Frozen Words
When, so to speak, your pencil glows red-hot,
opening warm words like roses.
When your pencil grows cold,
it floats as upon arctic ocean waves.
The pencil has two lives, warm and cold.
Roses bloom in thoughts echoing embers,
the flames dance and whirl around,
dropping petals of brilliance.
In the cold, I struggle to hold
onto the pencil, to inceptive ideas.
My words slip and shift
as I blow warmth onto my hands.
I wish for my fingerless gloves
and lose my grip.
The pencil drops to the floor,
my words frozen, never put to paper.
Julie A. Dickson
Exeter, NH
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A World Without Ivory
Dye rhino horns and elephant tusks pink,
as humans attempt to protect, think of ways
to save land mammals, for slaughter reaches
a grand scale, that quest for ivory appeals
to some for riches and reveals human greed in
their darkest hour, as man continues to exceed
and dismiss warnings of extinction, will not
heed or give way to nature, in her methods
to cull or evolve, each species to survive.
Can humans even attempt to revive or solve
this dilemma while faced with men on the sea,
who brutally sever fins, release sharks to death,
so that chefs may create soup?
Caged primates in signs, speak to men,
hearing lies, taught to them - a language
they cannot believe, left to perish
by humans who cajole and deceive.
And humans berate and chastise- hate
a lonely captive killer whale who missed his family
home and preferred not to play their games,
no longer wanted to entertain.
Solitary elephants in zoos, on cold concrete, stand
swaying, unable to speak or express sorrow -
man seems not to understand, that given land to roam,
not wrenched from family units, wander together,
ponder the next succulent branch.
The odor of burning ivory permeates, does not change the fate
of fallen beasts but some nations pass laws to cease the trade.
Since poachers have killed for the largest tusks,
in Africa, females from birth are sometime born without –
[tusks] genetic path or evolution, nature’s way to decrease worth
and therefore survive? Though at what cost as they mourn
all who were lost at the hands of man…
Perhaps elephants dream of a world without ivory.
Julie A. Dickson
Exeter, NH
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Harvest
Moonlight carries me
into the night, but if I am right
creatures who emerge watch
from shadows, notch of tree.
They sense my presence in the unknown,
wish me gone, forest theirs till dawn,
to forage, wander and seek,
willing trespasser not to speak -
breech the unspoken treaty
between us, move forward I must.
I continue on under harvest moon
bathing light over forest gloom,
deep in thought, I listen to night,
not without sound, my footsteps resound
through a loud crunch of leaves
forest dwellers wait, I believe,
patiently for me to pass,
driven to gather, they rather rejoice
under harvest moon’s bounty
no need to rush, there is plenty.
Julie A. Dickson
Exeter, NH
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How Can it Be?
I long for a joy that somehow evades,
get caught up with others, but always in trade,
at such a high cost, I remain under cover,
question what it is I must discover.
My heart feels heavy, longing, but scarred
leftover feelings, from your arms I was barred.
I speak often of love, to be somebody’s jewel,
but instead,. D at times I have been played as a fool.
How can it be, I still have not found
to be certain, the path over well-worn ground,
I’ve traveled and tested my heart once again,
in vain, I see no one to call my true friend.
Perhaps in the end I have only myself
set aside, overlooked, china doll on a shelf
covered in dust, forgotten, dismayed
glass-empty eyes recall times being played,
fancied, yet briefly, my heart was to blame
the need was so great until the time came
that again I saw clearly, not as it seemed,
I was shocked into waking up from a dream.
Then I sat up in wonder, heard no clever phrase
to whisper I warned you, I awoke in a daze,
alone still I wander, the solemn nights weep
unfortunate choices, I drift into sleep.
Julie A. Dickson
Exeter, NH
