Diana van den Berg Poems

As motionless as a cold stone statue,
she sat on the window seat,
chin on hands,
with saddened eyes
...

Her sky-eyes soft-hold
the horizon
velvet-green gentle
against the blue, blue, blue
...

Whispering palms
paint the curved lines
of imagined childhood dreams
that weep and shudder
...

I spread out my arms
ballerina-wide
to draw the drapes
on the soft hours,
...

Blending
as one
willow wand
in the wind
...

I would have liked
to tell you
that
despite your sarcasm
...

You are the magic of the morning,
the passion of the midday sun
and the solace of the night sky
and of all your gifts to me,
...

Thunder called,
Lightning compelled,
And
Destined to be drawn
...

My uncle Erskine
from colder climes
these last fifty decades
and more
...

It’s hard with no footstep on the verandah,
and no greeting in the hall.

It’s hard flying solo
on my elation
...