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
Is this the year?
Is it time?
I've been putting it off
But maybe this year --
Still not sure
I can do it.
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
But I cannot picture
The finality
Of the underground.
But still it is my duty
As the grieving wife
To see to it
No matter how much
It disturbs me.
Just that I cannot
Say good-bye, ever
Not ever.
Our parting was too quick,
Is this why I delay?
©April 11, 2025
Diane E. Dockum
Where sun is scarce,
The snow retreats
To hide in darkness
And shadows deep.
The trees are still,
Like soldiers stand
And wait for sun
To heal the land.
But gray’s the sky
With threatening winds,
And soon the snow
Will fall again.
©April 10, 2025
Diane E. Dockum
In the hush of the dawning day,
When winter’s grasp begins to sway,
A whisper stirs within the breeze,
Promising life among the trees.
Soft the sunlight, tender gold,
Warming earth that’s still and cold,
Awakens buds from slumber deep,
From frozen ground, green tendrils creep.
The crocus peeks with vibrant hue,
Petals kissed by morning dew,
Daffodils in clusters bright,
Chase away the lingering night.
Birdsong fills the crisp, cool air,
Notes of joy beyond compare,
Nests are woven, twigs entwine,
In the dance of spring’s design.
The brook, it sings a fresher tune,
Reflecting skies of pale blue noon,
Ice that choked its babbling voice,
Melts away, and streams rejoice.
Early spring, with gentle grace,
Transforms the world, renews its face,
Subtle shades and fragrant air,
A tender prelude everywhere.
Each nuance of this season’s start,
Whispers softly to the heart,
With promises of life reborn,
In the quiet of the morn.
©April 9, 2025
Diane E. Dockum
I managed to clear the table today and put a table cloth on for looks
But, now I still have a few things left to find homes for on the coffee table.
Here is a list:
Two fake wasp nests that I need to scare hornets and wasps away from my house.
A stapler
A purple ball for squeezing that my husband brought home when he cleared out his desk at work
Four scented Yankee Candles
A cranberry colored vase
A mug that I had cocoa in earlier today
A spoon
A wooden clothes pin
A file holder from my desk
A Kindle device (my first one)
A roll-on perfume bottle that I just got, and it smells very nice by the way
A stack of Archaeology magazines
A stack of Smithsonian magazines
A newspaper that I am going to do the crossword in
A loose leaf notebook filled with lined paper in which random thoughts are written
A laptop carrier
A Longaberger® tissue box
So, you see, I still have much to do. Maybe tomorrow
I have to write my poem for today
Oh, yes, and two wind chimes that are brand new and still in their boxes
©April 8, 2025
Diane E. Dockum
Piles of papers
Stacked on the dining room table
I swear every day to sort
One pile at a time
Greeting cards from Christmas
From Mothers’ Day
From Valentine’s Day
Some from family and friends
And then
From my late husband
And the memories flood in
Then there are bills that need filing
Next are the insurance statements
From his hospital stays
And the sticky notes he wrote reminders on
I can’t throw away anything I find with his handwriting
There is a menu from the hospital room
Where he circled different foods
That later he could no longer eat
And now I know why these piles have been here so long
©April 7, 2025
Diane E. Dockum
Typing words on an empty file
The words seem like jars
Pouring out random fragments
Of thoughts
That clatter onto the page
Not turning into coherent lines
They lack wisdom
Or philosophy
It is nearly time to go to bed.
I feel the deadline closing in
A narrowing tunnel
Pinching out the light
It’s time to draw the curtains
And power down
Lock the doors
And start fresh tomorrow
©April 6, 2025
Diane E. Dockum
Wind came through
In the night
Thunder, lightning
Pounding rain
And trains
Vibrations in the walls
Wake me
Three thirty three a.m.
Sounds of a freight train
Make me wonder
Is it a tornado
And then I hear the whistle
Echoing off the houses
As it snakes its way through town
Flashes on the window-shade
Assaulting my eyelids
Cannon fire and rumbling
Hammer at my ears
Another train calls
Out through the wind
And another follows
Blasting holes in the storm
Cracking lightning stabbing
Hot light through the clouds
Percussion on the roof
And sleep is over
Say good morning and move on
©April 5, 2025
Diane E. Dockum
No upcoming events
A proclamation that
Makes me smile
As I look at my calendar
A sigh of relief escapes me
One day more
For me to roam naturally
Or do nothing
At my leisure
I can nap
Or read
Or write
I can think
Out loud
And no one hears
As I sort my thoughts
Like laundry
And mentally floss
The tarter from my mind
©April 4, 2025
Diane E. Dockum
Marble Hill Press 