The Night Trains

The Night Trains

 

The kitchen sink after 10 pm

Is a quiet place where I can

Open the window to the gentle rain,

Listen to the approaching rumble

Of the train as it crosses the trestle

And slides into town blowing its whistle

Across the river and letting it echo

Down the dark streets.

The night breeze

Filled with cut grass,

And newly hatched leaves

Reaches for my face, caressing and soft.

The patter of rain sooths my soul.

I wash the dishes before bed.

I turn out the lights, and turn the locks.

I settle down, by degrees,

As the train’s slow thunder fades

Into the distance.

Where do the trains go,

One after the other,

Through the night?

 

 

©Diane E. Dockum

May 16, 2014

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Birch Tree (Haiku)

 

Birch tree glazed with rain

Stands apart from the others

Just as the sun sets

 

© Diane E. Dockum, April 30, 2014

 

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All Good Things

Fear less,

Hope more; eat less,

Chew more; whine less, breathe more;

Talk less, say more; hate less, love more,

And all good things are yours…

 

 

©Diane E. Dockum

April 29, 2014

 

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Coming to Terms with Yourself

A day will come when

Finding yourself alone

You will come to terms

With your true self

 

You’ll come to the mirror

And welcome your face

And be kind to the person

You see in your reflection

 

A time will come when

You’ll grow to understand

The value of your own friendship

And the wisdom of your own advice

 

You’ll curl up in a comfortable chair

With a cup of forgiveness, and a good book

You will read it a while

Then turn out the light.

 

 

By Diane E. Dockum

April 28, 2014

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DEPARTING

It happens slowly

In pieces

 

Like a sand castle

Crumbling against

 

The gentle lapping

Of the river

 

It first folds in

Upon itself

 

Then leans

And falls

 

Obliterated

Until

 

There is

No trace

 

 

 

© Diane E. Dockum

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A Dream in Twilight

 

I remember striving to reach my aunt’s house,

Because she needed help.

I reached the road where she lived,

Walking up the hill toward the house.

 

There was a field filled with deer.

I wondered why there were so many,

And how had they escaped from the

Fenced area where they belonged.

 

The deer became people milling

Silently around in the road.

I looked into their familiar faces, one by one,

Recognizing them as cousins, and other relatives.

 

They were dressed in clean and crisp shirts and slacks.

Their clothing looked newly laundered.

They looked over the distance down the hill

Toward the mountains and over the railroad tracks,

 

They kept looking without speaking

Looking as if expecting something

Or someone to come into view,

Looking hopefully, waiting.

 

It wasn’t until I woke up

That I realized that the people in the crowd

Had already died, and I was

Wearing a clean crisp shirt and slacks.

 

 

 

©Diane E. Dockum, April 26, 2014

 

 

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Snowbank (Cinquain)

Snowbank

Dirty, icy

Melting, shrinking, crumbling

Last remnant of a cruel winter

Water

 

 

© Diane E. Dockum, April 25, 2014

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