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Wednesday, March 16, 2016

Julie A. Dickson ---- four poems



Untumbled Gem

Sometimes I am rough like an untumbled gem,
true essence hidden below the uncut surface.
An outward fa├žade covers my deep red garnet heart,
spiritual warmth gently held in balance.
When polished with sunlight, I might glow
in facets of brilliance like a rose quartz;
but don’t be deceived by my reflection –
for healing takes time under soft reiki-touch.
While gazing into seemingly endless depths,
the crystal light of my topaz-brown eyes
holds something else, as yet undefined
that mirrors a struggle you may have shared.

Julie A. Dickson
Exeter, NH

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Touch Nothing

Is it better to touch cold stone than to touch nothing?
You might recognize my language, my protective mode,
Like the familiar backing away
of a fleeting shadowed figure,
the last remnant of a dream fragment upon waking.
My dreams are like characters in a novel, they walk
across my heart, leaving their footprints.
Is it better to let go of emptiness, to feel even pain?
Shall I fill my empty heart, or my open palm with cool water,
perhaps sample life’s nectar, or is it better to touch nothing,
and to let nothing touch me?

Julie A. Dickson
Exeter, NH

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Emergence

A tightly coiled spring
compression in form,
helical twister
preluding a storm
A vernal deluge
bud springs from its womb
Equinoxical
emergence in bloom
Curled efferevesced bud
bends toward the warm sun,
torsion unfolding;
signs - Spring has begun

Julie A. Dickson
Exeter, NH

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New York City Sunrise

Beckoning the red dawn sky
O’er the roof tops eagles fly
Light the morning, comes the day
Affecting how I choose my way
Carriaged laughter, glasses tink
Passersby cause me to think
Hearing chatter, murmured voice
I’d leave the chaos, given choice
Would sunrise rural sky enhance
Beyond the city walls, by chance?
The buildings tall, block virtue’s dream
Quiet hillside thoughts redeem
In trepidation I may walk
Towards something new as people talk
Through the rooftops out to plains
Venture forth where sunrise reigns
Will this new dawn become that day?
Down cobbled streets I’ll find my way    

Julie A. Dickson
Exeter, NH
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Friday, November 15, 2013