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Poetry

Unpublished poems

Scores more poems will be available soon on a link.

Willy is Silly,

He Talks to His Cat

By Diane Allison

Willy is silly, he talks to his cat

about cars, about corn, about this about that

about how he loves music and good fur hats

and how he hates blisters and beets and. . .

fat cats.

Now Tilly, his cat, was fat.

She knew by the spot that the scale pointed at.

So Tilly, poor Tilly, just cried in his lap.

Willy is silly, he did not know that

Tilly was crying because she was fat.

He said all would be well if she just took a nap.

But well it was not.  She thought and she thought

till the sun came in and by then she knew 

she just had to get thin!

So she ran on the road, 

she ran on the track

she touched both her toes,

sat up and sat back.

Till Tilly, poor Tilly just up and fell flat.

Bu still she was fat.

So she started to pack.

Willy is silly he talk to his cat

(not knowing that Tilly had started to pack)

about how he loves music and good fur hats

and how he hates blisters and beets and fat cats.

Tilly saw tears fall in her sack.

But 

Just then old Willy picked up his dear cat.

And gave her a hug, a stroke and a pat

and told her that she was the best of all cats.

He loved how she walked

He loved how she pranced

Did she want to go out?

Did she want to go dance?

Willy is silly

He danced with his cat.

And when they went home

She was his fur hat.

Oh Willy is silly,

but so is his cat.

And just between us,

I like them like that.

Published poems

Child of light

By Diane Allison

From the July 19, 2004 issue of the Christian Science Sentinel 

Children of light, he called us! 
He, who moved as a moonbeam on water 
unweighted by heavy assumptions 
of the birth and death and sorrow of dust; 
Unillusioned by feet of clay, on feet of sight he 
swiftly came to comfort, teach and heal 
with hands whose touch 
outshone old shadows of shame and 
reached through death-dreams to wake to radiance 
his brother/sister-beams.

As when his very presence, streaming goodness like piercing arrows, 
sends unclean demons fleeing, screaming, to eagerly sink and drown, 
and leave the dear man lighthearted, loved and whole. 
"In him was life; and the life was the light of men," 
This loving life my light? Shining me? 
Oh, Father of lights, burn through these dream-weights 
and wake his sister-self in me, a healing, gliding shaft of Love, following Your lead.

John 1:4