Poems by Diane Webster

 

SILENT … DOOR

The door to silence
has a squeaky hinge
that scrapes across dirt
blown up against
its bottom half … buried.

With each tug at the door
the rusted knocker taps
back and forth
like a blackbird’s beak
on a window pane.

Finally open
to squeeze through
like air sucked in,
blown out to fill lungs,
but the door to silence
refuses closure.

Some people claim
madness between.

 

SILENT … OUTSIDE

See this silent exterior?
Beneath — thunder
swells my heart;
lightning snaps
behind my eyes,
itches to release
from my fingertips.

Go ahead.
Gaze into my eyes.
See the Medusa stare,
but you’ll only see her
a moment before
you join the statues
petrified behind me.
                                                                                             

SILENT … STATUE FOREVER

Silent
as a statue forever
staring toward the horizon
in morning future,
in moonlit past
in bird shit dignity
in rainstorm sniffles.

In a snowfall last night
whipped by wind,
drifts whisk into eyes
like Little Orphan Annie
blind fluttering flakes
into tears sliding
in sunrise thaw.
                                                                                             

SILENT … DAFFODILS

Early April
morning sunshine
daffodil blossoms
squint until
afternoon
awakens them
into wide-eyed
wonder.
                                                                                              

SILENT … FLOATS

A lone boat floats
a single fisherman
as one reflection

while a solitary duck
vees multiple ripples
to the lake shore

cast after cast
no catch today.