Personality Pillows



They cheer me, these
Beady black eyes and embroidered smiles
Gazing at me from a couch or chair.
Soft fuzz to hold to my cheek –

A weight in my arms instead
Of a hug – 
From fabric friends,
Beans in their paws

I comfortably roll between by fingers.
Pressing them to my lips,
Replacing body heat with a furry texture.
On a rainy day

When thunder rolls
Or sleep demands attention,
How can you not be cheered
By these personality pillows?


By Diane E. Dockum
©April 14, 2026

Upon this threshold, childhood whispers call,
Soft echoes shaped by laughter long ago.

Yet time has drawn our lives apart, a wall
Of sorrow built from loss I struggle to show.

Your days seem bright, your love intact and warm,
While mine are shaded, haunted by the night.

I fear my grief might cloud, might soon transform
This meeting to a burden out of sight.

Should I confess the ache that stains my heart,
Or shield my wounds and let joy fill the air?

Will common ground remain, or drift apart
As silence grows between the truths we bear?

Still, hope persists; perhaps old ties can mend,
And in your gaze, I might find light again.


by Diane E. Dockum
©April 13, 2026

A veil of gauze drapes over us.
Bare branches claw
 At the sky,
But green is coming along,
Pushing through brown leaves
On wet ground.
Wake up, wake up!
You’ve been sleeping too long.
O, Robins and Cardinals, 
Send urgent clear songs
To our Mother, Gaia.
Wake up, wake up!
We have waited too long.



By Diane E. Dockum
©April 12, 2026

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Three cups
When I babysit -
Two cups at home.
One cup of tea in the
Afternoon,
Suggesting a fight
Against the 3 pm slump.
Transformation starts with pause.
Some days are extra,
And smiles are required.
Patience and kindness --
You need all the fruits of the spirit
When tired.
Three cups will do it,
Coffee or tea,
Plain or with sugar,
Makes no difference to me.
Coffee bold and tea serene --
They hold the key to who I long to be.


By Diane E. Dockum
©April 11, 2026

The night, which held its breath, gives one last sigh.
And muted stars are melting from the sky.
Rooftops wear a lingering silver gleam
And dreaming windows keep their lanterns nigh

In hedges, frost collects in quiet prayer.
The streets lie hushed, as if they too can sense
The first pale yawn of morning in the air --
Not yet a dawn, more hinted in suspense.

Time loosens laces; black begins to thin,
A soft surrender at the eastern sky
The world turns gently, letting morning in
With sunlight creeping forward with a sigh.

Then Sun, unmasked, arrives—so close, so new—
And dawn steps forward, rinsing night to blue.




By Diane E. Dockum
©April 10, 2026

_{Meditation in Motion}

A gift to myself of wind chimes

I put them up today

three different sounds are out on the porch,

singing three melodic songs in the warming breeze.

One is high with tinkling sounds,

the other is a glass percussion menagerie

of fish mingling in an icy cooling sound,

the sun shining through makes them bright blue.

The low bass notes of the largest chime resound,

grounding the melody.

Each one has its own voice

to start the season; they have different feelings,

but together they have harmony to calm my heart.

The air feels gentler now,

So different from the howling blast of winter

I welcome spring as I hang the wind chimes.

Despite the sound of motorcycles next door,

barking dogs, trucks with air brakes rumbling—

I like to sit in the quiet as the sun goes down and listen

as the breeze plays the chimes.

The setting sun casts long golden pools,

and every note from the chimes feels like a reminder

of peace after the noise fades,

echoing the renewal of the season.




By Diane E. Dockum

©April 9, 2026

I cannot release nor keep
I want to hang on 
I want to let go

I am a sweater caught on a nail
An unraveled sock
Where the material remains
 
But the shape has come undone
Looking backward and reaching forward
Is exhausting

I stand here with two faces
Leaving and staying
Turning in circles in the fading light


By Diane E. Dockum
©April 8, 2026

It whispers –

But not quite audible

A breath of something

At the back of your mind

A shadow of an image

Just out of focus

It catches at your awareness

At the edge of attention

It matters

It was something you felt

It was important

But you’ve lost the key

To that door

And you push at the panel

And jiggle the knob

A color you remember

A room

Someone speaking

Fragments that come together

Then part and fade away

Not forgotten, not remembered

That door knows your hand

But will not open with your push

And the day keeps moving

Cleaning, the radio plays a soft song

And there it is again

Like an old familiar fragrance

You pause, mid task

Close your eyes — you hover there

Waiting

In the shadowed garden of your mind

For the missing note

By Diane E. Dockum
©April 7, 2026

There is a lunatic in the driver seat
And we’re watching a lunar mission
And they’re looking at the dark side of the moon
There is an empty bed at the asylum
Waiting for a man
Watching himself give a speech
In a mirror framed in gold
And they’re counting craters out the window
On the dark side of the moon
We see the leader growl into the microphone
And drool on his lapel pin
And buff his nails on his chest
As he rips away our will to live
We are watching history made
Reaching into space farther out than any other
Lunar mission and at the podium
He shows us the gold encrusted ball room plan
Yet no plan for the war he started
There’s a lunatic driving the bobsled
And it’s straight down the mountain
Into an abyss
And they’re looking at the dark side of the moon
Taking pictures of the colors
On the dark side of the moon




By Diane E. Dockum
©April 6, 2026