Dog In The Morning
Back to the highway,
The yellow dog
Faces the flower-bed.
Stoic –
Silent –
Unflinching,
He watches mums
And Gladiolas;
The Tiger Lilies dance.
Dog-butt in the dew-laden grass,
He too is planted.
Regal chin held level.
What is he thinking?
The cars pass by
Unchased.
by Diane E. Dockum
I do not take a walk today
I do not run a mile
I sit and ponder unsung songs
And twiddle thumbs a while
And as my mind will wander thus
My eyes unopened stay
I listen to the unbreathed air
And while away the day
The undone things I do not do
Will there remain no doubt
I do not do them just because
My thoughts must run about
Once I did so many things
I lost my point of view
And now I watch my inner brain
And whistle as I stew
Some folks may think me dull and blind
Some folks may scream and glare
But I ignore them yes I do
Because I do not care
I let untaken walks pile up
My list of tasks grows long
But when I drain my undrunk cup
I’m filled with unsung songs
© Diane E. Dockum
April 22, 2014
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
Like a family at a picnic
They were trying to be together,
But they didn’t get along.
Well, not completely.
Tolerating each other’s presence, they walked about and
Checked out the scenery; stood at the edge of the river
With hands on hips, making polite noises
Watching lily pads float.
Then someone found a good thing
In the garbage. That’s when the trouble started.
They argued and pulled at it until the biggest one
Flew away with it in his beak,
But it was too heavy, and he dropped it…big mistake.
The rest of them swatted it with wings and stabbed at it with
Talons, until a breeze came by and blew it into the river.
They stared after it
Making side-ways glances at each other
Until it was forgotten
Because some new smells drifted across the campground.
They flew in circles
Landing in the branches of pines.
Except one, who still paced the shoreline
In the shadow of the picnic table
Knowing he could get it back if he tried.
© Diane E. Dockum, Just Beyond The Hill, 2008
Available at Xlibris.com and Amazon.com
The Tintype
She has no smile,
And possibly, she thinks
Her corset is laced too tightly
Her hair is
Twisted in dull bunches
Above the ears
The starched high
Collar cuts under
Her chin
Her lips are rigid
Holding, holding
Until the flash powder
Blinds her, she blinks
But we do not see
She smiles
Too late for her great, great
Grandchildren
Who stare
At her image
Searching
For their own faces.
© Diane E. Dockum, Just Beyond The Hill, 2008
What are those birds
That say, “Birdie, Birdie, Birdie”?
Wouldn’t it be nice
If my bird book had sounds?
Like instead of
“Scratch-And-Sniff”
It would be
“Touch-And-Hear”.
Oh yeah…
That would be
The internet.
© Diane E. Dockum
April 18, 2014
I am driving home from work
Yawning most of the way
The separation between work and home
Closes at 45 to 50 miles per hour
I pass by car dealerships
And a few houses that need repair
Several hundred feet of wetland
And cross a railroad track
The car bumps over the rails
I look down and around the curve
A deer is standing in the tracks
I worry the train might come
Now the road inclines
Past an old drive-in movie theater
That is now a used car place
And a dog grooming place
Then there is a car repair place
And lots of woods
And a dirt road
And a Frito-Lay storehouse
I pass by cornfields
I pass by a field full of wild turkeys
And many more deer
To the bend in the river
The road becomes a hill
A curving incline
I look down through the trees
And see the river getting rid of its ice
I enter my village
Decending the hill
And I see there is still a Christmas Tree
In the living room window of a house
This is odd, I say to no one.
Some giant dogs play in a driveway
And I signal to turn onto my street
And in seconds I am home.
© Diane E. Dockum, April 17, 2014
From room to room
I wander
Noticing the altars
Of my life
Built unknowingly
Pictures placed just so
Incense burning
In gentle prayerfulness
Books arranged
With no seeming order
Only the one
In my mind
I see with opened eyes
Reverence for my
Wake, and the passing
Of my energies
Into those who will follow
After me, and look also
Upon the shrines
I’ve left behind
by Diane E. Dockum
© 5.25.2003
Entering the forest
Without moving the grass
Unfailing power
Dispelling the darkness
Igniting the colors
Revealing the secrets
Nothing is hidden
The soul surrenders
Entering the forest
Without making a sound
White light cleanses
The air and the ground
Let the light in
Open the path
Walk in the sunlight
Like on the first day
©Diane E. Dockum, April 15, 2014
Fog creeping through the cemetery
Crossing the highway
Forming a wall of white mist
As the waterlogged land meets
The cooling twilight
Setting sun fills the sky with fire
And in the shadows of leafless trees
Creeps the fog
Over rolling pasture
Over the long slow hill to the river
Prowls down through fields
On panther paws
Hiding the long stone walls
In the encroaching darkness
Veils the brown undergrowth
Curls down into the waiting laps
Of ancient trees
Who wait patiently on the sloping bank
And begs a bedtime story
Without words
©Diane E. Dockum, April 14, 2014
Marble Hill Press 