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Click Title to Open Micro
Cover art by Lauri Burke
‘Help me I think I’m Falling’
- Joni Mitchell
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Parasailing on First Date
When you say we might die if we fall
I assume you mean into the water
not in love. Here we are, gliding like gulls
when you say we might die if we fall.
From this high, I hear the speedboat’s squall
while whitecaps wave below as if aware
of you saying we might die if we fall,
assuming you mean into the water.
Classical Caress
The cleft of his chin on a moonlit night
was a sonata. For classical movement,
my fingers were playing by ear, by sight.
The cleft of his chin on a moonlit night
directed me to lips, a well-tuned sleight
of key, his shoulders and hips my instrument.
The cleft of his chin on a moonlit night
was a sonata for classical movement.
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Summer of 2020
There were wolves
living in our neighborhood.
Each night at 8 p.m.,
I heard them howl.
When boredom struck,
they came out from the woods,
these lonely wolves
in a verbless neighborhood.
Orchestrated by adults,
lockdown kids would
howl from their front
doors in unison, a yowl
of “wolves” coming to life
in neighborhoods.
Each night at 8 p.m.,
I heard them howl.
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Butterfly Kisses
The wisp of your eyelashes on my face
is like an angel’s wing, your sweet goodnight
upon my cheek so heavenly. Pillow lace,
the wisp of your eyelashes on my face
at my bedside. I feel our hearts embrace
before I drift away, a feather light.
The wisp of your eyelashes on my face
is like an angel’s wing, our sweet goodbye.
Nobody Is Home Anymore
There is a home
within each poem I write,
the words like
extended family
finally reuniting
under candlelight.
There is a home
within each poem I write
adored unlike
my abandoned house.
Still, I invite
strangers in to judge
the place they see.
There is a home
within each poem I write,
the words like
extended family.
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Laurie Kolp © 2022
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Click Title to Open Micro
Cover: Plaster seen
thru wallpaper
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What You Left
I found your old journal hanging
in the branches of our shady oak
where you once took refuge
with worn pages scribbled upon
words undecipherable
their meanings misunderstood
like you.
Bottomed Out
The truth shadowed thin,
a five o’clock barstool stretching like arms
spanned wide,
her smile touching judging eyes
like a first kiss
while plastered walls outlined in blue
hide beneath smooth porcelain skin.
A mantelpiece, her perfect face
wears happy well
although inside she screams
into a bottomless bottle abyss.
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The Pain—
tucked away, keep it
in the fold of wings
you hold to your breast,
concealed like a gun
the steel that stole your breath
absorbed in folds, red sheets
longing for an origami crane, Tsuru
to keep me tucked away too
Winter’s Gray
A fragile limb void of leaves
sways against the frigid breeze
snaps in two one Sunday morn
slow progression, silent storm.
Suddenly a rush of steam
barricades the river's stream
entraps my mind, gasping fear
only prayerfulness can clear.
Comfort me, my hands I pray
for strength to handle winter's gray.
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Kiss-less
Can you see tomorrow in a kiss, a kiss
someone asks for on her death bed, a kiss
the kisser thinks will be kissed the next night, a kiss
requested over and over again, a good night kiss
on the cheek fifteen times—please give me one more kiss
she asks her lover that night, a good night kiss
she’s not asked for before, on her cheek, a kiss
between cries for help. How could you know that kiss
was to last hereafter, until I can kiss
you again, oh, to kiss
you again, kiss
kiss.
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Laurie Kolp © 2015
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Laurie Kolp is an avid runner and lover of nature living in southeast Texas with her husband, three children, and two dogs. She is the author of Upon the Blue Couch and Hello, It's Your Mother.