Friday, December 3, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
The Devil's Manifesto
... everybody talks about the baby, the
holy child, whose birth they celebrate
each Christmas. But we want to keep
him there, an innocent, wrapped up
like a present in swaddling clothes ---
weak and ineffective. Little God. For
the wages of sin is ugly. The cross
means suffering and pain. The blood
means death but no one must EVER
know about the life. It would be best
if we could keep him young forever ---
don't let him grow up to die only to rise
again as the King of kings and Lord of
lords. They'll bow to a Babe but not to
the Only Begotten of the Father, the
Hope for all mankind Who stepped
down from Heaven, Whose Name is
above all names. We'll confuse the
Holy Days until they don't know what
to believe: this is your assignment ....
(c) 2009, Karla Dorman (12/11)
link to me reading the poem: www.youtube.com/watch?v=PMaXAiGiYvc
Apocalypse
There is an image I want to use, one that inspired these lines, but I'm waiting for the photographer's permission to use it. |
It looked like something out of the Bible, |
Memories
Thanks for the memories, of
color so bright it shocked the
eyes and pleasured senses
and camera lens. Winter has
claimed you as his own, but
he doesn't have the best part
of you: you saved that for me
and I am honored. As much
as I hate goodbyes, it won't
be long until we see each
other again. Will be right
here, waiting, for your return.
(c) 2010, Karla Dorman (12/1)
Friday, November 19, 2010
Bataan Death March
'Death March' (c) Lt Henry G. Lee, A Soldier's Poet |
|
Thursday, October 28, 2010
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)