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

Because we hope there is a heaven

Where we are still ourselves

 

We cling to every quiver

Of our individual cells

 

There is a universal call

We are torn between earth and star

 

And somewhere in the middle

We find out who we are

 

 

 

By Diane E. Dockum

©April 3, 2014

 

 

Under the pavement
Water roars to the river
I watch through the grate

 

 

Diane E. Dockum

©2014

Slivers

 

The arrogant voice that glides through

My mind pretends falsely to dwell

Within my pocket. Unknown

Particles and crumpled gum wrappers

Occupy space in the corner,

And even though I wash and wash, the

Cloth still smells of Bazooka

And I can’t remember my fortune.

 

I live without understanding

And when they shout at me I cringe

And squint my eyes in the bright light.

I cover my ears with my hands and

Hear only my heartbeat and the breath

In my throat. I remove myself from

Questions and infamous people

And walk in dimly lit rooms

And never smoke cigars without tips.

 

He is huge and sweats. His belly glistens

In the sun and a fly is playing in his

Navel. The hair that surrounds it

Is wet. The gas pump is too hot to

Touch. But still they use it without noticing,

And open pop bottles with their teeth.

 

A car passes by scattering dust in

Its wake. It settles on the dishes

I have placed on the picnic table.

I shiver and though it is ninety degrees

In the shade, I pull my collar up behind

My neck to keep the wind from touching me.

I lick my lips for moisture and clear my throat.

Believe the one who tells you to wait

And things will turn out fine.

 

The paper they use to catch flies is full and

Hangs over the open salad on the kitchen table.

No one wants to eat it and

I wonder why she wonders why.

Silly songs and happy thoughts

Delight me in the quiet of the day.

 

© 2008 Diane E. Dockum

Just Beyond The Hill