by Diane Webster 


Summer heat surfs up southern wall,
slithers into swamp cooler vents
to vaporize water meant to soothe
humans inside the office thus
converting cooler into heater.

The woman perspires when no one
listens to facts of cooler malfunction
so she turns it off.

The man sweats and steams
as he cranks machine to high cool
pumping burnt outside air
to the inside with dust-devil fury
and brimstone conflagration
claiming, “It’s hot in here!”


Rock perches atop the hill
where crows land,
where white poop flows
like a waterfall
cascading over
the resting site.

Crows only dream
of trout below
to scavenge
as trucks roar by
like water pounding
itself in the plunge.


The fly on the mirror admires
its multi-faceted identical twin
that crawls in unison to the edge,
but only darkness on the other side.
It matches flight patterns
as if synapses fire lightning
decisions between them;
as if infinity and finite
expands/contracts between them;
as if a fishing line dangles
between them waiting
to tug someone to the other side.


Face your fears
as I stare down
canyon walls
echoing green river
rapids like heart

My fingers throb
against cold pipe
barriers bolted into rock
I’m sure will fail
after decades of freeze/thaw.

Like a boulder released
I leap, a bird too fast
to see soars passed;
the river throbs inside hearing.

Sight focuses like binoculars
until something big passes
across the lens,
something dark shatters.


Pine tree commits suicide simply
by relaxing its roots.
It topples to lie in the forest —
a pothole of grass/roots dislodges
like a cowboy dying
with his boots on.

Did anyone hear the surrender
as it fell and scratched branches
against its neighbor as if begging
at someone’s feet for a helping limb?
Was the forest too vast
to give a damn
about one passing tree?

About the Author:

Diane Webster grew up in Eastern Oregon before she moved to Colorado.  She enjoys drives in the mountains to view all the wildlife and scenery and takes amateur photographs.  Writing poetry provides a creative outlet exciting in images and phrases Diane thrives in.  Her work has appeared in “the Aurorean,” “Better Than Starbucks,” “Philadelphia Poets,” and other literary magazines.