The Ancients


I’m a child

running free
with excitement and glee
feeling winds on my face.

I’m a dancer in time.

I can dance
on the arms

I can drift through the skies,

Planets light up my eyes.
This universe of ours
shows how small we all are.

I’m a dancer in time.

Observing from earth
nets that sparkle and shimmer,
stars that shrink and glimmer.

The ancients gazed at deep black skies
with naked eyes.
No glasses to look,
No text in a book.
What stars they had seen
just what did they mean?

Watching seasons dance past
Food to eat at last and
talking around winter fires
Warming basic desires

Understanding at last
the stars in the skies.
For those ancient dancers in time.

copyright 2014 Diana Leighton

The Christmas Angel

 The ChristmasAngel

The Christmas Angel waited. She sat in her box all wrapped up in sparkling tinsel and delicate soft pink tissue... but she was feeling very sad and forgotten.

One cold snowy day, her box opened, and the Christmas Angel was gently lifted up to the light. Some very small warm hands held her and they very carefully removed the tinsel and unwrapped the tissue paper.

The Christmas Angel  smiled at the little girl who was looking at her. The little girl said “How lovely and pretty you are”. The Christmas Angel was so happy that she was once again in the light and warmth of the room seeing and hearing the sights and sounds of Christmas.

The little girl was laughing now and ran across the room holding the Christmas Angel and gently placed her at the top of the tree. The little Christmas Angel looked down and saw that all her old friends were there. She wiggled her sparkly wings and sprinkled stardust over the tree so that it shimmered in the moonlight. The tin soldiers saluted her, the sugar mice waggled their long tails and the wobbly striped sugar canes straightened up. Then the tiny little robins very proudly fluffed out their feathers and whistled her a tune. 

Now the Christmas Angel and her friend the little girl were happy. It was Christmas and they were all together once again.

copyright Diana Leighton December 1st 2014

Tickling Fish - a children's poem

Tickling Fish

Early morning, traipsing to the pond
Carrying jam sandwiches, strung jars, fishing net.
Sunshine slices through the woodland
while birch trees wear their leaves of green lace.
The sun’s rays kiss motes of dust
and paints them gold.
Minute creatures and moths fly up,
warming delicate wings made cold by night.
Tiny tornadoes stir curled leaves:
while wood ants rush up busy, busy.
I see the pond and stream -
a silver ribbon threading through
pillows of mist washed moss.
A flash of light sees spiders
sitting knitting webs of silken steel
While dewdrops slide along; pearl beads.
Fish, waiting, watching.
Quivering iridescent flashes
of fish, three-spine stickleback;
tiny rainbows dart and jab,
mother of pearl dashes and splashes,
holds still - alert, suspicious,
silver bubbles float effortlessly
to the surface, breaking tension.
My hand hovering, holding,
frozen, slides in like a knife
Wiggling fingers under bellies
tickling fish, slide into the net.
Quietly, gently
tickling fish.
Watching bubbles laugh
as they burst.
Tickling fish.
Behold a giant! A super-sized
Three- Spined three inch Stickleback!
In my jam jar, a trophy!
It’s huge!
But wait…
It has to go back
Sliding in the jam jar
Tension meets tension
He’s free with a shake
A dart, a dash, a nod.
The pond is full of rainbows
Late afternoon traipsing from the pond
Eaten all my sandwiches, wet net, empty jars
Sunshine retiring from the wood
I kick an ants nest, watch them scurry
I’m going back home, I’d better hurry.

copyright Diana Leighton October 2014



In the alleyways and campos
You call for me.
The drizzle dances softly on cobbles
streams of steam rise
curling between the
lovers replete with Lavazza
and Bardolino
with closed sly eyes
they listen to the music and sway.

In their endless dreams they
live their lives in seamless
dreamy films of love and betrayal.

I am a watcher – a streetwalker

a lurker who watches all life

I am a seeker in the dark,

a player of the night.

I jump softly down.
The drizzle soaks my coat.
With swiftness I run
past the drunks
with their empty bottles.
I slink past the shadows
in doorways where
I hear the promised lies
mix with groans of pleasure
I see them all.

electric eyes glowing -
feel them watching

I hear her call my name
I’m gone, I’m home, I’m tired.
I’m loved.
I am cat.

copyright: Diana Leighton 2014