Poems
by Diane
Webster
Polished Narcissus
The polished floor trips
the pedestrian to its level
to double the experience
in a reposed reflection,
a meeting of prone bodies
atop each other
both facing upward
to the ceiling
which doesn’t care
one fleck of paint
what lies below
except perhaps
it’s a disruption
of its Narcissus
admiration.
Rainbow Speed
The highway drowns
in morning rain –
a cautious pickup drives
with slower traffic
as I splash left to pass.
Sunlight catches
the pickup’s backsplash
arcing rainbow colors
on the highway’s horizon.
I slow to savor the phenomena
of 70-miles-per-hour rainbow speed
until we curve a different
angle in sunshine.
In the arc of windshield wipers
the backsplash smears away
in its own twin rainbows
not colorful at all.
Stroking
Stroke, stroke, stroke
as oars pull water
in swirly ripples
echoing out behind
the craft caught now
in a whirlpool
sucking, tugging
below, deeper
until water mirrors
shore in reflection
of self.
Stroke of luck.
Stroke of genius.
Stroke of buzzard wings
as Mom dies of a stroke.
Whopper Story
Before “Jaws” scared crowds
out of the ocean, beneath the surface
of the river a 20-foot sturgeon
story drifted among old fishermen
passed down to grandchildren
made believers by snapped lines
and monstrous swirls in lazy currents.
Afraid to peer in the water
from a boat’s edge to see a dark shape
or a drowned girl’s face
for a moment, a nightmare eternity
as your father nudges you
almost plunging you into the depths.
My Own Two Feet
I stand on my own two feet
reflected on lake shore.
Not alone but connected
to myself
constantly grounded.
Flip me upside down
I am balanced
on my own two feet;
no vertigo ripples
disturb my stance.
I stand on my own two feet
even as I wade away
my reflection hides,
but I believe in its survival
as sure as I feel
my own two feet.
