April 9, 2018

 

Dear Dad,

 

I’m writing to say Happy Birthday, and that I’m remembering you today. It’s not often that I email you from here, but today is a good day to do it. It was a hard day today for me because I saw a picture of you and it was one I didn’t have. It was kind of strange seeing you again at the age you left. Most of the time I see you as a younger man. I see you as a young father, with dishpan hands and a pack of Lucky Strikes in your pocket. I see you with a damp dishtowel over your shoulder as you shampoo my baby brother in the kitchen sink. It’s all encapsulated in a tunnel of time. At night, as I stand on my back porch and look at the stars, I remember watching the moon in the backyard with you adjusting your telescope toward the brightest constellation. You would talk about UFOs and how you always wanted to see one. But the closest you ever got was a meteorite, which you mistakenly cemented into the front step thinking it was an oddly shaped rock. I know you wanted to dig that thing out and use it as a doorstop instead. Someday someone will find it there when the house falls in and they build a new one in its place. I hope you feel your best and are happy there. I hope you see all your dreams come true. I wish you had spent a little more time because I was just getting to know you as an adult. I am so upset that I put off visiting you and taking time to be with you before you left. I thought we had more time. Well, you never know, do you? Anyway, save a place for me at the table. I’ll be with you in a while. We can really catch up. Happy birthday, Daddy.

 

© April 9, 2018

By Diane E. Dockum

I need to be inspired

I can’t think of anything to say

Days loom before me

And I have had spits and starts

Like an old engine

That’s been sitting in a shed for years

Under a tarp with a mouse nest in the manifold

My mind has gone flatline

I cant remember dreams but

I remember dreaming

I wake up with numb hands and arms

But soon it passes

Now I think I wake up with a numb brain

I’m a numb skull

Just like my gym teacher used to call us

“All right you numbskulls take another lap!”

©April 9, 2018

by Diane E. Dockum

**note to self: Miss Rita Hiter called us Nuckleheads, not Numbskulls. I feel this makes the whole poem fallacious.

The wind blew

The garbage from

The next-door neighbor’s can

(That he always leaves open

Despite my annoyance)

 

Across the road

An old bed pillow

Randomly rests in the

Grass beside the parking lot

Soaking up the rain

 

Several paper plates

Are pressed up against a tree

With remnants of lasagna

Caked on and an empty pickle jar

Rolls noisily down the pavement

 

Pushed along with no

Apparent destination.

A pizza box sails by and

A greedy Beagle traps

A plastic bag of meat scraps

In its teeth

 

As he looks side to side

Making a beeline

To wherever he hides his stash

And an empty Oscar Mayer Bologna package

Spins by, skittering along the street

 

The wind blew

Over the potted plant on the front step

And rolled up the outdoor carpet on my porch

And tore the wind catcher off

The bottom of my wind chimes.

 

A cold front is coming through

Tossing out the warmth of yesterday

It gives and it takes

It takes and gives as

Spring is moving through

 

By Diane E. Dockum

Posted originally 2 years ago. Still true.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Around 4 o’clock

The sunlight slants just right

Through the stained glass

And paints a canvas of color

Across the altar

I sit in the empty pew

To watch in wonder

Not a miracle

Only the earth as it turns

Away to greet the darkness

I watch the brilliant blue

The red dilutes to pink

The gold coins of light

Scatter on the carpet

And light the ruby candle glass

As the eternal flame within

I sit in the empty pew

Alone in the church

Contemplating

The many colors

If each hue had a voice

The sound of them would rise

To heaven and the angels

Would weep for joy

 

 

By Diane E. Dockum

©April 29, 2017