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
***
LAURIE’S IDEA:
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!
Thank you, Benjamin!
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.
Thanks, Sharon.
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.
Thanks, Claudsy… I’m ready to read away & excited…
Good for you, Laurie.
Well done, Laurie – I’m wishing your book every success. A poem may or may not follow, as the prompt is a puzzle to me!
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
Excellent write!
I like this so much, William. Having lived in Arizona for a long while, I know these types of effects and relieved those desert days in your words. Wonderful. Thanks for the memory boost.
This is a beautiful image, William. I love the mountains and can’t imagine home without them.
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.)
Good one Misk…your last line brought smiles visualizing an old woody carrot!
Thanks, Benjamin. 🙂
🙂 Misky, I was right in there with you on this one and chuckled throughout. It’s a puzzlement, isn’t it, how the inside “us” can be so completely unlike the “outside” us. Terrific poem for detailing an aging paradox.
Absolutely! I’m right there, too!
🙂
You just have to laugh, Claudsy, as crying doesn’t help! 🙂
Exactly!
The image of that carrot carries this way above self-pity, as I suspect you were thinking. Wonderful work.
Yes, William, I was thinking slightly outside the pity-party ‘box’ on this one. ;D
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
Great little story, Ben. You could turn this into a picture book without any difficulty at all. A life-turning event, encompassed in one short moment of enlightenment for one small boy. It’s perfect. Loved it.
Oh, poor little Jimmy. This is so sweet and sad.
Utterly beautiful and loaded with emotion.
Pingback: Unending Sea of Sky and Blue | Metaphors and Smiles
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
Beautiful Hannah, I see you’re flexing your muscle early on today 🙂
Thank you, Benjamin!
You’re certainly pointing the way for us:) I love the look and sound of this, Hannah.
Thanks so much!! 🙂
An amazing poem, Hannah. The circular expression, all swirling in continuous movement to return where it began. Wonderful.
I appreciate this, Claudsy…thank you!
You’re very welcome, my friend. A fantastic poem.
I think this is an amazing piece, and the shape reminds me of the arrow of sunlight on water. As I think I said elsewhere, Gaia is smiling.
Oh neat, William! Thank you so much!! I love to think of Gaia smiling. 🙂
I’ve never been able to write a poem in this form that I like (or that even flows and makes sense). I am in awe in you, Hannah.
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!
Thanks, Hannah. Happy Easter to you, too.
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?
Oh, release the sun! Love this
Great little poem and premise, Ben. Much better than the original use for the word phrase “friendly skies.” 🙂
Hmmmm… this feels ominous to me. Very effective writing.
Love the perspective and voice you give in the closing, Benjamin. 🙂
Thx
Empty Tomb
The body is gone
But the tomb is not empty
It is filled with hope
Love it, hope it is!
Lovely thought, Earl. Thank you. It encompasses so much.
That it does.
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.
#
Memory in the making -yes. I love storms!
Fantastic verse, Sal. Double meanings all around. Love it.
Indeed.
Awesome one Sal, and thrilling first stanza!
nice work, Sal
Pingback: The Smell of Death | georgeplacepoetry by Debi Swim
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.
Good to see you co-piloting today, Laurie. Your and Walt’s poems are gorgeous. “Clarity is a rarity” so true and a wow expression. So much emotion in yours, Laurie.
Thanks, Debi.
Oh, Debi, you have captured such a moment, a moment that for many of use was our first encounter with that ancient foe. Yes, I remember, and continued proximity didn’t change the cringing recoil one bit.
This poem can stand as testament of experience without needed to declare anything else. Terrific job, my friend.
Sorry, I meant “many of us” not of use. Fingers stiff this morning.
Wow. Such tender power.
Very riveting piece nicely told. Beautiful.
Wow…this is poignant…such distinct imagery, Debi…well written. 🙂
very descriptive work. I could see, hear, and smell the poem as the story was told.
Pingback: Silent Cries | echoes from the silence
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
So sad, so telling. Definitely wrings the heart, Paula. Excellent use of the form, too. Kudos.
Amen to that.
“from pools of blue” lovely
I can sense the pain in this one. Those cries aren’t completely unheard. 😉
sad 😦
Lovely, Walt. Powerful, Laurie!
