snow has drifted
over the parts of me
that wonder
in quiet repose —
feeling old
the air is close and
sounds are neglected
energy diverted
to fighting the cold
nights are too short
days are too long
hope you’re not sick
of me singing this song
© April 4, 2017, by Diane E. Dockum
Mr. Plunkett works at the shoe store,
His favorite food is soup.
He sells high heels,
He sells Oxfords,
He sells sneakers.
His cat comes to work with him every day.
He wears round wire-rimmed glasses,
And has a receding hairline.
Mr. Plunkett woke up this morning,
His cat was on his chest,
His shoes were lined up against the mopboard.
Everything was in its place,
Except
His glasses were not where he left them.
They were not on the nightstand.
His cat stared coolly into the distance.
Mr. Plunkett was irritated.
For breakfast, he heated a can of soup.
It was minestrone, a full-bodied blend.
He poured the steaming brew into his travel mug
And screwed the cap on tight.
His cat yawned.
He was ready for work,
Except
His round wire-rimmed glasses were nowhere to be found.
He glared at the cat as
A suspicion grew in the back of his balding head.
At work, it was hard to read the shoe sizes
On the boxes of high heels
And the Oxfords and sneakers
And he didn’t even recognize himself in the mirror
Behind the accessories counter.
That cat.
He was sure it was that cat
Who stole his glasses.
Why he probably buried them in her litter pan.
How vile!
The cat found a bed in an empty shoebox
In the back room
And stretched out her right front paw
very far until it vibrated.
Her conscience was unburdened.
© 3 April 2017 Diane E. Dockum
Thawing snow in rivulets
Run down the sloping pavement
Revealing things we thought were gone
When cast out the car window
It’s old chewed gum, bird poop,
And french-fry cups and string
From popped balloons.
It’s plastic swizzle sticks from drinks
And matchbooks pressed flat.
The archeology of spring is
On the street that runs downhill
To the bar
Revealing a multitude of vices.
Cigarette butts, and needles,
And where this litter pools at the drain’s edge
Too large to fall between the vents
As after an Autumn rain,
When leaves layer
Preventing water to drain,
The Snow banks shrink as the sun
Travels east to west and wind
Carves the surfaces into spikes
And drips wither the heights.
©2 April 2017 Diane E. Dockum
I heard a mourning dove
Today
Crying in the rain.
She sang a song of
Loneliness to
Articulate her pain.
Though my eyes searched
For her
She, hidden well, remained.
Comfort is bidden,
But not found;
She continued her refrain.
©Diane E. Dockum, April 1, 2017
I got interested in Reiki as an adult because I wanted to know how to heal myself. I am on that path now thanks to my teacher, Lisa Powers. I want to add that I have alway sought this path, and eventually the time was right for me to see it and to place one foot in front of the other. Reiki is more than what you think it is. It’s a way of life. More than helping others, you can deepen your spiritual life. Each day, with practice, you begin to open your petals.
This is a repeat of a previous blog. If you are considering a Reiki session, please read this and see what it will be like. Cheers to your highest good!
View original post 56 more words
The rain has passed
The wind is cool, it stirs the birdbath water pool
Wind-chimes ring a slow sweet song
Dancing branches all day long
Trees are opening up their leaves
Seems like all at once to me
Unfurling buds in bright spring green
Make the world all new and clean
Dandelions with their yellow light
Scattered ‘cross the lawn so bright
My peaceful Sunday afternoon
Wraps me in its warm cocoon
Diane E. Dockum
© May 15, 2016
Just a note to thank everyone for your responses to my Poetry Month contributions throughout April. It has been quite an exercise.
I will try not to let a whole year go by before I feel creative again. It is true that the secret of writing is to write. This always reminds me that you can pull something forward if you only give it time.
Just be gentle with yourself, sit and think a while. Let the world go on without you for just an hour or so. You can do it.
Thanks,
Diane
As you sit in the dark room
Your hands bound
Your heart on the ground
My heart lies beside yours there
Black water cold and deep
Laps up around your ankles
And mist cools the very air you breathe
And my throat is full to see you there
My throat is full of unshed tears
My spirit aches to hold you
My shoulder is dry without your tears
I offer it up to you
The sounds of your silent screams
Are deafening
If only my love were enough
To heal your sadness and anger
If only love could lift you up
To see where she went –
She has gone over the wall
To the other side without you
If only she could have stayed
A little longer
The pull was strong
The call was heard and she said “here I am.”
By Diane E. Dockum
©July 2009 (original) and April 2016
blue, purple, orange
sky over the horizon
takes my breath away
out the back window
darkness spreads shadow
up the bare tree trunks
colors of evening
water colors dripping down
the canvas of sky
by Diane E. Dockum
©April 29, 2016
Marble Hill Press 