Spatter / Burnt by Diane Webster

Spatter

Corrugated metal wall

spattered with white paint

and rusted ridges

transports viewer

into a forest

of lodge pole pines.

 

Snowflakes cascade

from grey sky

into covens of snowbanks

encircling each trunk

in ring-around-the-rosy

chants echoing only

in one’s mind.

 

Burnt

 

Tall, black trees protrude

from the earth like whale ribs

exposed on the beach to bleach

over the decades into white columns

until cartilage fails, and they fall

and give themselves to decay.

 

Across the road aspen trees

applaud their green leaves

still attached and waving

until October when

everything falls to earth

to enrich the soil for future

forests to grow.

Diane Webster's poetry has appeared in North Dakota Quarterly, New English Review, Studio One and other literary magazines. Her haiku/senryu have appeared in failed haiku, Kokako, Enchanted Garden Haiku. Five micro-chaps have been published by Origami Poetry Press. Her website is: www.dianewebster.com

A Prayer / Fog Moment by Diane Webster

A Prayer

Guide me through this crisis season
with grace and patience. When I feel anger
and frustration, let them fly away in a flock
of sparrows spooked by the neighborhood cat.
When I feel anxious, let it shrink like an icicle
thawing on a house eave. When I feel like screaming,
let me hear the coo of a dove like a mantra
soothing my soul. Let me breathe deep the smell
of baking bread, the aroma of pine trees
in a silent forest, a whiff of snow before it falls.
When I feel sad, lift my gaze to the sky
awash in sunset colors. When I feel like
I can't go on, give me strength to walk again.




Fog Moment

She looks out as far as she can see
maybe only as far as the fog allows.
Is that figure familiar?
Is that the right gate?
Is the shape correct to memory?
Fog might be the movie screen
of her remembrances easier
brought forward with a neutral
background. No distractions, sound
muffled like when you held your hands
over your ears when your parents yelled.
Her hand rests against her cheek
smoothing some wrinkles, deepening
others. Doesn’t matter. A breeze tickles
through her hair; strands of memories
almost caught into a scene. She gazes
at the table and follows wood grains over
the edge, back and forth, back and forth
until vertigo circles her head. She closes
her eyes for moments ... past. Raises
her head skyward, toward the horizon —
a sailor’s wife solitary on the beach,
waiting, wondering, searching
for the ship’s mast. Foghorns moan.
Surf rolls in, rolls out without the aid
of seashells echoing in ears from days
long ago. She waits, a figurehead
on a ship’s bow feeling ocean mist
effervescent against her vessel.

Diane Webster lives in western Colorado. She has been nominated for Best of the Net and three times for a Pushcart. Five of her micro-chaps have been published by Origami Poetry Press. Diane's website is: www.dianewebster.com

Sunflower Stalk Man by Diane Webster

Beside the koi pond the man/boy lingers
like a head-bowed sunflower stalk
too heavy to worship the sun
in an east to west arc awe.

His clone reflection ripples
away into goldfish flash
into plant roots trailing roots
to cradle, cuddle, soothe.

If he jumps, would he return
to his embryonic womb to finish
growing, receiving the missing gene,
the gene to happiness
to raise his head to meet the sun,
to mature the seeds he houses inside
wishing to emerge to feed friends
like sparrows bending over
a sunflower head drying, ripening
in autumn sun and moon freeze?

Diane Webster's work has appeared in North Dakota Quarterly, New English Review, Studio One and other literary magazines. Five micro-chaps have been published by Origami Poetry Press. She was a featured writer in Macrame Literary Journal and WestWard Quarterly. Her website is: www.dianewebster.com

Fake Flying / Garden Fairies by Diane Webster

Fake Flying

Single crow lands on a fence post

and faces into the wind.

Wings spread

it pretends to fly

while still attached to the post.

 

Grandpa’s weather vane

dances in partnership

with Oregon wind

while on the ground

I lean forward to stand

on one leg with my arms

outstretched like a single crow

flying in air with talons

clenched on the fence post.

 

 

Garden Fairies

 

Garden fairies run cross-country

between stones and petrified wood

I place meticulously on my land.

Piles of dirt await my intentions

while wind whisks away tiny footprints

climbing to the top because it was there.