Thanks, Henrietta.
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?
Good question, Connie. And you used a marvelous vehicle to ask it, too. Great job here.
Oh, this is gorgeous. The proffered imagery might as well be a painting.
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.
So true and such a common image from my past as to bring smiles and memories forth. Thumbs up on this one, Connie.
Love this. It;’s so accurate, but I’d’ve never thought of the shoes as guards.
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.
The morning rituals–why do they always make so much work that few of us every want to tackle? Love this, Connie.
This, for me, gives a new insight into the idea of a church sanctuary.
Enjoyed the nitty gritty normality to this!
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.
This wonderful piece gave several formulae, if you’ll pardon the pun.
Aw, thanks, William. I’m glad you liked it.
This is a very nice image of formula-great combinations.
thanks, Debi. I wasn’t sure it it really met the needs. I guess I can stop worrying about that now. 🙂
Claudsy, this is very special. The comparisons throughout with the imagery definitely had an impact. Enjoyed the formula theme too.
Thank you so much, Ben. I’m glad you enjoyed it.
“Surely laughter has brought
flavor to the body of my life,
and tears have salted the
ground on which I built a
future.”
This is my favorite part of your poem, Cludsy…love all the questions posed.
I’m sorry, “Claudsy.” 🙂
🙂 Thanks, Hannah. So glad you enjoyed it. And you know what? Those are my favorite lines, too.
How lovely…I love it when peeps pick my favorites too… :)’s and a happy day to you, Claudsy.
Reblogged this on Bird's-Eye Gemini and commented:
Honored to be guest host this week. Check it out. I also have a very special announcement.
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
Absolutely fine, Iain. Wow. Love it.
Thanks Claudsy. 🙂
Wow. This is utter mastery.
Thank you Bill, you are too kind. 🙂
A dreamy, relaxing, hypnotic journey you take us on. Nice!
Cheers! 🙂
nice work, Iain.
Easter morning on the patio, beautiful sunny warm day – perfectly matched to discovering your blog – look forward to following.
Drop by anytime, John. You’re always welcome.
Welcome, John. Come back often.
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.
You’ve done it again, David. You’ve given us images of a place where we’re all stood, looking at a place that’s seen better days and hopes to see a few more, but which as begun to lose the battle. Simply love your poems.
Thanks Claudsy
his has a nice, Buck Owens quality to it, in my view. Your work always makes me hear it as melody.
I agree with William, I’m hearing this sung slow. Beautiful feel.
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
Well done, Ben. Love the descending count in this one. It really helps accentuate.
Positively
🙂
Thx Clauds
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.
Aww, thanks, Linda.
Congratulations on your book, Laurie!
Thank you, Michael!
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!
This makes me smile, albeit a bit ruefully.
Grinning
Back attacha!
LOL! Love this, Sara. The picture is so complete–not just the one being gossiped about but the one doing the gossiping. Well done!
Thanks, Claudsy!
Lol! Funny!
Thanks, Benjamin!
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.
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.
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.
For me, this is a bit mysterious; I wonder who, or what, is more parched. Wonderful work.
Yes, wonderfully woven words here. I like the sense of hope at the end.
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.
Thanks, Mik.
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.
Superb picture-telling.
you’ve painted a nice scene, Nancy
(Poem: http://lettheballoonssailmeaway.wordpress.com)
Rainbow Hues
Can live another day right here
A place where wonders reappear,
Each day dawns bright and winds its way
Through meaning deep, where moments stay.
For me, your last line, notably the last three words, ring like a bell. Lovely.
Thank you, so much, William.
ARRIVAL AND DEPARTURE
Moonrise
welcomes lovers
with innocent beaming
while my love leaves at twilight’s last
gleaming.
copyright 2014, William Preston
Nicely told William!
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.
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
This is wonderful.
Thx William
CLOUDLESS EYES
Cloudless eyes,
completely immiscible,
genuinely infuse
the real person.
I love this, and thanks for another new word.
No problem. Just learned it myself.
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.
as always, lovely work from you this week, Jane
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…
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
Please add to end of prose: Only years later did it become clear to me.
Thanks.