There once was a rabbit named Pete
Who wore a brown wrapper so neat.
I bit off his head
Until he was dead,
He was the best chocolaty treat.
 
© Diane E. Dockum
April 21, 2014

Just for a bit of fun I wanted to repost this “Easter” Limerick.

Regretfully, I am fresh out of chocolate rabbits today. One can dream though.

Happy Easter 🙏

Down the street the daffodils are blooming
Most folks have picked up the sticks
And broken branches from their yard.
The flags are hung out on nice days.
Down the street a
Murmuration of Starlings and a worm of robins bounce
Along, tweaking at grass and poking at dirt.
Just before sunset
A gentle spring breeze is passing.
To close your eyes
And listen to the quiet street
And hear the birds after a long winter
Is delicious.
This time between six and sundown is sacred.
Down the street 
The church will be filled
For Easter Vigil,
But I will hear the quiet 
And watch the cars go past my house and
Down the street.


©April 19, 2025
Diane E. Dockum

Driving through a forest at night
Down hill most of the way

Feeling the pull of home
The forest looks twice as dark

When you have become 
Used to street lights

If the road is unfamiliar
You become tired

But you don't notice at first
By the time you are near home

It hits you
Hard

The roads are twisty and fog
Rolls across the pavement

On-coming lights blind you
And inevitably it will rain

©April 18, 2025

Diane E. Dockum

Sunlight hangs from branches,
Cedar and Maple,
Just before the sun sets.
New buds decorate the tips
In red hues,
While some trees stand like smoke
Frozen into icicles and
Stiff as boney fingers
Clutching the last
Breath from the throat of winter.
And time moves on.
Blue-black sky is the backdrop
Of silhouettes darkening
Ever more,
As the sun has slidden
Beyond the horizon.
Beings are moving in the dark,
Ghosts nibbling at the cedars,
And the robins and jays have gone to bed.


©April 17, 2025
Diane E. Dockum

Roses of red, pink, white
Twelve at first,
Then eight
Then five
A family, siblings
That go at different times
And petals drop
Or curl and dry
Leaves, no longer green
Crisp and fall away
Now, the last few remain
Stems blacken toward the top
A touch of age hanging on to beauty
Sending out their scent
In heavy vapors reaching
Red deepens to blood
And pink, the shade of sleep
White opens her petals wide
And drops them like abandoned dreams

©April 16, 2025
Diane E. Dockum

Upon my shelves the books in rows do stand,
A library of dreams, both vast and grand.

Each tome a world, a tale, a voice to speak,
Yet time, the thief, makes every moment weak.

With every dawn, the hours swiftly slip,
As pages turn to dust within my grip.

The stories wait in silence, still unread,
While life demands its path by duty led.

Oh, how I yearn to wander through each tale,
To sail on seas where wondrous words prevail.

But tasks of day, like anchors, hold me tight,
And keep me from my books from morn till night.

So here I stand, amidst the works that gleam,
And dream of time to read without a seam.

©April 15, 2025

Diane E. Dockum

April 15, 2025

Ok, so yesterday I could not come up with a poem, despite the fact that I was at writers’ group which usually inspires me for the next few days.

I ended up pushing my deadline to a few minutes after midnight and posting an old Haiku written in 2014. I am hoping I can make up for it by extending poetry month into May 1 to add an extra day.

I will try again today to fulfill my personal wish of a new poem each day.

Under the pavement
Water roars to the river
I watch through the grate


Diane E. Dockum
©2014

Pulling a thread through time
Unraveling generations
I grew curious about
My ancestors and wanting
To know more
The evening passed quickly
Name after name
And tempted by the many 
Branches in my tree
I concentrated to stay
True to my mission
Six generations later
Neck cramping
Eyes blurred
I closed my laptop
And my eyes
But the names still
Call to me 
Through time


©April 13, 2025
Diane E. Dockum

I close my eyes and search my mind for words
That say how I feel, but reach beyond my

Narrow path. The night grows short as time slips
Into day, my eyes ache for sleep and dreams.

I put this off as long as I can, but
this does not help me find elusive words.

I go from here to there and back again
With my bucket scooping and sifting thoughts

From the accumulated sediment
Within my muddled head that make no sense,

And after all is said and done, no doubt,
You will be left still wanting to know why.





©April 12, 2025
Diane E. Dockum