Storms Before Breakfast

The sky so massive, so full of
wind, it wants to blow me over
as it gathers overhead. I stand

fast, camera in hand, rocking
with each gust: a mere feather
compared to its power. The

clouds roll: I roll right along
with them, dodging each punch:
boxing never felt so good.

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

First Christmas Without Daddy

Dear Daddy,

What's it like up there? All I know,
lonely down here. No decorations:
don't really feel like celebrating, not
without you. You loved this time of
year: remember the tree that was
too big to fit in the living room? And
when we were eight years old: look!
Santa's bootprints leading from the
fireplace to the table where we had
laid out his snacks and milk to the
tree and back again: what a m e s s
Mommy had to clean up. That was
you, wasn't it, wanting to make it a
Christmas to remember? Forty one
years later, still do. The expression
on Karen's face when she saw that
polar bear: didn't need the flash on
the camera, the way the light from
her smile filled the room. Of course,
older sister ruined it, saying there
was no such thing as Santa. But I
still believe ... when I moved away,
the calls, telling me it was snowing:
haven't seen a White Christmas in
forever. Telling me you loved and
missed me: not half as much as I
miss you, Daddy. Especially now.
My tears the only present I can
give you: say Hello to Jesus for me.

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Happy Birthday, Jesus

In the midst of the holiday crush/
rush to buy, buy, buy, we forget
the Real Reason for the Season:

a loving Father sent us the First
Gift of Christmas. It came, not
in fancy paper, topped off with a

bow. It was found in a manger,
wearing swaddling clothes. It
was given free, although it cost

the Father all He had. He loved
us so much. The Gift: the birth of
a Savior. Happy Birthday, Jesus.

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

The Skies Have Eyes

... even though storms have been
watching me for forty nine years,
this is the first time I stared back
with bold eye of video. It couldn't
do much but flicker nervously in
the distance and try to knock me
down with wind: thunder hadn't
arrived yet, nor the rain. Chasers
have to start somewhere: for me, it
was in the Wal*Mart parking lot.
Better late than never, eh? Walked
right up to fear, introduced myself
and took its picture: this is
what it looks like on camera: as
scared as I used to be. The skies
have eyes and now I do, too ... =]

www.youtube.com/watch?v=MOhj3UrevlM

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

How To Chase Without Really Trying

... my heart races along with
the clouds, beating as fast as
the wind rocking the vehicle.
Adrenaline sizzles nerves like
lightning; tension thunders as
loudly as Reed is screaming,

"Back UP!!!!" The finale of
Storm Chasers on Discovery:
way too intense. Couldn't do
it. Why I watch on TV and
chase off the front porch: it's
safer and close to shelter. =]

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Dim Bulbs

There's nothing left of America for
God to bless: no matter who wins,
we all lose. Have never seen such
division - united? Hardly. Seperated

by race/culture/belief - all for one and
all for ... themselves. Certainly not
for all, because someone offends.
Want to take care of the rest of the

world, can't take care of our own --
here -- in our backyard. Compassion
gone the way of God and Christmas --
there isn't one. Not MINE, anyway,

because HE stepped on one too many
toes. Out of sight, out of mind? Seems
that way. Apathy rules the land: anger
and sadness rising faster than the stock

market's plunge into the deeps. Looking
for the Light but dim bulbs let it burn out:
and we're electing more tomorrow! They
say He's coming. NOW would be good ....

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman.

REMEMBER: For Our Veterans: Three Poems

REMEMBER: For Our Veterans: Three Poems

SERVED

Served his country. Brought home
medals to show what he did, left
his mind, his innocence behind:
it wasn't enough.

Served her Nation. Did not face
the hell of war, but paid in other
ways, with injury. Still in pain --
it wasn't enough.

SERVED. All that matters. They
didn't sacrifice to be forgotten:
what they did. What they do:
m o r e than enough.

WAR IS HELL II

... tried looking him in the eyes. Mine
keep wandering to where legs should
be. Used to tower over me, now half

my height, in a wheelchair. Thoughts
inside worm out: "Did it hurt? Do you
regret serving your country?" His reply

snaps back, as quick and razor-sharp
as a salute: "Your country, too. Better
me than you or one of your children."

WHO IS THE ENEMY - THEY OR I?

Your hatred of me runs down my
cheek, slime hawked along with a
name: Babykiller.

