Here is a poem from my book, Just Beyond The Hill,  published in 2008

I don’t think it’s been on this blog yet. For some reason this poem has been going through my head all day as I was sifting my brain for a new poem. No new poem has come yet, so, for now, I will post this one. Hope you enjoy it, and it speaks to that part of you that has gone through, or is now experiencing that long dark night of the soul:

 

LET NIGHT BE NIGHT

Let night be night.

Do not prevent the bats from flight.

Your mind takes flight while others sleep.

Let darkness heal your soul tonight.

 

Let night be night.

The pallid moon to guide your sight,

Go out among the blues and blacks

In shadow-armor fight your fight.

 

Honor that which is your plight.

There is no refuge in the light.

Feel the earth beneath your feet.

Pure intention makes it right.

 

Let night be night,

And inner voices soft and bright.

Listen close with open heart.

The growth of spirit now takes flight

 

Address the darkness and the fright.

Face the stars in deepest night.

Feel your truth and live your life.

Give birth to your own inner light.

 

Let night be night,

In hunger let your soul delight.

There’s yin and yang in day and night,

For from the darkness comes the light.

 

© Diane E. Dockum, Just Beyond The Hill, 2008

Sights & Sounds of April

 

On the morning after

The snow had almost gone,

The birds had quiet conversations,

And the sun was bright

On the squashed grass.

 

The shadows of bare branches

Reached across the sodden lawn, and

Painted the pavement

With rivers of light and dark.

 

The far away sound of wind chimes

Blessed the air with mellow tones

And the quiet ticking of the clock

Counted seconds as the last deep drift

By the hedge receded into the earth.

 

Shriveled blood-red berries on the

Mountain Ash tree waited

For the Jays and Crows, and

For the Starlings’ return, poised there in the sun.

 

Last autumn’s apricot colored maple leaves

Still shivered on the branches,

Stubbornly holding on as they had all winter.

Shockingly tenacious,

They prevailed through the bitter cold.

 

They kept hold despite the arctic blasts.

They would not give up to the heavy nor’easter snows,

Though they were dry and fragile even then, they

Held fast, waiting for their reinforcements to appear.

 

© Diane E. Dockum

April 12, 2014

If you could see a movie

Of your secret life

Would you recognize yourself?

Or would it seem a small whisper

From the dark interior of a cave

Or a shout from somewhere deep

Inside a closet

Under a pile of old letters —

An embarrassment best forgotten?

 

If you could see a map

Of your secret life’s landscape

Would you recognize the hills

And valleys as the heights

And depths that formed the muscles

In your legs?

 

The secret life left behind

Is soon forgotten

And long remembered

In the dark night

And alone while driving

Along a back road

Where the stones and gravel

Kick up against the fenders

 

And the smell of forest litter

And dry leaves insinuates

Its aroma into

The fabric of your

Turned up collar

 

Like a lingering scent of familiar

Perfume on the breeze

Or new varnish on the floors

Of the schoolhouse

After a long summer vacation

 

 

by Diane E. Dockum

 

Birch trees against snow

Tiger hides in the jungle

Sparrows don’t worry

 

 

© Diane E. Dockum, 2014

My Father’s Hands

 

My father’s hands told stories,

Always in motion.

He would cup them around his mouth,

Just so, and whistle

Like all seven dwarves in “Snow White”.

After dinner he used his hands

To fly the sugar bowl lid,

Making U.F.O. sounds as his hands

Hovered the imaginary space ship

Through made-up space.

My father’s hands buttoned my dresses

And rubbed a dab of Brylcreem

Into my hair before school,

Furiously massaging my scalp

Until I was dizzy.

As years pass since the day

His hands waved good-bye to me

On the stairway of my apartment building

It’s been hard to see them, remember them

I wish I could feel them again

Patting me on the back in a bear hug

Or brushing my tears away

When my heart was broken.

As years pass since I watched

From the upstairs window as he

Cleared the snow off his windshield

With his bare hands

And drove away

From our last visit

It is harder to remember

The feel of his hands

This makes me weep.

This makes me search

My mind for memories

Of my father’s hands.

 

© Diane E. Dockum, 2014

 

 

 

 

Into the woods

Trees on either side

The path divides

 

I take this one for now

And walk uphill a while

A burden heavy on my back

 

My struggle noble

My head held high

I see before me another way

 

A narrow path

Emerges and forms before me

From the woods

 

And down that way I go

The scenery changes

And obstacles block my way

 

Yet comforted and joyful

I hear music in the distance

And place my burden by the road

 

Before me still this winding path

Beckons with the sweet song

And I am called to follow

 

But sometimes I look back

With wonder at my footprints

To see how far I’ve traveled

 

 

© Diane E. Dockum 2014

Cold Coffee

 

I made a cup of coffee,

Forgot and walked away.

 

After a while I did recall,

But was too far away.

 

Now I sit in another room

Writing on my paper.

 

I guess I’ll have to warm it up

And drink it a little later.

 

These random musings,

Small but true,

 

Are sorting through my brain,

And that’s the way

 

It percolates

While I watch the rain.

 

©Diane E. Dockum

Apr. 5, 2014

Apple trees blossom.

Petals cover the bent grass.

Who has seen the wind?

 

©Diane E. Dockum

2014