Four Poems

Poetry
Diane Webster


Photo Credit: Johannes Freund/Flickr (CC-by)

Knife Etchings

The knife etches
grooves into glass
like cuts of initials
into aspen tree
bark scarred
forever in love
by AB + PS
now logged
and split leaving
shards of splintered
memories behind
like shavings,
like sawdust.

 

Shivers/Slivers

When the sculptor’s hammer
rings against the metal chisel
carving stone beneath its blade,
reverberation tingles her fingers
like tiny orgasmic ripples
signaling the start of art

exploding like shivers/slivers
of dislodged stone firing
into her plastic face guard
like fireworks dislodging night darkness
to fingers desiring a touch of the masterpiece.

 

Drives to Work in Snow

Snow in the parking lot
squeaks as tires tread
across whiteness searching
for white parallel lines
marking space for parking—
first one parked sets the grid
in motion for late starters.

Never knew so many people
walked until coming-and-going trails
moonwalk across the snow
where discovered by its purple color
kicked loose beneath a waffle boot track
like a possible treasure discovered
washed up on a storm-washed shore
a pacifier lies in sparkling snow.

Morning’s silence shivers through air
until a snow shovel scrapes against
raw sidewalk somewhere in the next block.

 

Digital Family

If photos aren’t taken,
a family doesn’t exist.

No past scolding,
“You should have…”

No standing captured
the way one was then
and not allowed to move
for fear of blurring
the picture for generations.

In the present now
to cast shadows,
to hold two fingers behind
smiling people’s heads,
to stick out a tongue
or to deliberately
close one’s eyes.

Now you can be erased
so you never existed
in the family’s album.

pencil

Diane Webster enjoys the challenge of picturing images into words to fit her poems. If she can envision her poem, she can write what she sees and her readers can visualize her ideas. That’s the excitement of writing. Her work has appeared in The Hurricane Review, Eunoia Review, Illya’s Honey, and other literary magazines. Email: diaweb[at]hotmail.com

Two Poems

Poetry
Diane Webster


Photo Credit: Ed Kennedy/Flickr (CC-by)

Photo Credit: Ed Kennedy/Flickr (CC-by)

 

Frozen Flat

Valentine’s Day the deflated
snowman and Santa blobs
lie frozen in the lawn
like stepped-on chocolate pieces
still covered in wrappers
after the Halloween frenzy
to haul candy beggings
back home to savor
until Christmas stockings bulge
more, more, more
and the groundhog sees his shadow
for six weeks more of winter
pooled around the low profile
inflatables smiling in snow;
hand across a flat heart.

 

Hermit Myth

Of course hermits are wise old men
unconcerned with other people’s issues.
They remain mysterious in solitude
because most people can’t stand
a moment not connected
to cell phone, TV, internet and chat rooms.
Hermit is a profession to aspire to:
if you’re lucky, no one knows you exist,
if they do, they think you’re crazy
and give you the moniker of ghost
of the woods kind of like Bigfoot,
fun to leave footprints, tufts of fur
and not be seen except in nightmares
or corners of eyes, then gone.

pencilDiane Webster enjoys the challenge of picturing images into words to fit her poems. If she can envision her poem, she can write what she sees and her readers can visualize her ideas. That’s the excitement of writing. Her work has appeared in The Hurricane Review, Eunoia Review, Illya’s Honey, and other literary magazines. Email: diaweb[at]hotmail.com

Two Poems

Poetry
Diane Webster


Photo Credit: Breigh Hammarlund/Flickr (CC-by-nc-nd)

Photo Credit: Breigh Hammarlund/Flickr (CC-by-nc-nd)

Untied Knots

Like tweezers her fingernails
pinch each knot and loosen
its grip from the lengthening
strand patiently hearing
her mother teach
not to waste any string
because it will be useful
later lying wound
in a ball in the junk drawer
the same as I save
old shoelaces now
in pairs draped together,
and I wonder if she
would secretly itch
to tie them together.
Unanswered

Do my letters cause you to cringe
when you see my printed envelope?
Do you bury my words in your purse
like a pauper casket in a grave?
Do you burn my thoughts
into curly wisps blown away
by unconcerned wind?
Do you read and pretend
you’ll answer later
because later is always later?
Do you secretly wish
you could write “return to sender”
or “address unknown” and hope
I wouldn’t know the writing
because I’ve seldom seen it?

pencilDiane Webster enjoys the challenge of picturing images into words to fit her poems. If she can envision her poem, she can write what she sees and her readers can visualize her ideas. That’s the excitement of writing. Her work has appeared in The Hurricane Review, Eunoia Review, Illya’s Honey, and other literary magazines. Email: diaweb[at]hotmail.com

Two Poems

Poetry
Diane Webster


nowthatwehavecomesofar
Photo Credit: Rene de Paula Jr.

Gone or Closer

Only three days gone
marked by three newspapers
stacked for you to read,
stacked on the chair
no one sits in,
stacked so the cat
in a playful fit
of hunter/prey
doesn’t shred the print
into bite-sized pieces
eyes and hands find difficult
to jigsaw puzzle together.
Only three days gone;
three days closer to return.

 

Water Thirst

I am tame water
tapped into a glass;
content to soak
in bubble bath foam
or pretend I am a vase.
I want to be wild water
scratching, clawing
through rock mud rubble
like a premature burial victim
until free to run
discarding ground-colored garb
for sparkling clear laughter,
to slide by smooth stone
or jagged granite
no never mind to me
I’m free
to pool against boulder,
to bask, to laze,
to titter with wind ripples,
to twiddle a pebble
and another and another
until like a dog to scent
I tunnel
to a somewhere destination.

pencil

Diane Webster’s goal is to remain open to poetry ideas in everyday life or nature or an overheard phrase and to write from her perspective at the moment. Many nights she falls asleep juggling images to fit into a poem. Her work has appeared in Philadelphia Poets, Illya’s Honey, River Poets Journal and other literary magazines. Email: diaweb[at]hotmail.com

Dead Letters

Poetry
Diane Webster


write a letter to you
Photo Credit: annilove

I received a letter telling me
Tonya had died four months
and two letters ago—
letters to a dead friend
who never got to read them;
so I wrote other friends
and emailed a couple more the news,
and all I got was silence.
Until one confessed she lost my letter
like Tonya didn’t matter,
had died alone again,
had died without reading my letters
like the friends who never replied
not wanting death too near,
not wanting to write to the friend
who wrote letters to dead friends.

pencil

Diane Webster’s goal is to remain open to poetry ideas in everyday life or nature or an overheard phrase and to write from her perspective at the moment. Many nights she falls asleep juggling images to fit into a poem. Her work has appeared in Philadelphia Poets, Illya’s Honey, River Poets Journal and other literary magazines. Email: diaweb[at]hotmail.com