Your protest of me runs hot in my
veins, anger thrown like bombs
designed to maim and kill.

And yet it is perfectly acceptable
for the enemy to use their own as
incendiary devices.

And yet it is perfectly acceptable
for our men to be charged with
crimes against humanity.

The double standard must stop.

all (c) 2008, Karla Dorman.

Get Real

from one who can't
afford
$150,000.00 on clothes
or lobster dinners:

get real.

try living on
next to
nothing or deciding if food more important
than paying bills:

get real.

Veterans should
not be
living on the streets and neither should the children --
in America:

get real.

Get down in the
dirt where
the real people are scrabbling hand to mouth in a
world gone horribly wrong:

get REAL.

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Disturbing the Peace

... was that thunder? [The
sudden dropped sound heard
bouncing through hallowed
shushed, book-lined shelves: the
one the library
lady snaps at to
"Be quiet!" Eyes look
around, searching for
the guilty party:
it isn't me. I'm
on the Internet.
The offending one
will not admit --- there
it is, again.] Yes.
Thunder. [Didn't Mom
say we were supposed
to be like church mice?
She's not practicing
what she's preaching: I
ain't gonna tell her.]

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Listen To The Rhythm of the Falling Rain ...

It sounded like the sky fell, the
way it avalanched through the roof and
into the room. The walls, bleached
pale, bowed out, snapped back, as
did my ears. Forgot what thunder
sounded like: been a while since
we've had rain. RAIN. Rolled over,
closed my eyes, went back to sleep.

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman.

Sewing It Up

... zigzag stitching around the
eyewall unravels with a
giggle of thunder. The clouds
unleash their stuffing which falls

in a flood of frustration.
Scissors of wind snip away
at my nerves as fast as I
sew them up: what a mess. Spent

the last six weeks on it. Can't
say I haven't tried: but the
beams are all crooked! The front
of the house is longer than

the back (that was the hard part).
Home-Ec teacher's going to
be mad: this looks nothing at
all like the McCall's pattern ....

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Anvil Crawler, OR: One Of A Kind (Original Artwork)

The Creator knew what
He was doing when He
painted storm on sky --
the entire surface was
His canvas, and I, the
one who watched Him
working.
He pulled lightning from
the top of the anvil and
s.crawled His Name in
silver: He gave the print
to me to hang in my room,
a present from the Master.

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Why I Had To Do It

... hear the wind picking up. A mutter of thunder. Look
out of the apartment, what do I see? A madswirl of
gathering forces, pointing into a funnel --- ohhhhh,
dang. So do I do what smart people do, head
for shelter? Nope --- grab the camera. And
twin sis screams, "What are you doing?!?"
as I take the last two images of what may
be my undoing. She yells: "G E T.
In. This. House. Right. NOW!!"
Me: "Just one more picture!"
She is f u r i o u s, wanting
to wrap crutches around
my neck. But I get the
pictures I wanted:
see, it's like this
--- you can take
the girl out of
the chaser
but not
the
chaser out of the girl. Have to face my fear sometime.

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Delete, Delete, Delete [Trying To Capture Lightning On Film]

... the trials of trying to capture
lightning: camera poised and
ready. Click and shoot, shoot
--- missed. Time delay did not
time to flash. Try again. Miss.

Again. Miss! Delete, delete:
well, of course, a pretty anvil
crawler crawls across the sky
while deleting. Okay. This one
I'll --- nope. M i s s e d. Will sit

here forever, have the patience
of Job --- oh! Got one! Thank
You, Lord (even though it was
just a bright behind-the-cloud,
lovely just the same). Let's get

another. Miss. MISS! Grrrrrrr:
delete, delete (how many have
I taken? Least a hundred). Just
one OH! Got it: a teeny, tiny
spider spinning its web from

right to left --- let me have one
more --- m i s s e d. Miss. Aww,
nuts: batteries died (why don't
they last as long as it took to
charge the durn things?). The

life of a StormSpinner trying to
chase lightning, get it on film,
wondering why my images do
not compare with other chasers
who make it look effortless ...

delete. Delete. Delete: dang.
Erased all but five. Next storm
comes, you'll find me out in the
elements, trying one more time
... really need a new camera.

