By Diane Webster (December 2025)
Silent … vine
=
The brick wall warms
under the morning sun
with memories
of kiln-fired infancy
wavering in heat waves.
=
Drops of dew from the roof drip,
drip, drip with gravity inside
downspout leaks onto the vine
stretching along the wall’s foundation
until it grabs
mortar and brick, mortar and brick;
tacks green pitons into cracks
as it climbs beside the spout
hand over hand, foot hold
over foot hold higher, higher
each chlorophyll boost of energy
coursing through its veins.
=
It pulls itself over the eave,
waves in triumph in the wind
before it lies prone and crawls
over shingles toward the gable’s peak
triumphant as a weathervane
confident in its direction.
–
–
–
Silent … prairie dogs
–
Across a snow-covered field
prairie dogs stand
on their hind legs
like a gathering of Buddhas
in meditation.
=
Shadows stretch
in sundial movement
while white snow sparkles
star constellations
as the sun arcs
across the sky,
melting the town’s footprints
a little more.
–
=
=
Silent … peeling
–
One bench set in concrete
seats one man
in front of one ocean.
–
Paint peels to bare wood
as wind detaches the last strand
of brush strokes, and paint
falls into a cradle of grass blades
as if the bough broke.
–
Wind flutters the liberated strip
and skips it along through
the fence rail barrier between
and over the edge of the beach
and into the surf
back and forth, in and out
like a raft adrift where paint
has never gone before.
=
=
=
Silent … leaf
=
From a cloudy sky
a single leaf
falls and lands
on the solid white line
of a highway’s shoulder.
=
It rocks back and forth
like a hitchhiker’s thumb
begging a ride farther
down the road.
=
A wind gust scoops it
onto a car’s windshield
stuck in wipers by its stem
like a kite held down
by a taut string
=
until the wiper blade cuts its tie
in back-and-forth swipes;
the leaf descends
like an upside down
umbrella gathering rain
or a palm scooping up a drink.
–
–
–
Silent … Aloha
–
Aspen leaves surround
the lake’s shore…
an Aloha lei worn
until wilted petals
surrender, drop
like autumn leaves.
–
Like fallen leaves
weighted in water
sink another flutter
to lie in silt to change
shade to decay brown…
another Aloha.
–
–
Table of Contents
Diane Webster lives in western Colorado. Her 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, and Enchanted Garden Haiku. Micro-chaps were published by Origami Poetry Press in 2022, 2023, 2024 and 2025. Diane has been nominated for Best of the Net and a Pushcart. Diane retired in 2022 after 40 years in the newspaper industry. She was a featured writer in Macrame Literary Journal and WestWard Quarterly. Her website is: www.dianewebster.com.
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