Lune

Full moon rising
Pale light bathes the roof
Looking like snow

© Diane E. Dockum
April 30, 2015

If you were wondering….The lune is an American form of poetry similar to the haiku. One way of writing a lune is to count the syllables: thirteen syllables are arranged in 5/3/5 format, five syllables in the first line, three syllables in the second, and five in the third. Another way is to write 3 words, 5 words and 3 words.

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Revision

April 29, 2015

Revision of a previous poem:

I belong to a writer’s group, which meets to discuss our writing, give and get constructive criticism and encouragement. At our last meeting I read a poem which I recently posted on this blog. It was suggested that I shorten it to make it stronger. I have worked to revise this poem. I hope it is a better, stronger image. If you have suggestions about writing, please feel free to leave a comment.

Let Darkness Fall II

Let the sun go down

Let the shadows crawl across the lawn

As the supper dishes are washed

Let the kitchen go black

Let the bedclothes be turned back

And the teeth be cleaned

Let the quiet weave its way

Through the house, and the lamps be lit

Let the curtains be closed

As the street lights come on

And the bats fly out of the vacant house

On the corner lot four houses down

Let the bank and the post office

Sit in the dark, and the phones

Go unanswered

Let sleep come, give in

And let dreams sort the day

Let darkness fall

 

©Diane E. Dockum, 2015

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A Gaúcho from South Argentina

A gaúcho from South Argentina
Had a drink in a local cantina
His language was coarse
When he sang to his horse
While playing his red Concertina

© Diane E. Dockum, 2015
April 28, 2015

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Reflections On Driving Just Before Dark

cropped-sunset-wfog-tree.jpgI tried to write a poem with 5 syllables in each line, and give the poem a long name. Here is what I came up with…

Reflections On Driving Just Before Dark

Driving at twilight
The sunset ahead
What’s that walking fast?
Little legs crossing
The highway at dusk
Is it a pigeon?
Is it a duckling?
Skittering over
The pavement so fast
I slow to a crawl
My headlights turned on
The sun slips behind
The horizon line
Whatever it was
I’m sure it is gone

© Diane E. Dockum
April 27, 2015

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The Hour

Sunny morning turns
Cloudy in the afternoon
Church bell rings the hour

© Diane E. Dockum, April 26, 2015

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Trees Never Forget

White Birch trees bow low
In the corner of the yard
Winter leaves its scar

© Diane E. Dockum, 2015
April 25, 2015

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Gramma

She never gave me jewelry
She never gave me gold

But the treasures of her heart
Her bounty was untold

She wiped my nose and dried my tear
And painted visions wide

I always knew that she was near
And in her arms I’d hide

She never gave me things that
Gather dust upon the shelf

But, what she did was
Empty out, for me, her very self.

© Diane E. Dockum
May 18, 1991

Author’s note: This poem has never been published before, except in the program of my Grandmother’s funeral in 1991. I have been having dream after dream of her the last week or so. I thought I would share this one, since I’ve had her on my mind. April 24, 2015

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