poetry
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Howl
The Dalai Lama says that the world will be saved by Western women. Not any women, perhaps not all women, but Burning Women. Women who have stepped out of silence and into the fullness of their power. Angry women who love the world and her creatures too much to let it be destroyed so thoughtlessly… Continue reading
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sylvia’s hair
Her hair in a box decapitated like her thumb top was what memories does that hair hold? Sunny days in the water off Nauset perhaps and sharks washing up in yards after hurricanes or that toe big as a Frisco seal? This cut is a bloodless beheading and I stare in fascination a member of… Continue reading
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I think i wonder
Jot down the first thing that comes to your mind. what do I write I’m frozen ten miles deep in an unyielding concrete sea Immobility begins in the heart years worth a pickaxe squeals over bouncing off effortlessly What if I did trap it it was no good to me anyway too soft to open… Continue reading
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night
I clean my face at night my mother calls it taking off the day. I can clean my face, but I have seen too much that cannot be washed away I wonder what it is all for, the fear, the smell of dread, the infighting and I wonder if things will be different in the… Continue reading
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Atropos dreams
I dreamed about a dead poets son who self annihilated I took an elevator that went to nowhere and stopped between floors. He was darkly handsome His smile comfortably intimate, as if this weren’t death we were living in as if his life had never happened. I becamelost in his studio, scattered with the detritus… Continue reading
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Girl Talk: The Code of Sylvia Plath’s “Cut”
Given her Swiftian bent in “Cut,” Plath fantastically extrapolates Freud’s castration complex and imagines the female anatomy in ludicrous male personas, each with its own abject place in history, while the poem serves, at once, as a celebration, social satire and lament about female gender. Girl Talk: The Code of Sylvia Plath’s “Cut” This is a… Continue reading
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Dissonance
Im only free when I drink free to say what I want and how i want when I don’t care that my barbaric yawp hits the wall and slides down into an abyss of silence silence that smothers and silence smothers me in this worldI am not made for I never realized this world is… Continue reading
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the quiet current rages below
stillness, the stillnessa new silence that descendsin darknessand space, spacethat moves among usinvisibilityit is the uneaten foodthe empty platethe unused shoesthe too big bedthe listless clothes unwornthat hang on one side of the closetthe wife, now widowedthe husband without wifethe unanswered questionsthe where of Godthe words unspokenthe love that still livesendlesslythe stillness, the stillness© diane… Continue reading
About Me
poet, diarist, writer, teacher, woman, fragile, strong, northern life is my domicile, my barbaric yawp exudes against the tide
Diary of an American 