Brother, Can You Spare The Time? To be fully present for the sensation of a moment where you can discover what lies behind the human masquerade, and have the chance to make everything in your life new again. You’ll uncover grief, sorrow and passion in the sensing of the body armor. The tragic spiritual mediocrity […]Read more "Brother, Can You Spare The Time?"
A Master What if A Master could teach my son to fly over the cornfields of any countryside a person might wish or dream to see. This Master would dress like a carnival barker. My son, who long ago stopped minding my rules, would kick off his tennis shoes and take flight. People would see […]Read more "A Master"
Chairs Rest Like old married couple almost holding hands two lawn chairs rest at lake’s edge. Arms spread in anticipation of sunset each evening before frogs launch into serenade, and waves lap against shore; sound of kissing. Diane Webster‘s goal is to remain open to poetry ideas in everyday life, nature or an overheard phrase […]Read more "Chairs Rest"
Becoming Eve My mother wanted me baptized with the middle name of Eve. It was 1953. The priest would not hear of it. In a covert nod to Church authority, she settled on the diminutive of “Evelyn.” I can’t recall exactly when she shared this anecdote with me. I do know I was old enough […]Read more "Becoming Eve"
Talking in Waves Dispense with the stubborn, cynical pride, evident in even the most casual aside, about which, much has already been said and many tears have been shed, she pleads. Please. What becomes of us gathers, remains and flows from every word and deed. And so, chastened, his tongue abides, cankered from flagrant use […]Read more "Talking in Waves"
Out to Find Ourselves we do you at the foot of a precipice skirting the brink this abyss I ahead of a glacier ahead of the curve And the crevice doesn’t move unless the earth beneath it moves it doesn’t shift unless the landmass shifts The glacier moves albeit slowly as the tectonic plates upon […]Read more "Out to Find Ourselves"
The Secret Lives of Things I want to learn from slime molds How they take the shape Of tapioca or icicles or pretzels Pink toothpaste, brown cigars Sucking nutrients From rotting leaves and wood And then become blue crusts Yellow splotches, tawny curlicues And vanish. Their weird diversity and transience Speak to me of beauty […]Read more "The Secret Lives of Things"
Your friends are not your friends Your friends are not your friends. There is no such thing as a friend. The wasp devours the honeybee on his dutiful search For the final flower. The flower stagnates, smelling sweet for no one. If it’s true that you kill the things you love Then she loved me […]Read more "Your friends are not your friends"
Husband: All Earth I. Led Zeppelin on Spotify, movie posters on walls, Coors Light and Old Spice, here she dove softly into cool dust. At home, it was canyons and dirt, long showers after boring sex. Her husband: all earth. Here, they were all bodies, purple Gatorade, no sleep. II. Third Eye Blind on Spotify, […]Read more "Husband: All Earth"
Impressions of the Sickhouse I watch in the world, amused by massacre and gin, homeland walls, holiday wars. Viewed from the barred gate darkened surveillance cars prowl, aimless under winter afternoon skies. Cold weather tramps straggle past construction generators, pavement gaps, work order water leaks. I take into consideration the symbolic and the sin. I […]Read more "Impressions of the Sickhouse"