Poems
by Diane
Webster
Halloween Mask
Clear as newly born
an old man’s face emerges
from the swimming pool.
Below the surface his body
ripples wrinkles and sags
buoyed by water
imagining pictures --
a young man plays
beneath his Halloween mask.
Seas Again
The ship in a bottle
is discovered on shore
wondering what the message reads.
The bottle shatters
in sprays of glass
as the boat absorbs the ocean
inflates, grows, matures
to full size to sail the seas again.
I Am A Corral
I am a jailhouse for horses, cows, goats,
animals needing guidelines
of where to go, where is forbidden
when grass is always greener
on the other side, only seen,
never touched by an animal hoof.
I square off, round out,
territory like neighbors
in subdivision yards
with six-foot fences
On Landing
Fog circulates around ocean
rock formations testing waters
as I stand on top wondering
if fog conceals more rock underfoot;
if ocean lurks to snatch me
out into eternal tide or smash me
head first into a stone face;
if speed plunges me through air
off cliffs towering the mystery
of when gravity stops,
how far below is the landing.
Or do I turn my back?
Allow the fog
to encircle me
like waves around
a boulder
until low tide,
lifting fog
leaves me alone
in solidarity.
Tree Trimmer Moments
Above tree trimmers chain saw
branches crack and thump
to the ground; an incautious
boy pretends he’s Superman
in flight, a lesson in gravity,
make-believe and reality.
The radio yells through the open
truck windows between
chain saw buzzes pulsing
through the neighborhood
once silent with yellow leaves
falling in butterfly flutters
all the way to the ground.
