Poetry

Difficult, easy

Forming, dissolving, enlightening

A flow of thought with rhythm.

Song

 

By Diane E. Dockum

© April 8, 2016

 

 

High up at the end of a branch

Singing so hard his eyes pop

The song is pushing out to

Reach his lady

His voice cracks, but still he

Sings. He has a mission

That must be fulfilled

No time for breath

 

By Diane E. Dockum

©April 7, 2016

After days of sun and hope of spring
When snow blows cold and new,
Crusting to the cedar branches,

Sticking fast to maple trunks
Standing silent in a line
Hardened in the frigid air

Trees reach forlornly
Naked and starkly drawn
With charcoal strokes

Cold so long they crack
And shiver in the wind
Beneath peeling bark they wait

The stillness and the motion
Draw a contrast to the eye that watches
Sun setting without melting the snow

No smell of earth drifts to us now
No promised soft warm breeze
Patience is pulled reluctantly from the brain

Tomorrow comes, and again tomorrow
When each day is a step closer
To growth, to new beginnings

By Diane E. Dockum
© April 6, 2016

 

 

I made myself wake up,

I had to stop a mushroom dream.

My chest felt crushed under a

Pale fat man with buckteeth

Lying on top of me cutting my hair.

He seemed so shy, and wouldn’t

Look me in the eye.

Later,

When he put on his glasses and vest

He turned into a large white rabbit.

This surprised me, as it was quite sudden.

His scissors were so nasty,

You could see patches of rust along the blades.

I worried that I would get

A terrible hair cut,

In fact, he had left one of the locks

Long and it hung down to my left

Shoulder, while the rest was

Chin length.

Upsettingly, he had given me bangs

Without permission,

And I had to talk him out of being a rabbit

So he could correct it, which seemed to take forever.

I felt as if I could not breathe,

I don’t think I was

Getting enough oxygen.

Oddly, his name was Kinney

Like the drug store.

 

 

 

By Diane E. Dockum

© April 5, 2016

 

 

Inside that Sheath

That covers our soul

Discomforts come as

Messages and,

Pictures that slide through

Our brains in a chemical soup.

Do we pay attention?

Where do we feel stress?

Mind? Body? Spirit?

Head, heart, muscles and tendons

Knit together

In an amazing framework.

Layers cover the depths

Of our eternal essence —

Skins as thick as a rhino’s.

Yet, this is a temporary place.

We move on from here

To another plane

Where our being,

Realigns with the Universe

And Love is All.

 

by Diane E. Dockum

 

 

The falsie next to the

Overnight deposit box

Lies abandoned

For unknown reasons

Robin’s egg blue

Against the pavement

Soft, round foam

Who knows what happened

To cause its

Placement at this establishment

Did it fly out as she

Reached through the car window

To deposit her check

Or did some random

Boob leave it there?

 

By Diane E. Dockum

There was a long space of time when I didn’t do what I said I was going to do, as far as writing much. I did go back to Yoga, and walking but it seems I have been remiss in keeping up my blog.

April is near, and I want to do that thing where I write a poem every day in April, because it’s Poetry Month.

Already I have butterflies.

My mind is racing, and I am grabbing at the threads of ideas that whirl around me as I go through my day. Never writing anything down, I hope my mind retains and composts all of this to use later as fodder.

Today is March 25. Good Friday. I have no plans for Easter. It will be just another Sunday. It will be what ever happens that day, I suppose. I try not to think too hard about it. I do, however, secretly rejoice in the resurrection of Jesus. How cool was that?!

I don’t go to church services any more. Cannot explain why, and don’t need to.

And now I am going to have hot dogs and macaroni and cheese.

 

 

 

 

2016 is here. I am going out on a limb by saying that I plan on doing a few things differently this year. I want to go back to my Yoga practice, which I have missed doing for a long while now. It shows. I feel out of whack, off balance, and uneven.

I want to walk more too. I want to write more. This blog, a blog about writing, and not writing, is my beginning place. Usually I don’t type cold into the blog, as I am now. I am just letting my feelings flow, and the muscle memory in my fingers fing. Fing is not a word, I just made that up. It means fingers doing what fingers do.

I do like to talk inside my head. I suppose now I will have to talk with my fingers, or with a pen on paper. Maybe my Yoga and Meditation practice will loosen a few tight spaces in my mind. At least that is what I am going for. It is so hard these days to work at an office and sit all day putting in data and dealing with callers and making everyone happy that they called you. I so want to make it nice for people, but some of them … well, I won’t go there. I just must rely on my inner nice person to get me through.

Let us all leave our inner monsters behind. Let us all be happy and smile at each other, and be helpful and polite. I do not live in a dreamy fairy land, and I have day to day aches and pains. I resolve to rise above.

Happy New Year to you. Yes, you. I see you there. I understand.