Good Friday

Pulls its covers

Over its ears

And hunkers down

To think

Of a day long ago

 

When the earth shook

And a curtain was torn

And blood was spilled

From a vessel

So pure

And selfless.

 

And why is it called

Good Friday?

 

The wind is calm

And rivers high,

Rushing over dams.

And April has some days

Left before it turns

To May.

 

The town grows still

And holds its breath.

 

The days are strange,

Unsettled,

And we long for peace.

Why is it that peace

Has never come?

 

 

By Diane E. Dockum       ©April 14, 2017

 

A funky white van

Sat in the parking lot

Of the credit union

But it wasn’t the van that caught my eye

Although it could have been

Up to no good

White vans usually portend foul play

As I pulled in to make my deposit

I noticed some large birds

— Dark chubby birds

— Not the normal run-of-the-mill

— Kind of birds

And did a double take

They were the tweedy kind

Black and white hens on a road trip

And they were milling about

Taking the air

Apparently needing

To stretch their legs

And after a reasonable time

They hopped back in the van

And drove away.

Seriously, I never saw a human driver.

 

 

By Diane E. Dockum

© April 13, 2017

 

 

I’d like to have

A secret garden

Behind a high stone wall

With a gate

That needs a key

That I can keep in my pocket

Or around my neck on a chain

 

I’d like a place

To meditate or

To swing on a garden swing

And kick my feet out over the air

And tuck them back under again

 

I’d like to grow roses

Along the wall

Red and white and pink

So their sweet aroma will fill the air

As I sit on my chaise and think

 

I’d like time that is all my own

And a blue sky with just a few clouds

Hours to fill with my own free will

Behind my garden wall

 

 

By Diane E. Dockum

©April 12, 2017

Friend A Long Time Gone

 

Thank you for taking time out of your day

To visit if only for a minute or two.

I’ve missed our talks.

We’ve been through a lot,

And you needed to talk today, didn’t you?

Wish I’d been able to sit for a while

And listen to all of your news,

But I was surprised and I found myself talking

Too much, when you needed to.

I’d like to apologize and open my heart

To take in what you needed to say.

Your eyes said so much,

You controlled yourself well.

I hope you find healing someday.

And after you’ve gone again for a while,

I hope we will be able

To visit again —

Really visit again.

Did I say that I’ve missed our talks?

We’ve been through a lot, you and me.

Safe travels, my friend.

Be good to yourself.

And remember your way back home again.

 

 

 

By Diane E. Dockum

© April 11, 2017

 

 

On a narrow back road through the woods

I followed the moon home

 

Floating high in the sky

Wrapped in a gauzy web of clouds

 

Reflecting the sun that was

Setting in purples and salmons

 

In my rear view mirror —

The moon glister polished the branches

 

And skimmed over the pond

Taking a dip in the black water

 

Then up though the trees —

I followed the moon home

 

It lead me down east

To my little house

 

On my little street

She knows where I live

 

I see her now waiting

On the steps of my porch

 

Lighting my pathway

Guiding me home

 

 

©April 10, 2017, Diane E. Dockum

 

 

The Speech of Angels

 

 

Words don’t come to me some days,

Only pictures and symbols.

It’s too bad that I can’t communicate

That way.

 

I’d like to forward my

Thoughts like an e-mail

With “emojies”.

It’s too bad that’s not

A thing people do.

 

If you could understand

A foreign language by

Eating a special cookie

Or sing in perfect harmony

By doing Kegels,

But life isn’t like that.

 

I used to dream that

Melting the communion host

On my tongue

Would give me access

To the speech of angels.

I listened really hard,

 

But it wasn’t the bread

That made it happen,

It was listening really hard

And not talking so much;

And you know, angels have

Really got a handle on e-mailing thoughts.

 

 

 

 

 

©April 8, 2017, Diane E. Dockum

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was out of bed before I was awake

It wasn’t until I heard the rain

That my eyes opened

And I saw the mixture of

Snow and water

Coming down at an ugly angle

In the diluted light

 

Water pooling in the yard

In the low spots where

Rotten snow was stubbornly

Hunkered down

Refusing to evaporate

 

Of course it takes sunshine

And a breeze

Another day comes and goes

In early spring

As the tiny blades of grass

Coax photosynthesis from

The somber sun

 

 

©April 7, 2017 Diane E. Dockum