Diana van den Berg Poems

Sixty-five years
within this gardened home
dripping with peace,
and bird song,
...

My uncle died.
I am not sure when
nor of what
nor how old he was
...

I touched death
today
for a moment
as a leaf
...

The sky is quietly dark tonight
and though the silvered moon
peeps shyly
from behind a diaphanous cloud,
...

Spot has
red
and blue
and yellow
...

The art of nature
and the nature of art
explode into a teardrop
of asymmetrical symmetry
...

The older I grow
the more I know
that I don’t know.
...

You,
Flicka,
the horse-angel
of my dreams
...

You went about your something way.
You lit your fire like clockwork every night,
and scattered your spot with your litter,
As though it was your dirty washing, your cushions, your shoes.
...

The day’s tattered, shattered nerves
bathe their wounds in the stillness.
This haven - book-impregnated -
Stimulates my mind,
...