alliteration

All posts tagged alliteration

In Innocence

Published April 29, 2017 by kdorholt

She romps along the furrows
in midst of meadow’s blooming
unencumbered by
random ruts and roots,
as if her toes have been
taught by lambs
how to prance in play.

Trilling, true giggles,
as easy and real
as raindrops in
a soothing summer shower,
mark her heart’s merriment
matching each felicitous footfall.

The flowers she caresses
bounce in willing harmony
to her body’s beat.
Colorful consorts to her
comfortable vulnerability.
Exclamations of unwavering joy
and guileless understanding.

See the emboldened sun
beat brighter at her
pure presence!
Hear the birds sing
this moment in the making
and its worth to the world!

The Myth of Mary Magdalene

Published April 20, 2017 by kdorholt

Too long, the church men
have labeled, libeled
your name with
ill repute for easy effect
from misplaced envy
or misogynistic bent

Every sinister whisper
of the alliteration
creates cringe
or salacious sneer.
Verily, the anti-virgin
revolting and revealing

embarrassing, cautionary
tale to all womankind–
our sex-selected saint–
a repeated reminder
of how far we fall
and belittled we be

Unjustly blamed though
conceivably named
by pontiff first–
thereafter, by all–
the symbol of
the deadly sins

But the Bible gospels
find you faithful
to His end, last to
leave His cross,
first blessed by
His resurrected form

That is written–
yet you are
known by slander.
Much easier
to believe the bad
than celebrate the good.

I Remember Grandma

Published April 29, 2016 by kdorholt

I remember Grandma Karason,
a most loving soul,
the first person I ever knew who went to Heaven,
I remember that I’ve never grown comfortable with her leaving so suddenly
without a final good bye
I remember walking up the gray front-porch steps on Long Street
how she stood at her screen door
how the tears sparkled in her eyes like bits of magic
when she greeted us hello or wished us good bye
I remember her short, stout arms, made strong and sure by years of taxing labor,
reaching out to us in joy and comfort
and her songlike voice caressing us with her immigrant Hungarian tongue:
“Lány” for me     “Fiú” for my brothers–
special words bestowed like papal blessings
I remember the look she gave my father,
(head always cocked delicately to one side)
like he was an answer to a special prayer
I remember her hugs that always carried a bit of her kitchen when she drew us close

I remember that kitchen–like no other anywhere on my earth–
her kingdom–where she cooked and baked us Hungarian dishes
I was sure were really meant as gifts for the angels
I remember her working the retes dough until it looked as thin and lithe as linen                 and her carefully forming it into a dough tablecloth
before she’d cut it up for strudel
I remember poppy seeds and front-yard cherries
chicken paprikash and stuffed cabbage
I remember a Singer treadle sewing machine,
its place by the wall at the entrance to her kitchen,
and watching her work fabric under the pressure foot as she pedaled
I remember how she’d purse her mouth so her lips disappeared
to make the material move just the way it needed to go
I remember her house was “the old country” dark and heavy
the sun only shining when she was in a room

I remember her waist-length, wavy salt and pepper hair
braided and coiled around the top of     her head
like a crown every day
and hair pins–loads and loads of hair pins
and the blue tin (with the silver butterfly on the lid) that she kept them in
I remember her sturdy, black, perforated Red Cross shoes
and stories about her father, the shoemaker
I remember the whispered secret that he died in Auschwitz for being Catholic, too
I remember the fragrance from the lily of the valley that ringed her house in the springtime and         permeated her home with its bloom
I remember a tipped navy blue hat on her head
with a bouquet of white fabric flowers pinned to the front
delicately dancing up and down in rhythm to her minuscule movements
I remember the dull, definite thud of her body whenever Grandpa pushed her
against the wall in anger and frustration
I remember her asleep in her (one comfortable) living-room chair,
her hands folded, remarkably at rest
the slip of a serene smile
and Hop-Along-Cassidy in the background

I remember the feeling of melancholy
and the importance of prayer,
family, good food, faith,
love, forgiveness, grace
and simple joy . . .

She would not want me to forget.

Lucky to Be Alive (A story told backwards)

Published April 28, 2016 by kdorholt

What just happened?
With a scream like a rabid raccoon
the quarry stops and slumps by a barrel

In hyper induced reflex, he squeezes the trigger
Tearing through the alleyway chance chose
Unfortunate, fleeing, failed robber

Gun ready, in perilous pursuit of a dark figure
Not some pansy postal worker
He’s the neighborhood Dirty Harry

Relentlessly recharged he reaches for his .45
He feel its rejuvenating power
Adrenaline, nature’s speed, courses in his veins

He hears the alarm tripped in the lonely garage
Somehow, through his snoozing and snoring
The eyes, the mind relaxed in midnight’s spell,

Left this tale’s hero a snoozing, listless vessel
After thousands of letters sorted and sent
“What happened” happens here in Indiana.

Source: Nestel, M.L. Burglar Sues Man Who Shot Him: ‘I’m Lucky to Be Alive’. The Daily Beast. 28 April 2015.

A Message

Published April 15, 2015 by kdorholt

It’s all elementary,
of no importance,
armchair travel,
first-rate madness!
Talking about
elder care and aging parents . . .
planning a storied life  . . .
or the patio vegetable garden . . .
attending classes in
food therapy and fitness . . .

The rest of us
need to know
where to go for
a new understanding . . .
to experience
great lives.
Do you know,
who is available
to teach us this?
Please, leave a message.

Words from Brookfield Public Library (Brookfield, WI) entryway bulletin board, 11 April 2015.

The Way (a found poem)

Published April 10, 2015 by kdorholt

Incredible writers,
the classics,
help unprepared us
see social issues
in grim times
but believe
at levels
never known before.
They keep us
leaning toward
the true answer
beyond–a
resolution in
the reader.

Presenters: Gibbons,Tammy and Reading Specialists: Norm Andrews, Jeni Berthold, Christie Johnson, Kristin Kashian,Julie Rutkowski, and two district parents. Social Issues Replacement Unit Committee. Follow-up Presentation. Elmbrook School District Administration Offices 26 March 2015.

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My Tangled Adventures

Chris Gerstner

Kathy Fish

my website and blog

Denzer Family Art

Sharing Our Art with the World

Lindsey Gendke

Writing to My Roots

Notes to Self

...because life is a beautiful mess

JUMP FOR JOY! Photo Project

Capturing the beauty of the human spirit -- in mid-air -- around the world

Martian

Truth is a pain to accept

The Blahgg Blog

life by design in a small and still charming town.

Stories in 5 Minutes

because short stories are fun to read.

Peace, Love and Patchouli

Mental wanderings amongst stardust

Daily (w)rite

A DAILY RITUAL OF WRITING

Words. On the Internet.

And perhaps some punctuation?

Here

Nowhere else

Theme Showcase

Find the perfect theme for your blog.

The WordPress.com Blog

The latest news on WordPress.com and the WordPress community.

The Daily Post

The Art and Craft of Blogging

Salsachica's Ramblings

A place to share a chica's thoughts about food, life and music

Don Charisma

because anything is possible with Charisma