Three Poems by Diane Webster

Dust Particles

Even in wind
the cottonwood leaves
couldn't shake the dust
from their surface.
Grass tried to grow taller
to rise above billowing clouds
choking their blades.
Rocks buried themselves
in an attempt to filter
the fine particles
between cousin sand pebbles.
Even the sound of a stream
barely quenched the scene
until a monarch butterfly
appeared in an epiphany
so bright and new as if
freshly birthed from cocoon;
it fluttered through
the dingy turnoff
like the first breath
after a drowning.



Feather Tickles

A single feather sticks upright
between gravel in the driveway
where an Indian is buried
up to his feather,
where a dove suddenly veers
off course because of a feather
shed in mid-flight,
where an ant dragged the treasure
into the wind for the best chance
to launch skyward to see
the world scurrying below
like millions of its ancestors.



Bee Feeder

Bees have commandeered
the hummingbird feeder
this early September day.
Plastic, yellow flowers
ooze more nectar
than the originals below
growing brittle in Fall
like rust flaking off
an old wreck of a car
the bees call home at night.

Diane Webster enjoys the challenge of picturing images into words to fit her poems.  If she can envision her poem, she can write what she sees and her readers can visualize her ideas.  That's the excitement of writing.  Her work has appeared in "The Hurricane Review," "Eunoia Review," "Illya's Honey," and other literary magazines.