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

I'll Be Back (For Jill Eisnaugle)

My friend, Jill Eisnaugle, lives in southeast Texas, not far
from Houston and Galveston. She had to evacuate for
Hurricane Ike. She spent anxious moments in East Texas,
waiting for the storm to pass. Word arrived that although
her house sustained roof and chimney damage, the walls
and windows remained intact. She's back home now.
__________________________________________
... waiting. That's all that can be done,
until the word comes, you can go
home again. Do I have one or
not? Worrying: what do they know

and are not saying? Is it bad
or not? Looking at T.V., it
is. Can't watch, but unable to
turn away. Must see. Who got hit

and who didn't? ... Word came today:
house damaged, but have one. Could be
worse: rof and chimney is all, thank
the Lord. Think of the poetry

I'll have to write when this is through!
Hurricanes penned in perfect rhyme
and meter. Will be back as soon
as I can. Just gonna take time ...

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Two Sides to Every Story ...

...while others are running away, there
are those headed toward: chasers, to
warn of the approaching danger, who
film the storm's soundtrack, recording the
effect of surge and wind. Disaster
teams, doctors, nurses, those who have a
love for animals, firemen, police:
heroes, all, determined to meet the
needs of those impacted after the
hurricane passes. That's the good side.

And then there is the funny side: the
reporters, backs turned against the howl,
suddenly experts in the field of
meteorology. The are the
ones who take it on the chin, who do
unexpected variations of
"the wave" without meaning to, who fall
over themselves trying to get the
top story of the day from their lips
straight to our ears: that's entertainment.

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

(Y)Ike!: Hear You Knocking But You Can't Come In ...

... first rainbands wetting us; the
wind not far behind: Hurricane
(Y)Ike! getting ready to beat
down the door. Not answering:
hear you knockin' but you can't
come in. Worse than one of
those salesmen selling magazines:
no one invited you. Go away ....

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Ike: Ragged Edge of Nervousness

... on his way, Hurricane Ike. His
edge peeks over the horizon,
bringing fear along with those who
have left in advance of the storm.

More expected. Already pounding
the coast with wave and wind ...
Galveston. Water over the seawall,
exploding high into the air. Oh,

Galveston! We're too far inland to
feel the surge, but our own in the
forecast: up to four inches of wet;
flash flood watches in anticipation.

Wind: hurricane force as close as
one county south; tropical, here
and elsewhere. 800 miles across.
Lot of storm before it's done: pray.

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

9/11: Over The Years

9/11: Over the Years

2001: i cannot believe it

i just cannot
believe it...it
wasn't supposed
to happen...but
there it is...on
the t.v. set...
at first i thought
it was just a
movie...one of
those action flicks...
but this time the
explosions were
real...the horror
is real...awful
images brand
themselves into
my mind...i will
never sleep well
again...and i
can't believe the
twin towers were
attacked by planes...
the pentagon
was also hit...and
another plane
crashed short of its
target...this is
insane...it is hard
to fathom...i
can't believe it...
too many died...
innocents that
did nothing to
you...who should still
be here with us...
their families...
but you took them
from us and i
want to know why...
can't believe it...
someone's father...
someone's mother...
someone's brother...
someone's sister...
someone's children...
someone's friends and
co-workers...our
hero police and
firefighters...
missing...more than
likely dead...this
has touched us all...
buildings damaged...
buildings destroyed...
utter chaos...
devastation...
can't believe it...
i'll remember...
never forget...

2002: One World, One Minute

one world/one minute
all were affected by the events of that day
one world/one minute
excluded no one - the whole world watched in dismay
one world/one minute
we were forever united by tragedy
one world/one minute
affecting all nations, cultures...humanity

2003: Hear My Voice

i speak
for those who have no voice
i speak
for those who had no choice
i speak
for those who are not here
i speak
for those who cry the tears
i speak
for those whose loved ones died
i speak
for those buried inside
i speak
for the ones who were there
i speak
for those who still feel scared
i speak
so you will not forget
i speak
i
i
i remember it, yet

2004: Learning To Cope

i sit here, replaying it over
and over. i don't need the t.v.
to bring it all rushing back - once was
enough. it haunts my nights and lives in
my words, images and emotions
displayed. something i must write about ...

2005: I Still Fall

The sidewalks
rush up to meet me;
the sky
shimmers endless blue;
the canyons
echo with the names
as I fall
into rememberance...
and even
after all these years,
I still fall,
trying to forget.

2006: Nightmares, Revisited

Dark poems
interrupt the expanse
of blue skies;
falling like ashes, like
tears -
the beginning of pain.

