NaPoWriMo 2017

All posts tagged NaPoWriMo 2017

At the End of April

Published April 30, 2017 by kdorholt

Tonight I
am writing

a poem
praising words

how they sound
what they say

placed plainly
on a page

their pure power
and potent possibility.

My desires and dreams
depend on them

and multiply when
I make them matter.

Words written
simply from the soul

hold the hope
of two as one

for from one,
one becomes another.


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!

Some Kids

Published April 28, 2017 by kdorholt

Some Kids

Some kids just fool
around in school,
thinking it’s cool
not giving ear.
Nothing to hear;
nothing to fear.

Let’s make this clear:
When teachers teach,
these won’t be reached.
Their minds think, Bunk!
This is all junk!
I’m no one’s punk!

I hate this class!
(Pain in the ass.
It gives me gas.)
Who needs this crap?!
I’ll take a nap
under my cap.

Teacher won’t see
me and my Zzzzzzz’s
Oh, clever me!
See how I rule
in this dumb school?
The geeks all drool!

Confessions About Coffee

Published April 27, 2017 by kdorholt

Confessions About Coffee

It smells like:

“Welcome home!” . . .

“Here, have
a hug” . . .

“Warm your
withering soul” . . .

“Stimulate your
sluggish mind” . . .

“What are you waiting for?!”

It tempts with the aroma of:

The perfect invitation . . .

The best idea
you’ve had
all day! . . .

A table for two
in a quiet corner . . .

A Swedish massage
at the end of
a stressful meeting . . .

The memory of
a breeze tickling
your hair while
you watched a sunrise . . .

A cozy conversation
With a faithful friend!

But it tastes like:

Deception . . .

Bitter like a bug
that flies into
your mouth
as you bite
the first strawberry
of the summer season . . .

All wrong
like the glowing
sun’s invitation
of warmth on
a below-zero day . . .

Too much
like a crinkled bag
of circus peanuts
from a convenience
store on a trip
to Grandma’s . . .

like learning
the truth about Santa
on a Saturday sleepover
from the kid
who can’t lie!

Besides . .

It  begs
an after taste
as uncomfortable
as a pair of
blue jeans
three sizes
too small . . .

And leaves
lingering halitosis
as massive as
a migraine
that makes
you miss
your start at bat . . .
the team picture . . .
a chance at
the championship!

The Power of Plastic

Published April 26, 2017 by kdorholt

Were they ever thinking?
Only of themselves,
surely. It seems certain.
Past that–we wonder.
Their world in a word
apparently “Plastic.”
Woebegotten, wanton way
with Earth and Ocean.
Tons (8 million)
tossed yearly
just to the waves.
A souvenir of
slovenly disregard.
Silently swallowed–
still not digested.
Their spur-of-the-moment
Our perpetual problem.

Ode to a Junk Drawer

Published April 25, 2017 by kdorholt
The prompt we had today was to write about a small space. I took a liberty with the ode form by making an iambic pentameter and a,b,a,b/c,d,c,d etc. rhyme scheme verse to write an ode to a junk drawer. Ahem!
Ode to a Junk Drawer
Oh you should have another name than that
Tradition gives to spaces used like you.
The term we have is harsh and it falls flat
Of all the praise, in fact, that is your due.
When notes and letters mess and crowd the scene,
a single paper clip alone you’ll hold.
The clutter and disorder you help clean.
You make us more effective, truth be told.
And how about we need a stamp or dime
or glue or ruler, tape, pencil or pen?
You come to rescue my kind every time.
You are a true lifesaver, rock–a friend.
You hold receipts and torn dry cleaner stubs,
abandoned gum, shoelaces–blacks or browns–
the jack of hearts, the ace and three of clubs,
a scissors, tape dispenser, stamps of clowns.
Your store of bits and pieces, so it seems,
is endless in its bounty–size and scope.
You store what’s needed, all the stuff of dreams.
You are a constant, calming source of hope.

Musing on Marginalia

Published April 24, 2017 by kdorholt

See him sit
on alabaster steed
bedecked by scarlet saddle!
The hapless, kingless citizens
of Libya’s Selene
crouched on castle ramparts
cannot help but witness . . .

A holy knight has
ridden to their rescue!
Solid gold halo glows
heavily from his
nape of neck up
until it touches his
faultless forehead.

How blinded by
his rich radiance they be!
Yes, the infidel’s
God must love them,
the chosen few,
(Allah be praised!)
to be saved by such
a silver man.
How he shines!

(His lance is long–
forged by an Almighty
from mold modeled on
a towering tree trunk.
It must be!
Refined by his
god’s gold, surely!)

See how anointed weapon
pierces the downed dragon’s
scaled, slinking body
time and time again,
until it meets the
secret spot under the
devil’s green left wing.
Quelling beast’s raging roar!
Quenching the fire once
flowing from the mouth
with slithering tongue!

Tender Princess Cleodolinda
“sweet as a summer morning”
(Herself sent as city’s sacrifice!)
curtsies in courtly submission
to this true knight in shining armor.
Her golden robe and gown
flowing in gratitude near
the glutton-blooded ground,
smiles her grace and
beatific benediction
for all our people
forever to be praised–
in poem, prayer, picture,
story, scene, and song–
This Saint George!

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