 

At night snapdragons 

turn into sleeping bags.

Johnny Jump Ups guard darkness

like lions scanning the savanna.

Crickets chirp lullabies until silenced;

eyes and ears attune to the world

until one by one a thousand crickets

resume their theme of tunes.

 

Garden fairies drink dew from tulip cups

and whir across the lawn to lie

in crabapple branches to inhale

blossom aromas, to listen to bees

buzz in and out of fragrances.

Diane Webster's work has appeared in North Dakota Quarterly, New English Review, Studio One and other literary magazines. She had micro-chaps published by Origami Poetry Press in 2022, 2023, 2024 and 2025. Diane was a featured writer in Macrame Literary Journal and WestWard Quarterly. Her website is: www.dianewebster.com

Room of Forget by Diane Webster

Rooster crowed … crowed … crowed; 

I dragged … dragged … dragged 

myself awake; forgot I had died. 

 

This room is not my room. 

Perhaps a motel room. 

Am I on vacation? 

Where’s my wife? The bed indents 

only one merry-old-soul form. 

Our picture hangs on the wall, 

but it’s not my wall -- white, 

too white like my skinny legs. 

My pants feel right; my shoes fit, 

but why am I here? Where am I? 

 

Someone knocks on my door and enters. 

 

“Time for breakfast, Riley. Are you ready?” 

 

Riley fumbles for his cane and shuffles 

down the hall to the dining room filled 

with residents looking at him 

for someone familiar. Should he know them? 

 

Rooster crows in the distance, 

but no one hears; no one remembers… 

again … and again … and again. 

Diane Webster's work has appeared in El Portal, North Dakota Quarterly, Verdad and other literary magazines. She had micro-chaps published by Origami Poetry Press in 2022 and 2023 and was nominated for Best of the Net in 2022.

Ripple Out / Searching Lost by Diane Webster

Ripple Out

If I peer over the side 

of the boat, what do I want to see? 

A mirror reflection, 

a blurry, wave-induced self 

that could be me or an ancestor, 

a darkened form swimming 

under the boat like a whale 

ready to surface beneath 

bucking me airwards 

in pseudo-flight only 

to splash down like a pelican 

scooping fish below 

and bobbing, floating on surface 

to swallow and sate. 

 

I look from the lake, 

reach out a hand 

and touch myself 

as a ripple echoes 

out toward shore. 

 

 

Searching Lost

Lost like wandering into the forest 

like hearing a kitten meow in the distance 

wanting to save the helpless creature 

calling for help among strange sights 

looking and listening farther away 

in the name of saving ... the hero effect … 

hugs, pats on the back, smiles galore, 

handshakes and tears of happiness. 

 

Except no one’s searching. 

No one notices I’m gone. 

I purposely disappear 

and search and rescue 

never receives a call. 

Lost like never having 

been there at all. 

 

Diane Webster's work has appeared in Verdad, North Dakota Quarterly, New English Review and other literary magazines. She had a micro-chap published by Origami Poetry Press in 2022 and 2023 and was nominated for Best of the Net in 2022.

Hallelujah Spring / Idleness by Diane Webster

Hallelujah Spring

Like a monastery 

snow-bulky pine trees 

sag in domes 

atop the mountain 

closer in prayer 

to catch the ear of God 

above clogged 

masses of grasses 

buried beneath. 

 

Tree boughs bow 

in winter reverence 

gowned in purity, 

anonymous in white, 

a forest of awe 

devoted to snow 

awaiting 

Hallelujah spring. 

 

 

Idleness

  

The woman’s silhouette 

stands on the darkened land 

as if on the horizon’s edge. 

 

Stagnant as a ship’s sail 

sagging without wind 

she allows the tsunami 

of night to consume her 

into its darkness. 

 

By morning she returns 

as a shadow stretching 

her skinny figure 

across grass rippling 

like waves washing its beach. 

 

The woman stands 

on the lightening land 

as if on a cloud’s 

silver lining.

Diane Webster lives in Colorado where she retired in 2022 from working 40 years at a local newspaper. She enjoys the challenge of transforming images into words. Her work has appeared in "El Portal," "North Dakota Quarterly," "New English Review" and other literary magazines.