A Road Trip, Rewritten

We mapped our trip on GPS, packed hopes and snacks for miles—
The radio humming smooth jazz, our faces wide with smiles.
Yet clouds rolled in, lightning and wind, rain blurred the exit signs,
And what we’d planned unraveled fast in unexpected lines.

The roadside diner’s battered booth, a refuge from the storm,
Served laughter we had never planned, a different kind of warm.
We found new stories in the detour, soft comfort in the change,
The journey’s gift: a gentle shift, our spirits rearranged.

Though what we set out for was lost, we gained what couldn’t be charted—
Friendship, found in winding roads, and memories uncharted.
Sometimes, the best of what we have comes not from what we planned,
But from the turns we didn’t choose, and holding someone’s hand.


by Diane E. Dockum
©April 16, 2026
View of a wet, winding mountain road through a car windshield with rain and active wipers, dashboard visible.

In My Bones

Railway tracks extending toward the sunrise with mist and trees in the background
The marrow of my bones
Began to vibrate
Before the sun came up
My heartbeat began to
Keep me awake
Thudding in my left ear
As I lay on my pillow
Before the first bird began to sing
Then, awareness of the morning train
Far off low sound with a staccato high-pitched accent
Reverberated through the still air
My heartbeat quickened
The train announced its presence
From 90 miles away across the rolling hills
Closer each minute with a steady hum
That began to dance with my heartbeat
In and out of step
Until it crossed the nearby street just east of me
I rolled over
Knowing that all my life the sound of a train
Had worked its way into my bones
Like all the ticking clocks
Like the phrase “peace be with you”
Like the phrase “and also with you”
And the low thrum in the pre-dawn
Was as constant as my breath


By Diane E. Dockum
©April 15, 2026

Personality Pillows

How can you not be cheered by these personality pillows?


Personality Pillows



They cheer me, these
Beady black eyes and embroidered smiles
Gazing at me from a couch or chair.
Soft fuzz to hold to my cheek –

A weight in my arms instead
Of a hug –
From fabric friends,
Beans in their paws

I comfortably roll between by fingers.
Pressing them to my lips,
Replacing body heat with a furry texture.
On a rainy day

When thunder rolls
Or sleep demands attention,
How can you not be cheered
By these personality pillows?


By Diane E. Dockum
©April 14, 2026

Reunion’s Shadow

Playing a forgotten game at my birthday party.

Upon this threshold, childhood whispers call,
Soft echoes shaped by laughter long ago.

Yet time has drawn our lives apart, a wall
Of sorrow built from loss I struggle to show.

Your days seem bright, your love intact and warm,
While mine are shaded, haunted by the night.

I fear my grief might cloud, might soon transform
This meeting to a burden out of sight.

Should I confess the ache that stains my heart,
Or shield my wounds and let joy fill the air?

Will common ground remain, or drift apart
As silence grows between the truths we bear?

Still, hope persists; perhaps old ties can mend,
And in your gaze, I might find light again.


by Diane E. Dockum
©April 13, 2026

Coffee and Tea

Artist painting Mona Lisa holding a large coffee cup
So that’s where her smile came from.


Three cups
When I babysit -
Two cups at home.
One cup of tea in the
Afternoon,
Suggesting a fight
Against the 3 pm slump.
Transformation starts with pause.
Some days are extra,
And smiles are required.
Patience and kindness --
You need all the fruits of the spirit
When tired.
Three cups will do it,
Coffee or tea,
Plain or with sugar,
Makes no difference to me.
Coffee bold and tea serene --
They hold the key to who I long to be.


By Diane E. Dockum
©April 11, 2026

Just Before Dawn in a Small Village

A peaceful village wakes up under a golden sunrise with misty hills in the background.


The night, which held its breath, gives one last sigh.
And muted stars are melting from the sky.
Rooftops wear a lingering silver gleam
And dreaming windows keep their lanterns nigh

In hedges, frost collects in quiet prayer.
The streets lie hushed, as if they too can sense
The first pale yawn of morning in the air --
Not yet a dawn, more hinted in suspense.

Time loosens laces; black begins to thin,
A soft surrender at the eastern sky
The world turns gently, letting morning in
With sunlight creeping forward with a sigh.

Then Sun, unmasked, arrives—so close, so new—
And dawn steps forward, rinsing night to blue.




By Diane E. Dockum
©April 10, 2026

Wind in the Chimes

Meditation in Motion

Wicker rocking chair on porch with wind chimes hanging, flowers, and garden view

A gift to myself of wind chimes

I put them up today

three different sounds are out on the porch,

singing three melodic songs in the warming breeze.

One is high with tinkling sounds,

the other is a glass percussion menagerie

of fish mingling in an icy cooling sound,

the sun shining through makes them bright blue.

The low bass notes of the largest chime resound,

grounding the melody.

Each one has its own voice

to start the season; they have different feelings,

but together they have harmony to calm my heart.

The air feels gentler now,

So different from the howling blast of winter

I welcome spring as I hang the wind chimes.

Despite the sound of motorcycles next door,

barking dogs, trucks with air brakes rumbling—

I like to sit in the quiet as the sun goes down and listen

as the breeze plays the chimes.

The setting sun casts long golden pools,

and every note from the chimes feels like a reminder

of peace after the noise fades,

echoing the renewal of the season.




By Diane E. Dockum

©April 9, 2026

Fading Light

Photo by Thea Smith on Pexels.com

Ephemoral Memory

Misty lakeside with glowing lights, wooden dock, swing, and silhouetted figures

It whispers –

But not quite audible

A breath of something

At the back of your mind

A shadow of an image

Just out of focus

It catches at your awareness

At the edge of attention

It matters

It was something you felt

It was important

But you’ve lost the key

To that door

And you push at the panel

And jiggle the knob

A color you remember

A room

Someone speaking

Fragments that come together

Then part and fade away

Not forgotten, not remembered

That door knows your hand

But will not open with your push

And the day keeps moving

Cleaning, the radio plays a soft song

And there it is again

Like an old familiar fragrance

You pause, mid task

Close your eyes — you hover there

Waiting

In the shadowed garden of your mind

For the missing note

By Diane E. Dockum
©April 7, 2026