Julie Dickson ----- three poems

Melt into Rhyme

 

When you allege an untruth,

attempt to drive a wedge -

I find it uncouth,

this type of descent

into the abyss of strife.

 

I would be remiss

if I failed to make good

or henceforth unveiled

the plans I understood

long ago we set forth.

 

We vowed to forego words,

allowed, written in pen -

at the time I was smitten,

unto you felt sublime,

caused me to melt into rhyme.

 

 

Julie A. Dickson

Exeter, NH

----

Minstrel

 

Traveling minstrel sets off on his way

walking from village to town he will play

upon his carved whistle or bow to his shoulder,

music conveyed from small stage or large boulder.

Hat set in place collecting donations,

plays well-known tunes or his own creations.

Some towns accepting, and some prone to dance

but wandering minstrels must all take a chance-

for serious folk might chase him away,

while welcoming kinsmen will ask him to stay.

His garb a soft tunic with felted green hat

Fiddle cuts silence in the key of e flat.

His welcome is worn, pockets weighed down with coin,

leaves town with his food stores, all bought or purloined.

If you see a minstrel who plays on the trail

you may hear a ballad or perhaps a tall tale,

for all through his travels, the roads left behind,

all music and stories are held in his mind.

He wanders - the minstrel to share what he hears

the music plays on, until he disappears.

 

Julie A. Dickson

Exeter, NH

----

Premonition

 

I may have held my breath

during a hot day in late August,

almost angry to see a red leaf so soon,

as if its mere presence shocked me,

the premonition mounting like a crescendo

 

The curtain of season-change drops,

warmth fading, seemingly in just one day –

caught, the red, a stray blown leaf,

lost, while others rejoice, sharing their brilliance.

 

 

Julie A. Dickson

Exeter, NH