Poems
by Diane Webster

 

 

What Ripples

 

I skip stones across

the surface of your lives

not knowing

what ripples dump you from your boats,

what ripples white-water thrill you,

what ripples touch you

like spider’s thread,

what ripples catch you

like an unseen clothes line,

what ripples choke the last breath

from your lungs,

what ripples fill your day

like wind beneath a kite.

I skip stones

now settled below

where sun ripples dance above

like a fire flickering,

rippling warmth

throughout the night.

 

 

 

 

 

Dripping

 

Before the drip drops,

a snowflake crucifies

itself on the icicle,

merges

its weight

to the dripping

again … again.

 

As sure

as the sun rises

each morning

again and again.

 

 

 

 

 

Link Momentum

 

The chain from the door lock

hangs like a balloon string

hopeful

when the door slams

a puff of air strong

swings the chain links

by momentum into the slide

to slide across

locking the door to the jamb

like a string to the balloon.

 

 

 

 

 

Bridge Breaks

 

Gazing into the blue sky

the bridge across the gorge

looks like a human hair

with split ends ready

to snap beneath its weight.

 

The wreck plummets

in slow motion

like wads of leaves

flung into the air

to retrace their descents.

 

Watching a snow globe

calm after the storm

until all hell breaks loose

when gravity collides

with prehistoric rock

again and again

until the human-hair bridge

terminates.

 

 

 

 

 

Prisoner Creek

 

Like a prisoner trying to dig

out of his cell without

the guard’s awareness

the creek, under cover of current,

swirls away at the pylons

balancing the bridge in between.

Time means nothing to a lifer,

but the bigger the hole,

the nearer escape shows

like at the end of the tunnel.

 

Collapse of the wall

means nothing.

Downfall of the bridge

means nothing.

Getting out from under

is liberation!

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