Dog In The Morning

Dog In The Morning

Back to the highway,

The yellow dog

Faces the flower-bed.

Stoic -

Silent -

Unflinching,

He watches mums

And Gladiolas;

The Tiger Lilies dance.

Dog-butt in the dew-laden grass,

He too is planted.

Regal chin held level.

What is he thinking?

The cars pass by

Unchased.

by Diane E. Dockum

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Untaken Walks

I do not take a walk today

I do not run a mile

I sit and ponder unsung songs

And twiddle thumbs a while

 

And as my mind will wander thus

My eyes unopened stay

I listen to the unbreathed air

And while away the day

 

The undone things I do not do

Will there remain no doubt

I do not do them just because

My thoughts must run about

 

Once I did so many things

I lost my point of view

And now I watch my inner brain

And whistle as I stew

 

Some folks may think me dull and blind

Some folks may scream and glare

But I ignore them yes I do

Because I do not care

 

I let untaken walks pile up

My list of tasks grows long

But when I drain my undrunk cup

I’m filled with unsung songs

 

 

© Diane E. Dockum

April 22, 2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Chocolate Rabbit

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

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Crows At The Park

Like a family at a picnic

They were trying to be together,

But they didn’t get along.

Well, not completely.

Tolerating each other’s presence, they walked about and

Checked out the scenery; stood at the edge of the river

With hands on hips, making polite noises

Watching lily pads float.

Then someone found a good thing

In the garbage. That’s when the trouble started.

They argued and pulled at it until the biggest one

Flew away with it in his beak,

But it was too heavy, and he dropped it…big mistake.

The rest of them swatted it with wings and stabbed at it with

Talons, until a breeze came by and blew it into the river.

They stared after it

Making side-ways glances at each other

Until it was forgotten

Because some new smells drifted across the campground.

They flew in circles

Landing in the branches of pines.

Except one, who still paced the shoreline

In the shadow of the picnic table

Knowing he could get it back if he tried.

© Diane E. Dockum, Just Beyond The Hill, 2008

Available at Xlibris.com  and Amazon.com

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The Tintype

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

 

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Birdie, Birdie, Birdie

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

 

 

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On My Way Home

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

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