber
    to rise again.

  33. Welcome Laurie, so nice to see you co-piloting with Walt. Laurie and Walt – wonderful and extremely different poems from both of you. Laurie I had to read yours several time because it packs such a powerful punch.

  34. Sunset # 2546

    I see it there over my shoulder,
    putting on a show
    for my full attention.

    The mountain ridges appear,
    deep blue and crisp
    as construction paper
    cut-outs in a kindergarten class.

    The sun takes one more glimpse,
    peeking through the curtain of clouds,
    before making his exit.

    A brand-new shade of pink
    makes its debut before
    being shuffled off the stage
    by those old regulars,
    gold, yellow, orange

    Old Man River plays
    his same old magic tricks
    with fog and mirrors:
    Which is the reflection?
    Which is real?

    I’ve seen it all before.
    I’ve never seen it quite like this.
    I’d better look now
    before the show ends for the night.

  36. ARRIVAL AND DEPARTURE

    Moonrise
    welcomes lovers
    with innocent beaming
    while my love leaves at twilight’s last
    gleaming.

    copyright 2014, William Preston

  37. TWO SPARROWS FOR AN ASSARION

    Two sparrows are sold for an assarion, and not one them falls, apart from the will of the one above.

    The countless hairs of our head
    have been numbered,
    and not one them falls apart from heavenly counsel.

    The intrinsic value of the human vessel, is much more precious than
    the birds of heaven.

    • There are no bald sparrows, though. (Sorry; couldn’t resist.) I like this, and learned a new word.

  38. CLEVELAND PEAR DANCE

    An elegant Cleveland pear hosts a dance;
    although she cannot move, sing, speak, but remains there—
    stands.

    Its almost as if she’s holding hands.
    With another life, chemistry, of black and yellow bands.

    A sweetened honeybee, with sappy
    demands. A skilled assassin wasp, slowly taking stance. And scores of tumbling bumblebees, sporting in prance.

    Grand host Cleveland pear, clothed in myriads of perfect white blossom. Boasts of a thousand eyes to witness nature’s jig.

    © Copyright 2014
    Benjamin Thomas

  40. Good to have Laurie hosting. Love your poetry.

    Pathless Wood

    He took the same route as a boy,
    up past the pond, beside the shed,
    along the fields planted in soy
    into the woods where his path led

    to one majestic sycamore
    carved with initials, his and hers.
    They set out for some distant shore,
    unpracticed at how faith occurs.

    Now looking back, an aging man,
    life was not such a pathless wood
    They walked together hand in hand
    and helped each other when they could.

    Sometimes their faces would be switched
    by twigs, or they tripped over roots,
    a blight of cobwebs made them itch
    but their love remained resolute.

    He fancies that’s the way of life,
    outpacing small annoying things
    like boys carving with their first knife
    deep into bark, on true love’s wings.

  41. PASSIONLESS LOVE

    There was no getting around it
    Love, they had that in abundance
    Would likely always have it
    If they were wise enough to part
    now before the bitterness set in.

    But the other – the stuff that sets
    the walls on fire, makes loins ache
    Something neither one of them
    was aware existed at first…
    That was missing from their life

    At first, and for the longest time,
    it seemed like it wasn’t going to
    matter, such was the love they had
    for each other – But passion is a funny
    beast…it may burn on low for what seems
    like forever before little flames begin
    to lick around the edges of other feelings

    Eventually, one of them grew disenchanted
    with the idea that there was no passion
    in any facet of their relationship…They
    argued rarely, and certainly never fought…
    Even their happinesses seemed subdued…
    as if all of their sentiments were far too
    contained. It made one half of the couple
    distinctly unhappy, so much so, she
    sought professional help

    Then — distressed as she started
    unwrapping her psyche, the more
    she cracked herself apart, the less
    she wanted to stay with her love.
    It was heart-breaking. It was also
    an undeniable truth.

    Not eager to quit, the couple sought
    counseling together. Only one of them
    suspected it was futile; she did not know
    how to tell the other that their love was
    never going to be enough. She was,
    however, willing to go through the
    motions for as long as it took. It took
    quite a while.

    But, there was just no getting around it…

  42. I picked fog. The words I wrote were: mist/misty, cloaked in white, haze/hazy, visibility, blurred.
    I decided to try writing a haibun.

    Light Fog

    “It’s not that everything is cloaked in a thick cloud of white; shapes and forms and colors come through but are muted as if fairies spun a layer of light lace all over the place, hazy and crazy with light shining through tiny cracks here and there. Visibility is blurred but I know who you are.
    And if the fog thickens and all goes white then I will know you by your voice.”

    I hadn’t exactly understood what grandma was trying to explain about her eyes, but I saw the sadness in them, watched them grow misty as she spoke.

    mourning dove
    hastily takes flight before
    camera focuses

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