All posts for the month April, 2014

Eternal Farewell (NaPoWriMo 4/30/2013)

Published April 30, 2014 by kdorholt

Thank you to all of you who shared this April month of poetry with me. I have enjoyed every word you’ve written for my “poetry pleasure” and have appreciated your feedback and support. What an inspiring, encouraging group of people poets are. Life would not be life without you.

“Farewell” is not a far-off, foreign word
(in all languages feels so the same).
The future wrests my human heart.
There yearnings and gratitude
and impending partings of
my eternal destinies dwell.

There a last dear drop of
this “now” remains and
There, I . . . with the
wistfulness of time,
(a gift of “then”)
can recollect.

As ever life
still guards
this soul,


They Are the Sun and the Moon (a poem of twenty prompts NaPoWriMo 4/29/2014)

Published April 29, 2014 by kdorholt

The sun sets,
a dazzling diamond pull
on a window shade
introducing the moon
made of opal
and creamy pearls.
Listen closely!
Hear the crescendo
of their entrance
and departure!

Like Van Gogh
at Arles
a master at work
no, a clown at play
dabbing splotches
with his frigid finger
paints from Persia
in enticing letters
to lure Gauguin,

while the smell
of spring lingers
with laughter in
the succulent
Southern breeze.
If he wore
the scarlet sandal,
Gauguin would
surely rouse to

taste the magical
mystic mornings.
“The peepal leaves
are shaped
cordate,” he’ll
sing. Silken soft
butterflies of beauty!
“I’ll grow fleecy,
fledgling feathers
and fly to your

awaiting easel!”
In the sunset
remarkable rebirth.
All, including Gigi,
will giggle with
gladness at
the magnificent marvel.
Sugary cheese!
The simmering ganja
tea leaves reveal

the two now live
together in the
sultry sentient shadows.
The sun and the
moon dance!
Bold brilliance in
swirls of tangerine,
light lemon, sorbet
pink and the lasting
lilt of lavender.

J’ai Fin (a poem from newspaper article words NaPoWriMo 4/28/2014)

Published April 28, 2014 by kdorholt

*(A sad footnote to a tragic story: Maria Caro, mother of Isabelle Caro, committed suicide feeling enormous guilt at daughter’s passing . . .)

For 15 years
I watched . . . with
a mother’s horror!
Her self starvation,
anorexia nervosa.
Isabelle succumbed . . .
dying to be thin.

Notoriety! Dramatic
nude image billboard
campaign banned
in Italy, France
too disturbing, depressing
one remains . . .
in Rome

60 lbs., cadaverous
body—-a lab skeleton—-
prematurely aged skin.
Breasts tiny pockets
of flesh hung
from ribcage.
Long fingers like
broken matchsticks.

“The Little Girl
Who Didn’t”
Want to Get Fat”
blames mother . . . me!
I set the stage
for my
daughter’s demise?

Diapers until age 7 . . .
Dressed in clothing
much too small . . .
Locked inside
our Rome apartment . . .
(“Fresh air makes
children grow!”)

It was her
rebellion— her wresting
a measure of control
from “domineering mother”!
She lived on tiny
squares of chocolate/
self-rationed corn flakes

The doctor’s put her
to sleep that dreadful
day at Bichet. . . disconnected
her machine . . . shortened
it all. “In any case
your daughter didn’t
want to live.”

I set the stage for
my daughter’s demise?!
Kate Moss, icon
for the world
understands, “Nothing
tastes as good
as skinny feels.”

Image of Isabelle Carol at’ai Fin (billboard image)

The Ball-Park Boy (Ekphrastic poem from picture provided NaPoWriMo 4/27/2014)

Published April 27, 2014 by kdorholt

Ball Park Boy

See that boy at bat
In the cardinal-red shirt
and wicked-white pants?
See how he, like a brilliant
firework, attracts attention
from all the other ordinary,
unexceptional guys out there?

See how he stands
so sure and strong?
He holds his bat
like a superhero
ready to strike!
Consumed in
power and concentration.

The pitcher holds
the baseball
but my batter
is its boss.
The pitcher lets it go.
My batter determines
its fate—let it soar!

That boy at bat,
Right now I am
a bleacher blur to him
but he will be
my boyfriend.
He is yet
to know it, though.

One day I
will be his focus
all his concentration.
He in another red shirt
and pair of pants
pressed for a party.
Praise to perfection!

I won’t wear
hot pink “Hello Kitty.”
or a brown basic braid
down my back.
I’ll be in a slight
soft-salmon shift and curls
and he will be dazzled.

Like this bright, brilliant
day of summer baseball
Our future glistens!
He’ll hold me in
his handsome hands,
soft, sure, secure and feel
how much he loves me.

He might even
say, “Marry me
and we’ll honeymoon
in Hawaii, my heart.”
How do I happen
to know this happy news?
My Magic Eight Ball says, “Yes!”

Commerce Sans Morality (NaPoWriMo Facebook Prompt 4/27/2014)

Published April 27, 2014 by kdorholt

*The NaPoWriMo 4/27/2014 Facebook prompt was to write a poem about one of the Seven Deadly Sins with seven lines/seven syllables per line. While researching, I discovered Ghandi preached his own version of the Seven Deadly Sins. The Sixth was “Commerce Without Morality.”

Commerce Sans Morality—Contrition

The bedrock of our success,
to man’s commerce (any kind)—
molded in morality.
A rigid, righteous standard
comprised of compassion:
Prosperity Profits All.
Human right victorious!

Kumari Devi: A Curtal Sonnet (NaPoWriMo 4/26/2014)

Published April 27, 2014 by kdorholt

* While reading an article in the Religion section of the Huffington Post about the Hindu/Buddhist practice in Nepal of worshipping a living girl as the reincarnation of the goddess Durga (Goddess of destruction and blood) the idea for this poem came to me.

Kumari Devi, living girl–
Durga, goddess incarnate.
Select of priests in beauty schooled:
your neck like silkened sea conch shell,
brown eyes of cow–plus thirty more.
Your horoscope must good foretell.

You then must pass horrific tests,
And meet masked men and severed heads.
Oh living goddess, girl divine!
From thence even your feet are blessed—
But bleed; Be gone!

Something About a Book

Published April 26, 2014 by kdorholt

*This idea is still in a draft stage, for sure! I’m not comfortable with it yet, but knowing that the reader understands how this is, I publish it here anyway. I don’t think my final poem will look much like this when its written.

Something About a Book

Something about a book
sings to me like a mysterious mermaid’s
melody constantly calling to an aged,
gnarled navigator of the seas
despite desperate pleas from home.

Something about a book
draws me like a dedicated dancer
to the beckoning Broadway stage—
unable, unwilling to resist
the allure of its brilliance and boon.

Something about a book
compels me to feel more human
swelling with new-parent pride.
Only we of all creation write
page on page to tell a singular story.

Something about a book
renews and reawakens me.
A Lazarus—if you will—
with a book in hand or wait
I breathe the bounty of life.

Something about a book
becomes my basic being
and as grape is a part of wine
we are mingled and inseparable—
some mystical, perennial process.

Some people, it’s true, say
there is something about an atom,
a sunset, a fishing pole, Pythagorus,
a piano, the way the light accents her hair,
but for me, forever, just something about a book.

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