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All posts for the month February, 2017

Dead Woman Smiling*

Published February 25, 2017 by kdorholt

I wrote this poem based on recent news articles of Trump’s disregard and ill-treatment of Melania. It gnaws at me. One article quoted, “She’s a dead woman smiling.” Although the poem was prompted by Melania’s situation, for me, it is reflective of the life of abused women everywhere. *The title was taken from a quote by Michelle Obama.

Fashion yourself
a womanly garden
of perfect praise
to his critical creed . . .
Take time to grow
with the glory
his regality requires . . .
(Shed your self softly)
Cultivate a countenance
as wondrous as wildflowers:
Your eyes–blue
as summer asters . . .
Your skin–lissom
as ladyslippers in the sun . . .
Your cheeks–refreshing
as noonday’s woodroses . . .
Your lips–dew-dropped
as morning’s anemone . . .
Your hair–lustrous
as light-kissed lilacs . . .
Your breath–scented sweet
as honeysuckle’s spell . . .
Believe his love is
like the Lord’s
for the lilies . . .
Caress his arm
with the grace
of lotus on a lake . . .
Tend to his glance
with the charm
of buttercup blooms . . .
Stand beside him
with the elegance
of a prized peony . . .
Bless his every wish
with the sanctity
of baby’s breath
at meadow’s edge . . .
And still . . .
this world will
wilt and wither at
“a dead woman smiling.”

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Paul Ryan’s Poem: A Letter

Published February 25, 2017 by kdorholt

*I wrote this as a plea to Paul Ryan to not defund Planned Parenthood

Paul Ryan’s Poem: A Letter

Dear Speaker,
I’m a citizen of this land,
and thus, I am
a woman in your care.

I must rely on you
to make fair rules
that keep me sound
and healthy everywhere.

Dear Speaker,
I have heard too many stories
of how little I am held
in your regard

and how your
policies favor not women
but are harsh, unrealistic
cold and hard.

Dear Speaker,
if your blind mission should succeed
and fails to help all
hopeful womankind,

you will bear the sin
of women suffering and
and that wrong should e’er heft heavy
on your mind.

Dear Speaker,
why think so much ill of women
and always see the evil
they might do?

Women, taken as a whole,
are righteous people
yes, Speaker, every
speck as pure as you.

Dear Speaker,
may I say that I’m heartbroken
with your design to lord
o’er our bodies.

How do you see
this as your given power?
Would you do this if our pronoun
were “he”?

Dear Speaker,
I ask you, please, soften
your heart. Give us credit
as you do a man.

Put up bills
for votes that trust in women’s
goodness, as only you,
the one House Speaker can.

Dear Speaker,
you will hear women’s thanksgiving,
all overflowing here
with our true joy.

(We do not take our
role as life’s force lightly
or look at our body
as some sex toy.)

Dear Speaker,
when women make judgment
to control a birth from our
wombs any way,

we do it with the
greatest sense of prudence.
You can trust us with
that power on each day.

Dear Speaker,
a higher force creates us women,
so there has to be good reason
for this grace.

We are good enough
to bear forth glory.
The best of makers deigned this
as our place.

Dear Speaker,
Thank you for your kind attention
to my asking that you just do
what is right,

and may all that’s holy
gleam and guide all your days
and be with you every
single night.

#YesAllWomen

Published February 25, 2017 by kdorholt

*This poem was inspired by an article in Jezebel cited below

insomnia night . . .
monday madness

story after story
lone walks home

rings of keys
the weapon

cars loaded with
insults and horrors

shadows spook
the sidewalks

ever a reason
to ever beware

“taxi!”

forever find
the safe side

shut down
get some sleep

dream gumdrops
better tomorrow

everyday . . .

#NotAllMen
#YesAllWomen

http://jezebel.com/i-am-not-an-angry-feminist-im-a-furious-one-1582748709

The Forgotten Forty-Four: A Duhka Poem

Published February 25, 2017 by kdorholt

The Forgotten Forty-four

I have never
thought your name
until this moment.
A  glance of you
(only forty-four)
through fairy-tale photos.
Your frozen land
of lost larch forests
and tundra terrain
so treacherous
you ride regally
on reindeer raised
with a steady step,
(A soulmate in
the drifted snow and
craggy cliffs of home.)
Snow creatures I would
flee from in fright,
you tame as toddlers.
And the golden hawk
that flies for you
and the wolf which
protects your home fire
and hunts by your side
are your honored neighbors.
See how your dukha child
pillows his head
in the deer’s soft
and sumptuous stomach,
(the bright blue of
his jacket matching
a midnight sky)
cozy in the comfort
of the animal’s coat
and springy meadow mulch.
In your frigid home
across land and time,
you warm my heart
and a long-lingering
piece of what is me
yearns to treasure
your first folklore
and simple melodies,
(hear them float
on the timeworn wind
and through the
ancient mountains)
as the truth you know.

The Forgotten Forty-Four: A Duhka Poem

Published February 25, 2017 by kdorholt

The Forgotten Forty-four

I have never
thought your name
until this moment.
A  glance of you
(only forty-four)
through fairy-tale photos.
Your frozen land
of lost larch forests
and tundra terrain
so treacherous
you ride regally
on reindeer raised
with a steady step,
(A soulmate in
the drifted snow and
craggy cliffs of home.)
Snow creatures I would
flee from in fright,
you tame as toddlers.
And the golden hawk
that flies for you
and the wolf which
protects your home fire
and hunts by your side
are your honored neighbors.
See how your dukha child
pillows his head
in the deer’s soft
and sumptuous stomach,
(the bright blue of
his jacket matching
a midnight sky)
cozy in the comfort
of the animal’s coat
and springy meadow mulch.
In your frigid home
across land and time,
you warm my heart
and a long-lingering
piece of what is me
yearns to treasure
your first folklore
and simple melodies,
(hear them float
on the timeworn wind
and through the
ancient mountains)
as the truth you know.

The Blue Dress: Reflection 1/20/17

Published February 25, 2017 by kdorholt

Talk about
the blue dress
a faultless fit
for only her
body and soul
feel your heart soar
following the flowing curve
of its subdued splendor
be dazzled by her
upright chiseled eyes
prepared for performance
made more brilliant
by blue’s luster

talk about
the blue dress
skimming across
her shoulders cascading
to the matching gloves
cede attention to
the coif collar curled
against the inclement
day its beauty bears
mark the jacket crossed
like the holy hands
of the prayful penitent
seeking only simple
sustenance from god

talk about
the blue dress
rendering its model
a facile second thought
who doesn’t matter
all that much
she could be
any another woman
pretending at peace
practicing a subtle smile
hardly hiding her
hollow hurt after
the man turns once
and comment-slays her.

True Love

Published February 25, 2017 by kdorholt

I was reading about Valentine’s Day and came across this quote by Rilke and from it came an idea for a poem.

“Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love.”
― Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

why not the dragon?
perhaps . . .
it waits
in darkened caves
bound by the beauty
of a secret longing
more awesome and able
than a billow of fiery breath
or a flight of fury
on spine-tingling wings
more magical than
the mighty myths of man
and wise-tales of women
ever glorified with
the hair-raising
and heart-stirring
the mystic within
that makes the real without

why not the dragon?
perhaps . . .

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