back to Five Willows Literary Review main site

Monday, October 1, 2018

Julie A. Dickson ----- five poems

Weather the Storm

Shift thinking toward major change
to rearrange, no more head shaking
or dreaded loneliness impending,
but together we will weather
the storm of locusts, never torn from
one another’s arms, we hold fast
as life’s tempest tosses our souls,
like balancing a bowl on our knees,
we seize every moment to embrace,
to chase the worries of the world
until a calm smoothes the lines
from my weary face, wind declines
leaving a rainbow of colors,
we revel in the yellows and blues,
we choose to weather the storm,
laughing at the sea; it will not
dislodge the mast, will not cast
us into deep waters, we will swim free.

Julie A. Dickson 


Hot Days Farewell

Away with stress, the things of man
down the road, a plan to drive far,
along highways on our way to fields
of green, where cows nod heads,
bow their hello from pastures
yet to mow, harvest still a-ways off,
looking forward to falling back,
when Autumn equinox hums a song,
bidding hot days farewell, dog days
give way to crisp apples in fall air,
I declare my favorite time of year.

Julie A. Dickson


Almost Full

Above the trees haunts,
as in a scary tale,
skeletal branches
like arms beckoning -
come closer;
almost full moon,
eerily lopsided,
warped in its beauty -
stares out of night sky,
questioning why I
would ever think, even
in the absence of stars
moon would not shine
its hello to the pre-dawn.

Julie A. Dickson

Haiku Triplet

Beneath scudding clouds
Feel vertigo motion
Despite solid ground

The world intervenes
Un-meditated, I sway
Hearing mind clutter

Surrender to sky
Consciousness finally wanes
Contemplate silence

Julie A. Dickson

Poetry and Shrimp
[Reaction poem to The Prince of Tides by Pat Conroy]

Before I knew of the prince
in an unfamiliar low land,
I already loved poetry and books.

Then I heard his words spoken
like whispers at low tide,
a fishing net was thrown over me,

dragging me into the boat
with writhing shrimp and cod, but
while they struggled for air

I breathed for the first time.
The melody of his story wrapped me
in a rough-weather foulie.

Brine permeated
my thoughts, though my skin
shed the water like an oil skin.

Now that I know the prince’s tidal pools,
fluid, the language of poetry and shrimp,
I feel the rope burn my hands and salt on my tongue.

Julie A. Dickson

1 comment:

  1. Thanks to Koon and Five Willows for giving our poetry a home.
    We need to lift our voices, as we did on Sat, Sept 29th as part of 100 Thousand Poets for Change! The pen is mightier than the sword...