Grey poems
are bruises of the heart,
deep seated
reminders of what we'd
give -
anything to forget.

White poems
interrupt the darkness
of slumber,
flitting overhead like
bats -
nightmares, revisited.

2007: Fear of Fallin'

... through air so cold,
so bit/ter it
heats on the way
d
o
w
n,
kept feet firmly
planted, r o o t e d
to solid ground.
K n e w where they were,
all times, all hours -
no surprises
to throw me off
the edge, screaming -
then came that day
in September:
not given a
choice: burn or jump.

Died, anyway:
man was not meant
to be a bird.

2008: Words Fail ...

Words fail ...

Images
burned
on
the
screens
of our eyes.

Memories
of
what
we
lost
linger.

Remember.
Words
fail
in
these
moments of ...

silence.

Storm Stew

She took down some cloud from the
shelf and folded the sky in two: one
half clear, the other clotted with wind

and rain. She stirred the whole thing
with a lightning bolt, until it thundered
---she vaguely remembered her Mom

telling her that it was when it could get
tricky. About that time, she heard a
sound behind her: it was only Daddy.

He sniffed the air and said, "Is that
what I think it is? Storm Stew?" She
pushed him out of the kitchen: "You

ruined the surprise! You've been
working so hard and I wanted to do
something nice." All of a sudden,

something flew past her ear and
stuck into the wall! Oh, no...her
mother's warning came back clearly

now: you have to be careful how you
stir, Daughter. Too little and it will boil
over; too much and chaos will result.

Either way, there's going to be a mess.
She, with Daddy in tow, ran back into
the kitchen. A tornado greeted them,

a BIG one, the largest they'd ever seen.
If it got loose...folks s t i l l talked about
'96 like it had happened only yesterday.

And that's why they hadn't eaten Storm
Stew in a while. Daddy took off his
coat (a prodigious size) and waved it

in front of the twister. She couldn't help
it: she began to laugh: what did Daddy
think he was, a bullfighter or something?

He was trying to shoo it back into the
pot, but it wanted nothing to do with it.
Besides, the tornado had other plans ...

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Don't Mind ...

Don't Mind ...

... the rain scenting the air with cool
refreshment, slaking the thirst of
parchedness. Don't mind lightning
or thunder putting on a display to
rival the 4th of July. Don't mind the
wind absorbing the stagnancy of
Summer heat. It's when they gather
forces overhead, with "War of the
World" skies, catching weathermen
off guard: it's when they toss hail like
softballs, when they drop a tornado
to ruin the afternoon...then I mind.

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Celebrity Status

...get rid of one, here comes another
to take its place. Lined up like dominoes,
waiting in the wings for their chance to appear
onstage. What is it they want? Front
page headlines in six point type? Breaking
news coverage on all of the TV stations? First
names so recognizable they don't need
last ones to know who they are? Photogs
hovering, even satellites getting caught up in
the excitement trying to catch a glimpse
of their eye? Tropical systems must have one
hell of an agent for all of the press they're getting...

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Time Will Tell

There ...

... the streets are ghosts, haunted memories
of Last Time lingering. Nothing moves
except rain, lashing sideways on the
wind, and reporters. Always them, bent
on capturing the storm. How bad will
it get? Hopefully, not a repeat.

Here ...

... will we, who are far enough inland,
feel the effects? Depends on the track:
Last Time, all we got were clouds. Time will
tell. If it meanders further north
than expected, we could have heavy
rain, maybe severe weather. Pray not ...

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman.

Lives On Hold

... nerves so brittle they
could snap just like that,
wondering ... waiting ...
watching the weather
reports to see the
latest forecast track.

Is he eyeballing
us, wanting to make
our property his
or will he miss? We're
prepared for the worst,
hoping for the best ...

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman.

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 storm drove me down
the basement everytime 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??
One 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

Electric Skies

Night skies, electric, charged with more
energy than I'll ever have.
Bolt after bolt, one climbing the
stepped leader of the previous,
nearly continuous. Pupils
shrink from the assault of light; ears
fold under thunder's weight ... but what
a write I'll have in the morning!!

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman.

