Lost Alone
Sitting alone on a bench
as fog covers the lake
hidden, lost, below.
Hearing a lone goose
honk in the sky
still too far away to see.
Feeling an October breeze
against my face while awaiting
sunrise over the horizon.
I smell newly mowed grass
and breathe so deeply
green salivates in my mouth.
The bench creaks in relief
as I stand and wander
through my mystic sphere
rolling somewhere else.
Between White
Dressed in white between
a white umbrella
and white shoes
the woman strolls
beside her golden retriever
tethered together
by a black leash.
Like a gossamer-winged
dragonfly alight on
a fishing line draped
into lake waters
hoping all fish
are fully sated
when night falls
upon them all.
Fence Slaying
Tree trunk falls
across the wooden fence
slaying the wooden soldiers
standing shoulder to shoulder
in attention formation
ordered to hold the line
under any circumstances.
No need for a firing squad
for disobeying orders
as slats lie splintered
on the field of grass
like bleached bones
from a dead-cow carcass.
Eye Play
Like an eye closed to a slit
pretending sleep but seeing all,
the shutter closes out the street
and reveals nothing inside.
The stucco wall wrinkles cracks
along its façade and permanent
dimples dent the stone
like a great grandmother
weathering the next generation
curious if she sees at all
Upward Guides
Potted plants guide
the stairs upward
like the blind woman’s
cane tapping one, two …
At the ninth tap
turn right immediately
before a tangle of greenery
brushes like spider web
across your face.
The door awaits the final tap,
the entrance passed
the plants’ gauntlet
now swept by stems
cheering in wind.
Diane Webster‘s work has appeared in El Portal, North Dakota Quarterly, New English Review, Verdad and other literary magazines. She had a micro-chap published by Origami Poetry Press in 2022, 2023 and 2024. One of Diane’s poems was nominated for Best of the Net in 2022. Diane retired in 2022 after 40 years in the newspaper industry.
You can find more of Diane’s work here on Ink Pantry