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

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

 

 

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