Bataan Death March

'Death March' (c) Lt Henry G. Lee, A Soldier's Poet So you are dead. The easy words contain No sense of loss, no sorrow, no despair. Thus hunger, thirst, fatigue, combine to drain All feeling from our hearts. The endless glare, The brutal heat, anesthetize the mind. I can not mourn you now. I lift my load, The suffering column moves. I leave behind Only another corpse, beside the road. My response, in reading these powerful, brutal lines ... thank you, Uncle Duke, and all who serve(d).

I cannot imagine what it was like to be Marched until you couldn't take. One. More. Step. What were your last Thoughts as you stared into the gun Pointed at your head? Was it fear? Or resignation? Did you pray? And if you weren't shot where you fell: You kept on. One foot in front of the Other on the road to Hell. Held captive For one thousand, two hundred twenty Four days before you were liberated just In time for your Mother's birthday. You were one of the lucky ones. Will never Know what you endured. You kept it deep Inside, in a secret place, that none should Touch, all the way to your grave. I weep, For your story wasn't told. How many More paid a terrible price and the words Remain silent? Mark mine: I will never forget What you did for my freedom ---- can't ignore Your sacrifice. I honor you this Veteran's Day And always. A 'thank you' is not enough for Righting the wrongs done to those who Served. I'll make sure your voices are heard ... (c) 2010, Karla Dorman (11/8)

Porch Chaser

... When distant thunder reveilles the
clouds to assemble in formation;
when lightning marches them by in
review; when rain and hail gather
forces with wind, there I am, camera
in hand, embe dded with the troops.

When meteorologists call for a threat
of storms; when radars ramp up to
alert level red; when the reporter in
me leaps at the chance to record
events as they happen, there I am,
camera in hand, ready to catch it all.

No car (have cane, will travel). No
paying for gas; no afternoon stops at
greasy spoons or overnights at roach
motels; always a chance for a bust in
the forecast: no matter. There I'll be,
camera in hand. Call me Porch Chaser.

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman (12/3)

Noted In Passing (For J.Allen's Obituary Challenge)

Karla Dorman, Poet Extraordinaire,
(also known as StormSpinner) spun
her last storm 4 October, 2058.

When she was good,
she was very, very good.
And when she was bad,
She was still read.

That's all she wanted,
to leave her mark on the world,
judging by the numerous
volumes she left behind.

Internment was at the National Cemetary,
paying homage to her military service;
her pen was donated to the Smithsonian,
as were copies of her media appearances.

She never let fame and fortune get to her
head; she donated to her church and to
many charities she believed in: those that
helped the poor, animals, and Veterans.

She is survived by her twin sister and
many authors at the first place who loved
and accepted her poetry, Authors Den.

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman (1/27)

How I Became The StormSpinner

Who knew I would become the
StormSpinner. Bad clouds used
to thunder me out of bed with their
vivid flashes of lightning prophesying
my imminent doom.

Wanted to be a meteorologist
but fear of storms drove me down
the basement every time it rained---
some brave weatherman I'd turn out to
be. Forecast: Panic!!

One blizzard, two indirect strikes
from lightning, three (or was it four?)
floods and remnants of a Category Five
Camille later, joined the service, moved to:
Tornado Alley.

And it's lived up to its name: six,
now. All have been weak, but when
the roof goes, does strength matter??
Once it's gone, puppy's gone. Don't have to
chase: the storms find me.

A day of disaster was my salvation:
from ashy, tear-stained skies, poetry
began to fall: no shelter to hide within.
All I had: four walls of words and pictures
to help me survive.

Have been spinning storms, since. I
stall their forward progress one stanza,
one image at a time: attempting to give the
extended to end the terror, once and for all---
you're reading it now.

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman (8/27)

I Will Praise Him In The Storm

When skies turn dark and
my world turns to grey, I
will not be afraid.

I will celebrate as I watch
Him autograph the clouds
with a silver pen of light.

I will tremble as He shakes
my world with a booming
laugh of thunder.

I will bow down before Him
as He kisses my cheek
with a gentle breeze.

No need to fear as I lift
my hands in thanksgiving ---
I will praise Him in the storm.

(c) Karla Dorman (10/14)

Little god

i was a god once.
well, that was before i was expelled from the high kingdom.
father, too serious.
godplaying was fine, but i also wanted to have fun.

i was a god once.
father said, "YOU HAVE THE WHOLE UNIVERSE AT YOUR COMMAND.
WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?"
godplaying was fine, i just wanted to make friends WITH man.

i was a god once.
father said, "GODS HAVE ALWAYS PLAYED HAVOC IN HUMAN LIVES.
THAT HAS ALWAYS BEEN.
IT IS UP TO YOU TO CHOOSE WHO WILL DIE AND WHO SURVIVES."

i was a god once.
father wanted me to enjoy displaying my power.
i was getting bored.
why couldn't i just lay in the field and smell the flowers?

i was a god once.
i didn't like creating disasters, causing chaos.
father got SO sore.
i loved beauty and made the aurora borealis.

i was a god once.
father roared, "YOU WILL CREATE STORMS. YOU WILL LIKE DOING SO."
i've heard it before.
heard it again when after the storm, i made a rainbow.

i was a god once.
father said, "I DON'T KNOW WHAT I AM GOING TO DO WITH YOU!
YOU'RE MAKING ME MAD!
JUST ONE MORE SLIP UP...ONE MORE MISTAKE...AND BOY, YOU ARE THROUGH!"

i was a god once.
i really tried to behave, to get my heart into it.
again, i was bored.
godplaying wasn't my thing--i was truly a misfit.

i was a god once.
father said, "ISN'T THIS FUN? DECIDING WHO LIVES OR DIES?"
i couldn't tell him.
he would really freak if he knew that his little god cries.

i was a god once.
father's first son was a failure. i couldn't let him down.
i really felt bad.
i couldn't fail father, he was a god of great renown.

i was a god once.
it all came to a head the day i created that storm.
i made a mistake.
i can't help it if all the lightning i'd made was deformed.

i was a god once.
i was fired when i scorched father with a lightning bolt.
so brother was hired.
and father? he says he'll never forgive me for that jolt.

i was a god. ONCE. :-)

(C) Copy written, 2004, by Karla Dorman.

The Storm In My Head

Looking forward (no, i'm not) (yes,
i a m) to Storm Season, 2010 --- two
opportunities to get out (die) (will
you just shut. Up?!?) i n the wind

and rain and confront my fear once
and for all. If I could just tell these
two arguing in my head to s h u s h,
that is. One wants to go (no i don't

no i don't) (will you just be quiet
and let her tell her story?) and the
other one doesn't (see, i told you)
(i'm not going to tell you again ---).

Time I take the bull (tornado?) (oh,
my word, will you stop with the
negative attitudes?!?) by the horns
and tell it it has no power over me.

Have let it run over me for far too
long. (yeah, she's gonna go out
and meet the bear, shake its hand.)
(no, i'm not.) (see? having second

thoughts already, aren't you, aren't
you?) Alright, that's enough. I'm
going to do this, whether they're
ready to or not. Not going to waste

the rest of my life hiding every time
it thunders. (yeah, but ---) I'll do all
I can to stay safe. (yeah but -----
what if things go wrong??) (what if

they don't? think of all she'll have
to write about! she's made up her
mind. nothing you can say. might
as well sit back and enjoy the ride.)

Couldn't have said it better myself.
Thank you. (how come i always do
what she wants to do??) (because
she's the boss. THAT'S how come.)

(c) 2009, Karla Dorman (12/9)