Diane Elayne Dees
Diane Elayne Dees Poems
My father stands behind my mother;
he guides her hands on his favorite rifle.
Behind them is a weathered shed;
...
Tar balls appear thirty miles
from my from my front door.
In the early morning and near dusk, the perfume
...
Arctic ice melts,
white bear starves.
White House speaks:
...
The image we will always remember:
You, swirling and spinning
throught the streets of New York,
...
Daughter of hunters,
Atalanta knows survival.
Daughter of bears,
...
You danced on the patio, bending to shadows
sprawled on the lawn by apple trees
gleaming gold in the New England dusk.
...
Endless Contract Negotiations Wearing Thin on Drew Brees
Front page headline, New Orleans Times-Picayune
...
It doesn't seem like seven years have passed
since we first saw the smoke and heard the blast.
When traumatized, a slowing down is needed,
...
The truth is like ink that leaks from a pen
no matter how careful you are filling the nib.
The truth is like the gel you place under
...
A twelve-year-old boy, kidnapped in Iraq
and held for ransom. The family paid-
his sexually abused body then found
...
This is not the tennis you learned in school
in New York, California or Wisconsin.
This is dirty. Socks turn red, feet slide
like sandpaper on the smoothest pine
...
Diane Elayne Dees Biography
writes, gardens and practices psychotherapy in Louisiana. Two of her poems were nominated for the Pushcart Prize in 2006, and she has poetry recently published or forthcoming in Moondance, The Raintown Review, Out of Line, Mobius, and the Syracuse Cultural Workers’Women Artists Datebook.)
The Best Poem Of Diane Elayne Dees
Portrait Of My Parents, 1946
My father stands behind my mother;
he guides her hands on his favorite rifle.
Behind them is a weathered shed;
before them, miles of untamed land.
He guides her hands on his favorite rifle,
she stares at it but does not shoot;
before them miles of untamed land
foretell her fate for years to come.
She stares at it but does not shoot.
She does not smile, her resignation
foretells her fate for years to come.
She does not know why she is there.
She does not smile, her resignation
has taken her across the sea;
she does not know why. She is there
with a man and a gun, and the scars of battle
have taken her across the sea,
away from her home. Now she stands
with a man and a gun and the scars of battle.
Will she ever see England again?
Away from her home, now she stands
in smartly pleated pants in a desolate land.
Will she ever see England again?
she ponders, as they hold the rifle.
In smartly pleated pants in a desolate land,
she stands with the man who controls the gun.
She ponders, as they hold the rifle,
waiting for the inevitable blast.
She stands with the man who controls the gun;
behind them is a weathered shed.
Waiting for the inevitable blast,
my father stands behind my mother.
Diane Elayne Dees Comments
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8/28/2026 1:14:51 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
