Yeats’ Diggers, by Diane Jackman

Yeats’ Diggers
by Diane Jackman

At night they disappear,
starshine too weak
to show their contours
in the black envelope.

In daylight they work,
gouging out the ground,
spitting gravel down chutes
to clattering lorries
rattling in country lanes,
an orange assault
through the budding hedgerows.

But in the half-light,
arrayed along the ridge
like prehistoric beasts,
their grey bulk looms
menacing the landscape.
Then fantasy conjures
primeval shrieks and thunderings
bellows of pain as the monsters
turn their strength upon each other
in the re-fought twilight battle.

Source:
“Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven” by W B Yeats. You may read it here.

Process:
“Of night and light and the half-light”– These words referring to the cloths of heaven in the fourth line of Yeats’ poem, inspired me to write about a completely different subject, observed in the three phases of night and day.

Diane Jackman’s poetry has appeared in Rialto, Spillway, optimum, snakeskin, small press magazines and anthologies. Starting out as a children’s writer with seven books and 100 published stories, she now concentrates on poetry. She has just had a microchap, On the frayed rope of my imagination published by Origami Poems.

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I am here, by Diane Jackman

I am here
by Diane Jackman

Here among the trees, the city smoke fades
to a distant memory, purple wreaths
beyond the hills and out of sight.

Slipping into unaccustomed ways,
embracing the new landscape, people,
fitting in snug as a bespoke jacket.

Home is not always where we first saw light.
We can find it elsewhere, in a place
of sudden welcome, of deep belonging.

Diane Jackman’s poetry has been published widely in magazines and anthologies. Starting as a children’s writer, she now concentrates on poetry and researching lives in the Breckland, England’s desert. Last year she started a poetry café in Brandon, Suffolk.

Two Years On, by Diane Jackman

Two Years On
by Diane Jackman

When I switch off the noise
cross out the lists
abandon the detail
of daily living,
no words come
to take root,
flourish and grow.
Anguish sweeps in,
a spring tide
of memory and pain
spreading, flooding,
ebbing, leaving
sour and stagnant pools
in the jagged runnels.

Would you have been the same?
Robbed of notes?
Or would you have worked out
your loss in healing music?

Diane Jackman’s poetry has appeared in small press magazines and many anthologies, and has won several competitions. Starting out as a children’s writer she now concentrates on poetry. Her writing draws heavily on the past, and often reflects elements of magic realism.

Sudden Death, by Diane Jackman

Sudden Death
by Diane Jackman

Yesterday a faint rumble of thunder,
passed over now, disregarded.
Next, a sudden electrical storm,
a lightning strike from an empty sky.
One heart-stopping moment
and the family is shattered.

Shattered and scattered they lie,
the heart silent, absent,
until the ropes of love
heave and tug them to their feet.
Together they stumble forward
into a different future.

Diane Jackman’s poetry has appeared in small press magazines and many anthologies, and has won several competitions. Starting out as a children’s writer she now concentrates on poetry. Her writing draws heavily on the past, and often reflects elements of magic realism.

Dying Is Not The Time For Crackpot Theories by Diane Jackman

Dying Is Not The Time For Crackpot Theories
by Diane Jackman

In the last week, her friend’s husband said,
Mind over matter. Mind over matter.
This man also believed
in the giant cabbages of Findhorn,
though he had never seen them;
the triumph of his mind (blind belief)
over matter
(the actual size of the cabbages)
definitely not proven.

He went home satisfied
he had delivered a word in season.

In the bed my mother stared at the ceiling.
How? she said,
she who knew so well
the rampage of rogue cells,
the fresh waves of pain
as another organ was attacked.
How to stem the onslaught
by exercise of brain and will?
If we knew how, I said
we would live in an overcrowded world.

That was no comfort either.

Diane Jackman’s poetry has appeared in small press magazines and many anthologies, and has won several competitions. Starting out as a children’s writer she now concentrates on poetry. Her writing draws heavily on the past, and often reflects elements of magic realism.

between, by Diane Jackman

between
by Diane Jackman

at the water’s edge I see him skim
a stone across the waves
it bounces four five times
sinks into the ebb tide
waves roll in break on the shingle
there is no seventh wave

grey sky and grey sea
I see him bend to choose again
draw back his arm familiar
the stone flies against the sand-cliffs
the wandering dog’s pale coat
lost in the half-light

a bell tolls on the evening air
at my feet a square
of sea-glass thumbnail small
through a glass darkly
I see him move into the sea
strike out and swim away

Process note: An other-worldly incident walking my late husband’s dog along his favorite beach.

Diane Jackman’s poetry has appeared in small press magazines and many anthologies, and has won several competitions. Starting out as a children’s writer she now concentrates on poetry. Her writing draws heavily on the past, and often reflects elements of magic realism.