The Creator's Morning

Thread lightning through needle, take
sky into My lap for a morning of sewing.
Hard making storms -- careful! Don't
overfill: clouds rip very easily. A bit
more thunder and rain and -- t h e r e.
Perfect. Now to align their dark edges
to fit against the striations of purple
and green: will be pretty once I get it
done. And then I'll stretch it across
the Heavens and watch the Humans
freak: except for a select few, they
don't know how much work I put into
this. They wouldn't know beauty if it
came, slapped them upside the head ...

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Don't Have To Chase ...

"Don't Have To Chase ..."

... storms chase me, following me into
my own backyard, searching for the
entryway to the cellar of my fear,
hidden deep within. Telling them to
go away does no good: they'll laugh
in your face with moisture-laden
breath and continue to beat at the
door. I stand on the other side,
pushing against the forces wanting
in. They are stronger; feet slipping;
can't hold on much longer. Eyes snap
open like shutters to greet the ... sun?

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Belly of the Beast

... get an eyeful as it hovers
over me, growling low in its
throat. Want to escape, but
legs won't work: paralyzed
by fear. Feel its teeth now,
smell its foetid breath (hint
of ozone). One chomp! and
swallow later, all is dark as
I enter the belly of the beast:
not the way I wanted to die.

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

HAAWWWTTTT!

Pavement and I are one,
melted together in
a miasma of heat.

Sweat running down my face
liquifies the asphalt
so it sticks to my feet ---

hot out there. Cannot wait
for Autumn; will be the
first one out there to greet

its arrival. Until
then, I get to know part
of South West Thomas Street ...

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Why'd She Come In Here, Looking Like That?

Churning her hips in the darkness,
no one can see her dangerous dance
over the waters. She peels out of
her clouds and throws them into the
wind. Who cares if it's raining ---
she adores the feel of wet on her
skin. Dolly opens her eye and laughs:
she wants nothing more than to press
man against her voluptuous bosom ...
one last memory before they die.

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

On The Inside, Screaming Out

It gets into you, the storm
raging outdoors: the high
sc.raping of the wind shoving
furniture and things around
upstairs, the hail-laced rain
sounding like buckshot on
the walls of courage suddenly
gone sour and on the floors
of the heart. Storm parks in
the handicapped zone (because
that is what you have become,
paralyzed, pull-the-cloth-out-
from-under played with your spine),
engine idling, thrumming so loud
God can't hear your cries for
mercy: no more! No more!! And
then, the sun, the awakening to
discover this was only a dream?!??

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Dud

The big letdown wasn't sex
or fireworks. It was words:
mine.
The Muse not at fault. She
lit a fire under me and I put
them
down faithfully, as quick as
I could, backed off to a safe
distance,
and waited for the show to
start: and there it fizzled--
died.
Damnit. Another dud ... it
figures I'd write the rotten
one
in the group. So what do I
do now? Try once more or
quit?

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman (7/5)

Red, White and BOOM!

The anticipation of waiting
for full dark, for the lighting of red,

white and BOOM! of fireworks. The parades,
the picnics melted into July's

heat; the cool of eve refreshes as
families gather in one accord

to celebrate freedom and what it
means, to remember those still fighting,

those who've served for the 4th and ev'ry
day. Never forget as each mortar

thuds skyward and bursts overhead in
a salute for peace, brought to you free

at a price many paid too much for...
Now - sit back. The show's about to start.

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman.

Carnival Come To Town!

Weary. The rusted bones can barely
hold up the weight of those wanting
one last scream of fun before the
carnival leaves town. The pennants
droop into the dirt; the air dusty with

the last aromas of cotton candy and
fried foods lingers in the nose. The
barkers shout last try last try to win
a prize; the ride operators run their
charges in their sleep. Bone tired.

But after the carnival closes for the
last time, new life: as the Midway
comes down, it is born again down the
road: bigger. Brighter. Better than
ever! New paint; new bulbs; carnival

come to town! Exciting attractions
everywhere you turn; eyes can't get
enough. Stomach fills itself on this-
can't-be-good-for-you-but-it's-sooo-
delicious! Time for the Tilt-A-Whirl,

no, the Scrambler, no, the Zipper, no,
I wanna ride the Twister! Let your
food settle first: Aww, MOM! You're
taking away all our - above all the
frolic are the memories of childhood.

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Goodbye, Forty Eight, Helloooo, Forty NINE

... held onto you as long as I
could, but you were too slippery -
you slid through my fingers and fell
on the floor. Body too old to
bend over, pick up, so must leave
you where you are. Going to be
strange, when asked, "How old?" to answer
in higher numbers than I'm used
to saying. Goodbye, forty eight,
helloooo, forty NINE. (Nearly a
half century: ahhh, now why did
I have to think of it like that??)

