Poems by Diana Randolph

The following poems will appear in Diana's upcoming book Beacons of the Earth and Sky,
to be published by Savage Press.

A Butterfly in September

While sitting at my kitchen table,
from the corner of my eye
I glimpse something moving
across the window.
A green maple leaf
blown off early by the wind?

A butterfly celebrates
today’s golden warmth.
Such a contrast
to last week’s heavy frost
when green maple leaves
braced themselves
under an inch of heavy snow.

The butterfly flutters to the
sweet nectar of violet-striped petals
on the hardy, zebrina hollyhocks
which grow next to shriveled cosmos
who couldn’t take the joke
of Jack Frost last week.

The orange-brown butterfly
flits back and forth
across the window.
There’s no wind
in the forest today.

No whirlwind
to push it off its determined course.

Though I have a pile of chores awaiting-
clothes in the washing machine,
dishes to wash
and a bathtub to scrub,
the butterfly’s carefree flight
beckons me to flee outdoors
to soak up September’s warmth.

Making Room

Peacemakers journey on a ship
with special permission to pass
through war-zone waters unharmed.

Explosions erupt in the tepid sea,
broken promises.
Peacemakers blasted right out of existence
by volcanic, clenched hearts
with built-up pressure.
Destructive, angry, boiling blood,
erupting hot lava.
Makes me wonder if there is room
for peacemakers in our world.

I want to tell those closed-fisted hearts:
stop for a moment and listen
to the natural world.

Do geese fly above you
heading south
with faint honking
growing stronger, filling the sky?

Above my forest,
graceful wings journey in unison
with space between,
room to breathe.

Watch the geese
until your heart opens,
releasing pressure.

Feel love spreading
through you,
expanding to the horizon
and beyond
with enough space
in your heart to keep promises,
making room for peacemakers
in our world.

Winter Dawn

The golden-lit tips
of the bare branches
of the high-reaching
quaking aspen trees
are first
to glimpse
the sunrise.

Winter’s Setting Sun

The low hanging sun
illuminates
a temporary golden path
through the snowy woodland
until
the Earth pivots
into a dark slumber.