Published April 23, 2018 by kdorholt


Most of us understand the confusion of colloquialisms. When I moved from Ohio to Minnesota, I sometimes felt like I was learning a new language. I’ll never forget my first experience with “hot dish.”

With pride—
and a pinch of humor—
I had been coached
by cautious adults
for misery to meet me
in the the move
to Minnesota
(from that oasis
of Ohio)
concerning the cold
and snow
and “dog-sled delivered mail”
Paternalistically prepared
to wear stocking cap
in class
starting in September.
“Better be learning
to write
with mittens on!”
Get familiar with freezing.

But neighbors neglected
the horrifying “hot dish”!
One morning menu
had mentioned that
menacing main feature
and the phrase
haunted me.
Hindered my studies
half the day:
Perhaps the plate
would burn me—
blister my fingers
to the bone!
Would I nonchalantly
wrap my hands
with napkins
while no other
kids noticed
or bear the burns
bravely barehanded?

Lumps of fear
barricaded my throat
and bombarded
my stomach
by the time
the noon bell beckoned
me to definite doom.
I stood stoically,
like a library statue,
preparing myself
for peril
when Lindy
in line before me
placed his plate
painlessly on tray.
My eyes gawked . . .
My stomach ungripped.
Horrible hot dish
was common casserole.
No sweat!


K. Dorholt
4/23/18 NaPoWriMo 2018


A Math Problem

Published April 22, 2018 by kdorholt


A clever prompt asks to take a statement of fact like “A circle can’t have corners” (my choice) and write a poem in which the statement is contradicted. I learned “math” facts with this poem draft!


Actually, Arabic numerals

were, intriguingly, invented 

by ingenious Indians.

France’s horrid war

Of a hundred hard years

Was waged sixteen more.

The English calendar— 

just once—counted

eleven days less.

Windmill Hill hosts

a country crop circle

that’s a six-pointed star.

Fifty countries

across six continents 

commit to Round Square.

Ball Ground, Georgia

boldly boasts of

5.8 square miles.

And you say, certain,

you will not love me?

Such mystery!



K Dorholt

4/22/18 NaPoWriMo 2018

Reflections from the Lake (a tale of Narcissus)

Published April 21, 2018 by kdorholt


Today I wrote a brief poem based on the Oscar Wilde interpretation of the myth of Narcissus.


Through your eyes 

I saw myself beautiful

Worthy of a gaze 

hypnotized by wonder

So you became

the heart of me

Blossomed from

the depth

of my devotion

Now we reflect


Both as one

A myth begun.





K. Dorholt

4/21/18 NaPoWriMo 

Mushrooms Might

Published April 20, 2018 by kdorholt


Poem ideas come from anywhere. I was reading a TED talk article “9 ways mushrooms could drastically change the world” after seeing the poem prompt to write about rebellion or revolution and thought, Why not take a stab a mushrooms! This draft is a rhymer and playful, but has a serious message—like an elementary children’s program. I can see the kids on stage as talking mushrooms.


‘Tis Mushrooms and their natural might might save us

From fertilizer festering underground,

Depleting beneficial precious phosphorus,

That makes our food nutritionally sound.


As is known, the global pop is rising.

By century’s end—a little less, no more—

When food demand has reached its highest limit,

This needed resource will exist no more.


In steps, now, the teeny tiny mushroom,

Whose roots absorb the phantom phosphorus.

Plant them in multitudes throughout the wide world

And see how healthy life becomes for us.


Agarikon’s been shown to combat smallpox

And defeat the virus causing flu.

If you’ve a beef with insects, hail, the mushroom,

Attracts and kills most bug infections, too.


Mushrooms turn cardboard boxes into forests.

(Made with rich fungi as well as growing spore.)

Add soil, tree seeds, and water to the mixture,

Sweet timber will be abounding once more.


Fashionista’s swear by mushroom leather.

It’s free of methane gas and supple, too.

Worried about your interned body spewing toxin?

A mushroom burial suit is just for you.


Let’s take a lesson from the humble mushroom

And start a mycelium revolt, please!

I’ve read if we finance mushroom research

There’s hope that we might even save the bees!



K. Dorholt


Petrfied Numb (A Simple Prayer)

Published April 19, 2018 by kdorholt


Erasure poems are a treasure hunt! Today I randomly chose a paragraph I had already written and used words from it, as a word bank,  to make a totally different poem. It morphed into a simple prayer.


My soul screams!

Then I am

petrified numb—


A chance to retreat,

find comfort’s peace,

clear thinking


Win worth back

when faith and

hope crumble


You are my

always solace.

Make me stronger


In life . . .

In others . . .

In me . . .



K Dorholt 

4/19/18 NaPoWriMo 2018

Summer Pinks

Published April 18, 2018 by kdorholt


Today is a challenging day of opposites. We were prompted to find a poem unfamiliar to us and write its opposite using antonyms and reverse order of lines. (We use the original’s last line to be our first etc.) I found “Winter Trees” by Williams and wrote “Summer Pinks” from it. The Williams poem is first. Mine follows.


Winter Trees


All the complicated details

of the attiring and

the disattiring are completed!

A liquid moon

moves gently among

the long branches.

Thus having prepared their buds

against a sure winter

the wise trees

stand sleeping in the cold.



William Carlos Williams



Summer Pinks


Proudly playing against the heat

the incautious dianthus 

in unenduring summer

scatter their weaker petals.

Every ephemeral stem

stands wildly alone

in solid daylight sun.

All discovery isn’t destroyed 

without a secret

or single generality!



K. Dorholt

4/18/18 NaPoWriMo 2018

60s Christmas Legend

Published April 17, 2018 by kdorholt


I wasn’t going to post this draft since I am still struggling with this prompt: write a poem about a family legend or lore. One of my problems is I’m probably pretty poemed out and my brain is snowed under like the spring daffodils outside. Another is there are so many legends. I tried to pick a simple one, and it’s turning out complicated. Here’s what I’ve scribbled down so far. I really think it should be rhyming.


Christmas & the Karason house

Sometime—I assume— in the 60s

the piles of presents proudly

placed in pre-ordained places

so we would not wonder who

could brag “the biggest”


Wads of wrapping paper

tossed toward the waste bag

but missing the mark

littering  the living-room floor like

dozens of destroyed dandelions

after a summer mow


Dad cooking the turkey

In the oven-over-heated kitchen

(savory, special stuffing? Certainly!)

belted down bitter beers

like Santa Claus seasonally

consumed cold Coca-colas


& the Kurnow klan—

the just-one Jewish family

in our newish neighborhood—

over for feast and festivities

with sincere salutations

& winter wine in tow


A good gathering (of

many meals celebrated

every Christmas season)

so impressioned on my mind

holds a spot in family lore

for one moment’s misstep


Mr. Kurnow, not known for

drinking and dining in moderation,

managed in his sated stupor

to stand—shakily swaying

like a landlubber on sailboat—

& depart the dinner table


Seconds skipped by silently

when sudden smashing crashing

reverberated living room & whole house

like semi had soared through

my parents’ picture window

and landed like a lump


The scene we saw:

one very besotted visitor

cold-sound-out spread eagle

right beside blessed Baby Jesus

swaddled sweetly among straw

head tipped a bit toward intruder


We stood in stoic shock

at the sight of innocence below

Baby Jesus and our other guest

both lying in blissful slumber

and magical mystery—

two Jewish guys under our tree.



K. Dorholt

4/17/18 NaPoWriMo 2018

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