The Diary

In diary passages, a subject reappeared
one of addiction, the nasty consequences
a fraying nerve on an otherwise alpha-girl
perfectionist. It only got worse, with bitter
nagging from her doting lover whose razor-
sharp retorts merely threw the girl further into
denial. A killer pace, this endless need for idle
thrills dangerously lurking on a golden precipice
of delusion until a new personality blossomed,
an evil twin oddly opposite from the girl; sober/
drunk unspooling, spiraling until the bitter end
and in a blink, she was gone, the only thing left
a diary with recurring threads of debauchery.

*

Prompt inspirations: Imaginary Gardens~ Get Listed (a word list) and 3WW~ idle, nagging, pace

Traffic Jams

I thought it all nonsense,
this ethereal scene
unfolding before my eyes:
a holiday bottleneck
wrapped in stiff burlap,
those behind the wheel
acting like turgid miscreants
with dementia, demarcation
a necessary counterattack.

Must we go back
to kindergarten,
review boundaries?
Or direct traffic to
the nearest park,
offer free meditation guides
with effervescent appeal,
discuss change of perspective
from hustle/bustle to Zen?

*

Prompt inspiration: Imaginary Gardens~ A Word with Laurie

Back to School

Photo by L. Kolp- My Precious Children

I dreamed of quiet days
days of contentment with
no TV or Wii blaring in my ears,
no fighting or I’m bored complaints,
no drifting hours scorned because we never do a thing,
no squished raisins in the couch cushions,
no uphill climb towards something better than this,
no wishing for a backyard pool,
no washing clothes changed too often,
no captive audience, a cluster ‘round my desk,
no arms on my waist ready for a hug,
no sweetness to cuddle with on the couch,
no midday treats at Sonic (2 to 4, of course),
no guarantee of safety or protection from bullies,
no laughter to rouse the midday slumps,
no jokes, no squeals, no crumbs, no spills-
ARGH! This silence is killing me.

Prompt inspiration:

Shawna at Flipside Records gives us prompt words on Mondays. Here are the ones I chose: cluster, raisins, washing, sweetness, overwhelm, waist, climb, rouse, contentment, scorned

Also linked to Real Toads Open Link Monday

Wasted Hope (Blitz poetry form)

cracked like an egg
cracked and wasted
wasted life
wasted death
death unnoticed
death unknown
unknown desparation
unknown light
light a cigarette
light ash
ash cleansed
ash remains
remains slouch
remains a stranger
stranger revolution
stranger spins
spins the bed
spins webs
webs capture
webs kill
kill joy
kill freedom
freedom choice
freedom cheap
cheap thrills
cheap perfume
perfume lingers
perfume samples
samples vanilla
samples granite
granite held
granite earth
earth unmasked
earth people
people pleasers
people judge
judge me
judge you
you cratered
you fell
fell captive
fell crashed
crashed head-on
crashed shattered
shattered image
shattered hope
hope scrambled
hope twists
twists
hope

@laurie kolp

Prompt inspiration: Sunday Whirl

Fools' Battleground

Seditious lies enmesh pundits
who pledge for tufts of change.
They tread on sacred ground
tremor emphatic plans, rearrange

sporadic polls of popularity
plummet, plaster fear around;
hindered growth a stigma,
nether fools' battleground.


@laurie kolp



Prompt inspirations: Sunday Whirl

Standing Outside the Holy Fortress

I stand outside the fortress
a weed I sprout in fear
voices jangle, I try to hide
my head rattles ear to ear.

Have I lost my mind to think

the splinters would dissolve
how you pierced my heart again
a skewed image I can’t absolve?

And I was on my knees

and I was crying out to you
seeking redemption, forgiveness
within this tainted view.

A cloak I felt enwrap me

pick me up, carry me in
a vision I won’t long forget
the day you freed me from all sin.

@laurie kolp

Prompt inspirations: Sunday Whirl and Poetic Bloomings

Sunday Prompts

The Infusion of Anxiety

A hunched-back silhouette
filtered through textured
curtains in the rural cabin
across Mason Bridge. Smoky
wisps floated out the red
brick chimney, brandishing
the clean air apple. Walking
miles on end without reprieve,
the broken man decided to stop
and ask for a bite. A wrinkled
lady answered on the third
knock; said yes, he could eke
out a homemade meal. Slurping
salty soup, he recognized
the canned chicken taste,
thick noodles, zesty flavor.
The down-trodden man grinned
and winked his knowing eye.
Tension lifted like fog, two
lonely souls talked the night
away. Protective shields
they surrendered and let
new friendship blossom.

@laurie kolp

A Whirl of Wordling Sundays         Sunday Scribblings