Poems
by Diane Webster

 

The Car Man

 

The car man was a master.

Each wreck he had a vision;

each wreck he hammered,

sanded, painted into a masterpiece

revived by the car man’s touch.

 

The car man’s reputation flourished

like a wizard’s charm throughout

where men in automobile circles

sought his services

as the best car man in the land.

 

The car man created pedal cars

from rust, rubber tubing,

metal bent to perfection

with the car man’s hands,

the car man’s imagination.

 

The car man was a master.

The car man was our dad.

 

 

 

 

Pier Distance

 

The wooden pier rides off into the sunset.

One side of the rails corrals pedestrians;

the other side free ranges, beckons

push, fall, leap into the lake water

splashes, ripples, swallows the entrance

no one discovers gone.

 

Darkness massages the pier

into naught except a barefoot faith

strolling, trolling one hand

along the rail –

hears, sees, touches

for sound, sight, texture change

if the rail or pier finishes first.

 

 

 

 

Lake Debris

 

Driftwood collects

debris into lake coves

of stagnant current

like filing thoughts

no longer wanted

to float

down the main channel.

 

Hope is … a drought

will abandon the detritus

above the shore line

in moisture-sucking

bleach on beaches

until fossilized

it sinks, submerges,

out of sight, out of mind.

 

 

 

 

 

Stone Lake

 

Over time the lake fills

with stones –

perfect flat rocks yield

a record seventeen skips;

weighty stones barely lifted

overhead tossed onto the frozen

surface crack

ice or punch an ice hole

to claim “he-man” status.

 

Wimps litter frozen

lake with pebbles

to compete and show shame

scattered on top for all to see

until the thaw swallows stones

to the bottom settling higher.

 

Over time the lake sign reads,

“Stone Lake,” a tumor

of rocks abandoned to the sun

and heat waves washing ashore.

 

 

 

 

 

On The Verge

 

Distance mirages the water

where whales breach

clouds with blue splashes,

and the smell of rain

tricks your nose into believing

so your ears swear

thunder rumbles.

 

The dried lake bed flourishes

jigsaw puzzle pieces

of mud shrinking

away from each other --

bleached bones

escape the cartilage

holding them together

in skeletal wholeness.

 

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