She unwraps the caramel candy

With concentration

The cellophane holds in the sweetness

Until it meets her lips

It melts slowly

And turns to a flat circle

Against the roof of her mouth

She waits until it melts

Then swallows

Savoring the rich creamy finale

 

by Diane E. Dockum

© April 28, 2017

 

Hands over my eyes

Darkness becomes colored lights

My third eye opens

 

By Diane E. Dockum

@April 27, 2017

When I was 5 I remember this big white rock

That was almost flat

And sat

In the middle of a field full of lilac trees

And there was a pear tree

And a plum tree along the stonewall

That wound around that field

And I would sit on that rock

In the warm summer sun

And look at all the wild flowers

That grew all around that rock

 

When I was 15 I remember this big white rock

That was pretty flat

And sat

In the middle of that field full of lilac trees

And there was that pear tree

And plum tree

Along the stone wall

And I would listen to the train pass by

Down over the hill

And watch the birds and flowers

All around me

While I thought about my life and what it would become

 

When I was 25 I remember this big white rock

That was flat and wide and warm in the sun

In the middle of a field full of lilac trees

And I would take my little girl

To play in that field and sit on the big rock

And we would have a picnic

And watch the clouds in the sky

And pick the wild flowers

All around us

While I dreamed about life

And what would become of us

 

And life has gone by and I’ve grown old

And sometimes I think of that big

Flat rock in the sun

And remember the quiet joy of motherhood

The solitude that fed my soul

And I remember that field as a perpetual

Summer day surrounded by lilac trees

And wild flowers and encircled by an old stone wall

 

By Diane E. Dockum

©April 26, 2017

 

I have no idea what to write tonight.

It’s one of those days again.

I’ve been sitting here thinking about

absolutely nothing

the entire evening

and nothing is what I am writing about.

I am watching a show on television

and the character has a really nice necklace

with dark beads and gold blobules on it

and a big bone tusk type thingy

at the end.

And now I’m yawning uncontrollably

as I am sure you are too.

Good night.

 

 

By Diane E. Dockum

© April 25, 2017

 

 

The gravedigger

Up to his neck

Flinging black dirt over his shoulder

It was about 5:30 when I went

By the cemetery

And noticed him

He looked like he’d been digging

For hours

The piles were high

On every side

It was sunset when

I went by again

Driving the other way

Surprised to see

That there was no grave in sight

 

 

By Diane E. Dockum

© April 24, 2017

 

The listener, listening in the snow

Hears how it sighs down through the air

And settles on the evergreens

That whisper softly in his ear

 

He hears the quiet growing

While around him falls the night

And the silence as an owl sweeps by

While the moon is shining bright

 

He walks through woods in winter

Hearing grouse and wind through trees

A listener, listening in the snow

Finds nature’s symphonies

 

By Diane E. Dockum

© April 23, 2017

Daffodils are cheerfully in bloom

With sunny yellow faces

But the meth house is abandoned

So no one sees

 

 

by Diane E. Dockum

© April 22, 2017

I stood

And loved you

While you slept

All wrapped in yellow

Blanket bright

All through the night

Your tiny lips

Would pucker and pinch

To phrase your dreams

And I loved you

From across the hall

And listened hard

To each breath

And waited there

Beside your crib

At dawn to feed you

Close to me

We slept again

On that couch

And I loved you

While you ran and played

And later grew

To beauty’s height

I watched and waited

In the night

To hear your footsteps

Down the hall

And loved you still

And will not stop

No matter what

No matter what

 
By Diane E. Dockum

©April 21, 2017

 

Ever feel like

Your entire life is in review?

I’ve been reading

My Facebook comments

Which mostly consist of flash backs,

Re-hashes, memories, time hops etc.

Am I living in the past too much?

I try to live in the present

But there is too much of my life

In the rear view mirror.

Sometimes

I go nowhere.

I do nothing.

I spend no money.

This is not entirely true,

Only sometimes

It’s the plan.

Sometimes

I go places.

I do things.

I spend money.

I talk to people.

This is not entirely true,

Only most times

It’s the plan.

Sometimes

I am out of the loop,

I am in the know,

I am connected

And shut out.

Life is a paradox.

There is no plan,

And there’s nothing

I can do about it.

 

 

 

By Diane E. Dockum

© April 20, 2017

Out walking, looking for a poem

I remembered chores

I should have done

But the day was almost spent

 

The poem hung inside my mind

Like morning fog

Remnants of dreams

Dissolving as the light changed

 

Out walking, standing in places

I had not stood

I waited for the poem to form

Ignoring time – ignoring “shoulds”

 

Deeper into the autumn woods

Inhaling sunlight, fading fast

I came upon deserted toys

A tree house built by little hands

 

With carpet remnants

Nailed fast

Into the wood

A broken chair that in my kitchen

 

Once had stood

And that baby blanket

I wondered where

It had gone

 

Long deserted, faded now it hung

Where once a

Door had been

My poem was there instead.

 

 

By Diane E. Dockum

Excerpted from “Just Beyond The Hill” ©2008