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Fractured Fairy Tale (Poem 2,500!)

ONCE

there was an old woman
who wrote so many poems
she didn't know what to do.

She labored! She sweated!
In pain she brought them forth: this
the only life that she knew --

they arrived in a rush
of tears, singly, at first. Then
they started coming in twos --

these babies of hers. And
then more and more, all fathered
by an overactive Muse

who sat back while she slaved
over the page. No rest for
the weary; she has no clue

on where to find it -- so,
let her present number two
thousand five hundred to you!

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Three More For My Daddy - I Miss You!

FROZEN

Could rewind to before, when
I still had him in my life -
when I could hear him, smell
him, fear him and love him -
watch busted. Numbers frozen,
stuck forever on May 28. The
memories sweep through my mind
like a second hand and stare
like hours from the mirror - I
am my Daddy's girl. Not big
and strong like he was, keeping
time - I miss him so very much -

THE FATHER KNOWS

A little girl cries
because her Daddy
passed away not too
long ago. She feels
lost. Alone. Frightened
without his presence,
near. This is when she
feels Heavenly arms
enveloping her
with a gentle hug,
a reminder from
a Father Who, from
experience, knows
what it's like to grieve ...

FATHER.LESS

... the happy sounds of celebrating
as children everywhere fete their
Daddies, giving cards, ties, other gifts
in appreciation. What about
those that don't have paternal guidance
or their loved one has passed on? We, the
father.Less. It's just another day
to be reminded that they're not here ....

all (c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Whaaaat? Me? 49??!??

Whaaaat? Me? 49??!??

... not YET. Don't rush things. Have
a couple more days before that age
arrives on my doorstep. Going to
make the most of forty eight while I
still can: won't see that any more
after Thursday. Another year come
and gone --- where does the time ...
go? Can tell you --- went the way of
the dinosaurs. Look in the mirror, a
stranger stares back. Who is she?
She's so --- old. Not ancient, but not
young, either. Some wrinkles. Grey
in the hair. Mean, she looks familiar,
but --- oh, my --- she. IS. Me! Not
complaining: wasn't expected to live
past birth. Grateful to be here. But:
Whaaaat? Me? 49??!?? Knew it
was coming but it got here too fast!

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman.

Needed: Monster Slayer

The air so still, so heavy, so ---
yellow. Matches the chicken
streak down my spine, closes
'round the throat with hands of

fear. Not again: this is my life,
running from storms, both real
and imagined: just one time, I
would like to run toward: feet

programmed to turn the other
way, looking for somewhere to
hide. Never liked terror-filled
skies, full of light and noise ---

always had Mommy and Daddy
to hold me. Compared to the
monsters on the Plains, those
of youth were nothing: these

guys are serious: their mouths
roaring with wind and rain, arms
pitching hail and tornadoes,
reaching out to snag my ankles,

determined to pick me up: my
parents can no longer save me.
Have to confront the monsters
on my own: just don't know how.

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman.

The Ogress Chronicles: Dinner Is Served

(As ever, for Charlie and Cryssa)
---------------------------------
Daddy rolled his eyes when he
saw his little girl piling clouds
like potatoes on his plate. Higher
and higher the towers went until
the touched Heaven's ceiling; the

tops spread out in anviled beauty
in the last light of sunset. She had
always had a flair for the dramatic
--- she got that from her mother,
as well as her purple velvet eyes.

She hummed as she worked, a
study in concentration: she wanted
it to be perfect, since she ruined
Father's Day: she still felt bad
about getting the car stuck in four

tornado holes. She'd already
made pea soup and the meatloaf
was just about done. Clouds would
be a wonderful side dish. There!
Finished! She turned around, and

there he was, tears running down
his face. She never loved him more
than she did at that moment --- she
gave him a hug that lasted forever
and then said, "I'm starving, let's eat!"

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman.

Followed

Night after night, the
skies lower, turn black.
With a shrieking roar,
the clouds snatch me out
of the nice dream I've
been having and fling
me into the storm.
Screaming awake, I
see my nightmare has
followed me into
the day: the skies are
lower, turning black:
as long as I don't hear
the shrieking roar, I'll
be okay. I hope ..............

