The wind blew

The garbage from

The next-door neighbor’s can

(That he always leaves open

Despite my annoyance)

 

Across the road

An old bed pillow

Randomly rests in the

Grass beside the parking lot

Soaking up the rain

 

Several paper plates

Are pressed up against a tree

With remnants of lasagna

Caked on and an empty pickle jar

Rolls noisily down the pavement

 

Pushed along with no

Apparent destination.

A pizza box sails by and

A greedy Beagle traps

A plastic bag of meat scraps

In its teeth

 

As he looks side to side

Making a beeline

To wherever he hides his stash

And an empty Oscar Mayer Bologna package

Spins by, skittering along the street

 

The wind blew

Over the potted plant on the front step

And rolled up the outdoor carpet on my porch

And tore the wind catcher off

The bottom of my wind chimes.

 

A cold front is coming through

Tossing out the warmth of yesterday

It gives and it takes

It takes and gives as

Spring is moving through

 

By Diane E. Dockum

Posted originally 2 years ago. Still true.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Around 4 o’clock

The sunlight slants just right

Through the stained glass

And paints a canvas of color

Across the altar

I sit in the empty pew

To watch in wonder

Not a miracle

Only the earth as it turns

Away to greet the darkness

I watch the brilliant blue

The red dilutes to pink

The gold coins of light

Scatter on the carpet

And light the ruby candle glass

As the eternal flame within

I sit in the empty pew

Alone in the church

Contemplating

The many colors

If each hue had a voice

The sound of them would rise

To heaven and the angels

Would weep for joy

 

 

By Diane E. Dockum

©April 29, 2017

 

She unwraps the caramel candy

With concentration

The cellophane holds in the sweetness

Until it meets her lips

It melts slowly

And turns to a flat circle

Against the roof of her mouth

She waits until it melts

Then swallows

Savoring the rich creamy finale

 

by Diane E. Dockum

© April 28, 2017

 

Hands over my eyes

Darkness becomes colored lights

My third eye opens

 

By Diane E. Dockum

@April 27, 2017

When I was 5 I remember this big white rock

That was almost flat

And sat

In the middle of a field full of lilac trees

And there was a pear tree

And a plum tree along the stonewall

That wound around that field

And I would sit on that rock

In the warm summer sun

And look at all the wild flowers

That grew all around that rock

 

When I was 15 I remember this big white rock

That was pretty flat

And sat

In the middle of that field full of lilac trees

And there was that pear tree

And plum tree

Along the stone wall

And I would listen to the train pass by

Down over the hill

And watch the birds and flowers

All around me

While I thought about my life and what it would become

 

When I was 25 I remember this big white rock

That was flat and wide and warm in the sun

In the middle of a field full of lilac trees

And I would take my little girl

To play in that field and sit on the big rock

And we would have a picnic

And watch the clouds in the sky

And pick the wild flowers

All around us

While I dreamed about life

And what would become of us

 

And life has gone by and I’ve grown old

And sometimes I think of that big

Flat rock in the sun

And remember the quiet joy of motherhood

The solitude that fed my soul

And I remember that field as a perpetual

Summer day surrounded by lilac trees

And wild flowers and encircled by an old stone wall

 

By Diane E. Dockum

©April 26, 2017

 

I have no idea what to write tonight.

It’s one of those days again.

I’ve been sitting here thinking about

absolutely nothing

the entire evening

and nothing is what I am writing about.

I am watching a show on television

and the character has a really nice necklace

with dark beads and gold blobules on it

and a big bone tusk type thingy

at the end.

And now I’m yawning uncontrollably

as I am sure you are too.

Good night.

 

 

By Diane E. Dockum

© April 25, 2017