POETIC BLOOMINGS

POETIC BLOOMINGS is a Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild site established in May 2011 to nurture and inspire the creative spirit.

WITH TLC by Laurie Kolp

Kolp- With TLC

Table of Contents

*Who Do You Think You Are, Laurie Kolp?……………………………………………………..1
*Goldilocks, Dizzy Blonde Okay, But Airhead NO……………………………………………..2
*Walled……………………………………………………………………………………………3
*Buffy………………………………………………………………………………………………4
*Luck of the Irish………………………………………………………………………………….5
*Memories of Estes Park, Colorado……………………………………………………………6
*Dusting…………………………………………………………………………………………..7
*Mom’s Gift……………………………………………………………………………………….8
*My Dad, From Grindstone to Stronghold……………………………………………………..9
*Misaligned: The Six-Year Gap………………………………………………………………..10
*Golden Sand……………………………………………………………………………………11
*Back Porch Talk………………………………………………………………………………..12
*My Most Important Day x3…………………………………………………………………….13
*Winning a Spot in Writer’s Digest……………………………………………………………14
*More Will Be Revealed………………………………………………………………………..15

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Who Do You Think You Are, Laurie Kolp?

Lover of God, family, nature
Alfalfa sprouts and broccoli
Upright pianos; black umbrellas
Reminders of New York and Florida
In the rain, unexpected yet
Equally predictable.

Kind to all, sensitive at times
Over-achiever; thinks it’s the
Little things in life that matter
Prays for world peace, acceptance.

-1-

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Goldilocks, Dizzy Blonde Okay, But Airhead, NO

Goldilocks, dizzy blonde
won’t you wave your magic wand?
and make the spinning go away,
this unrelenting spell relay
of headache, nausea, matted hair;
call me Blondie, I don’t care
except when airhead’s muttered light-
keep tongue on roof and fuzzed lips tight.

-2-

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Walled

When a childhood home is an ant bed
red with fire, hot-headed desire turns
joy to angst. You hide in your
yellow room, write stories
about someone else
hoping to be-
come yellow
like the
walls.

-3-

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Buffy

I sunk beneath the dash-
board so my tears
might go unseen
that day you
picked me up from school
with dreadful news.

My heart, I felt it stomped
on, the pain a leaden horse-
shoe; my breathe knocked out
by sobs I found too powerful,
my nine-year-old mind, entwined.

The loss of my best friend,
who loved me unconditionally
offered comfort
when screams bounced
through the walls and back,
my dear old French Poodle,
Buffy- I miss you still.

-4-

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Irish Catholic

Emerald eyes,
the isle
where you kiss
the Blarney Stone.

Flattery,
the pattering
of eyelashes.

Bashful,
a rosy blush
on ivory skin.

You dance jigs
with leprechauns
through miles
of clovered fields,

hoping good luck
might cover up
ill-tempered streaks

that appear
in briny air

faster than
the changing tides

a slap of water,
frothy suds–

you drown
and then repent.

-5-

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Memories of Estes Park, Colorado

We climbed the highest boulders
as if we were mountain royalty–
you the king, me the queen
(in reality, first cousins)

but we pretended, had a wedding
amongst the chipmunks and rabbits,
and our family thought it funny
while deep down I wished it true.

We fished in creeks with homemade poles–
fathers with their kids beneath blue skies,
while mothers shopped window to window
vowed to bring us back the next day.

The picnic in Devil’s Gulch,
KFC inside the car, a sweet aroma
as rain pelted the windshield–
but, at least we were there!

Then the last day, the accident–
running up the stairs I fell,
knocked out four of my front teeth
(after all that mountain climbing).

A miserable drive home, cramped
all the way to San Antonio
with ice packs on my swollen mouth,
lots of soup and mashed potatoes.

Something to laugh about now, this trip
with extended family, a joy–
because the drinking went unnoticed,
the mountain swerves, mere curves of fun.

-6-

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Dusting

It must have been the smell;
the spray of fresh lemony polish
on furniture, a shining sheen,
my reflection looking back at me
as I rubbed circles on cherry wood
and dreamed of days when I’d be seen.

-7-

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Mom’s Gift

After school, sugar cookies and milk
a chat about my day, a moment of love,
then alone until the three-course meal

while piano tunes floated upstairs
through my bedroom door, the flats and sharps,
off-key notes like fingernails on a chalkboard.

Still, instilled in me this love of music
from a young age, an eclectic mix;
I will cherish forever this gift from Mom.

-8-

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From Grindstone to Stronghold

His presence feared when sixteen
Curfew, don’t be late
Words unspoken, heart grindstone
Alone I felt the weight
A bitter state
This taste of Dad, love unseen

When crisis hit, he became
A stronghold for me,
His presence known throughout
Self-doubt I couldn’t see
Internal key
Unlocking doors, love proclaimed

-9-

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Misaligned: The Six-Year Gap

Claws like fangs,
her fingernails

tacked my back
scratched railroad paths

from top to bottom
when we shared a bed.

I rebelled
with bite marks–

misaligned spikes
that drove us home.

-10-

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Golden Sand

Bumper to bumper,
we cruised the beach
beer in hand, out of reach.
Music blaring- country and rock
amid silly giggles and scanty tops.
Heads bobbing, out in the tide
body surfing- oh, what a ride!
Sand in my mouth, in my ears, between toes
a small sacrifice, these memories of gold.

-11-

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Back Porch Talk

We were nonsmokers,
yet we’d sit
on the back porch
and smoke

imbibing wine,
passing time
with our whines
about men

commiserate
lowly plights
under patio lights

the swarming moths
and mosquitoes
we slapped harder
with each ass
discussed; still,
they wouldn’t
go away.

Like our mood,
Citronella candles
spewed fumes in the air;
but damn if we’d let
the smoke we were blowing
stink up the house.

Planned futures
we deserved,
pipe dreams
wafted away
on puffs
and whiffs
of smoky
experience.

-12-

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My Most Important Day x3

Uncovered pregnancy
x3
Excitement, uncertainty
x3
Sleepiness, growing girth
x3
Anticipating coming birth
x3
Cravings, heartburn
x3
Movement as the baby turns
x3
Discomfort, contractions
x3
Scheduled c-sections
x3
A mother’s love
∞ (infinity)

-13-

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Winning a Spot in Writer’s Digest

A challenging quest, the tritina poem
called forth from one Robert, this tricky
form follows a pattern, recurring end words

trickling down like a mini-sestina, select words
as fine as wine. I tackled this form poem
with fervor for days, subjects I found tricky

until one Friday night my daughter’s tricky
behavior set the stage and the right words
flew off the page, by themselves wrote the poem.

Tricky in words, my last poem inked won first place.

-14-

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More Will Be Revealed

How many Mount Everest’s I have climbed-
the dales and valleys in faith, a test,
spring tides and neap, undercurrents;
until priorities rearranged, I was saved…

…and that’s the way it was June 20, 1967,
a day in history that will never come again–
just like my life story, to some a mystery
with so much that still needs to be told.

And will.

-15-

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Kolp Table of Contents

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