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Witch's Brew

The sky boils, a cauldron
that could rival any witch's
brew. Clouds curdle, s p i n
overhead, stirred by purple
bolts of lightning -- thunder
cackles. Sirensong plays a
melody I had hoped to never
hear again. The witch laughs
to see such fright. (You should
have seen the sky!) Awakened
by storm this Thursday morning:
thought I'd be with Dorothy in Oz!

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

This Is Your Shame

Ribbons of valor,
of service and Purple Hearts
will not put food on

Veteran's tables.
The strings get caught between teeth
shredded on medals.

They will not nourish
stomachs cramping from hunger.
They will not ease the

pain of injuries
or nightmare sweaty dreams; they
will not pay the bills.

This is your shame. You
deny them what they have earned:
good medical care,

a liveable wage
and the respect and honor
they rightly deserve!

And yet Congress gets
a yearly cost of living
increase ... did they serve?

Are benefits they
receive more important than
those who've paid the price?

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Memory, or Lightning Safety

There's a charge in the air; one feels the
atmosphere r.amp up for something huge.
Suddenly, all is white hot light and
bullet.crack of thunder --- the tree falls,
a casualty of war in the
skies. (It was my favorite, the old
maple that had stood faithfully on
the border of yard and woods --- the
one that gave me summers of climbing
pleasure, the one that blushed vivid red
in Autumn, the one the raccoons made
a home in. It exchanged its life for
mine, took the shot in my stead --- never
got around to thanking it until
now. Thank you, Tree. I could have been --- you ---)

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

In Memorium: Does It Ever ...

In Memorium: Does It Ever

... get easier? Will these sudden
showers of tears ever stop falling?
Will this hole in my heart ever get
filled? My eyes are raining, even
now - my chest has been cracked
wide open - I would like to know

when

I will stop marching to a mourner's
song; when the sun will shine again;
when to stop digging through past
regrets and what ifs and start living.
Dare I ask, or is that against the
rules? Does grief get any easier?

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

In Memorium: Your Shirt

In Memorium: Your Shirt

... Your shirt, wrapped
around my shoulders
brings little comfort,
because it isn't y o u r

arms enveloping me
in a hug. I wear it,
anyway - I am trying
to recall the sensation

of your big, strong arms
holding me close to you
- I miss them. I'm scared,
Daddy, scared that I

will forget - help me in
order to remember - that
is why I'm wearing your
shirt. It helps you help me .....

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

In Memorium: For My Daddy, Four Poems

In Memorium: For My Daddy, Four Poems

*I love you, I miss you*

DADDY'S T-SHIRT

Being apart, it doesn't
feel like it when I put on
Daddy's T-shirt. It bridges
the distance between us with
sleeves that are too big. It
doesn't matter --I feel his
comforting hug from this far
away. When sadness comes, all
I have to do is put on
his shirt to know he misses
me as much as I miss him ...

(c) 2007, Karla Dorman

DADDY PASSED AWAY TODAY

Our big strong Daddy passed away
today. He didn't suffer -- but his
daughters, his son, have broken
hearts. Keep us in your prayers --

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman (5/28)

BUCKEYE TREE, FELLED

My big strong tree has been felled,
leaving me out in the storm. The
branches that once provided shade
and security, that once reached down,
surrounding me with love, are suddenly
gone --- and I'm scared, lost and alone,
a little girl without her Daddy --- and I
don't know what to do. What do I do??

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

DADDY, I MISS YOU - WHERE DID YOU GO?

It's hard to believe you are
no longer here. I expect to
hear your voice, telling me
everything's okay, that you
love me; I expect to feel
your arms around me; and
then I wake up -- I can't
believe you're gone. I miss
your presence in my life --
much more now than ever.

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

POEM: Just Getting Started

The sun, white-hot, burns
the blue from the sky,
until all is red
with fire. Hurts to breathe.
Each inhalation
a scythe scraping lungs
dry, as void as the
air, outside. And it's
just getting started:
the h e a t of summer.

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman.

D.rough.t

The sky, mean today, blue
pressing down on sunburned
shoulders. No clouds to hide
behind; no moisture to
slake this thirst ... what I would
give for a cracking storm
full of thunder and rain!
Instead, I'm singing b l u e
in the redness of my
pain: the crops, dead and gone;
Earth's children, nearly so.
My mouth is desert-dry -
it longs for relief - I
remember water. Once .. . ..

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman.