Five Poems by Julie A. Dickson

 

Ocean of hello

 

gulls and water –

seem to wave me in

 

call to envelop

cover me in salt tears

enough to forget

 

or perhaps recall

weeping times

not easily faced,

 

each breath of sea

pulls air from lungs

deep under water

 

as my body drifts

seaweed strokes

my face softly

 

sweet caress

ocean of hello

what I most need

 

Memory

 

“You think you have a memory,

but it has you” – John Irving

 

A strong grip on me,

memory takes hold,

conjured not as dream

but an old reality

 

as if yanked by shirt

dragged back in time,

to when I was young

capable of pain, hurt

 

to the quick, they say

thoughts remind me,

powerful tendrils pull,

once more to that day

 

‘til I resist once more

push memory away

into the past, attempt

to slam shut that door.

 

 

Promise of water

 

I grew up near a lake,

water sloshing against

rocks outside my window

 

lulled me to sleep.

I knew the water was cold

but didn’t care –

 

the promise of water

on a hot day was enough,

when my feet hit that cold.

 

I wish I could now look out

at water, anyplace

river, stream or lake;

 

just that promise of water

to quench the thirst, reprieve

from unbearable heat.

 

 

Lost at Sea

“We both know what memories can bring – they bring diamonds and rust” ~ Joan Baez

 

At the full moon, I still hear your voice

filling the room, you gave me no choice.

 

Shimmered, the brilliance – pressed prism of carbon

its beauty- resilience, a rose in my garden.

 

Burst on the scene, a vagabond singer

what did it mean, you neglected to linger.

 

On half shell, an oyster, the pearl set aside,

albeit in foister, merely used as a guide.

 

Rust covers metal, its coating mistrust -

coating shine, not quite subtle, illusion of dust.

 

Left behind, lost at sea – no diamond alliance,

With never a plea – floating lonely in silence.

 

 

Hanging plant

 

not doing well near my porch,

limited sun shone through trees.

 

Carried pathetic pot of pansies

to the branch of a nearby oak,

 

one that often dropped acorns,

dive-bombing me, pelting roof

 

and car – I raised my arm to place

pansies in need of sunlight above

 

only to be startled by an active hive,

murmurs of buzzing muffled within.

 

My intake of breath felt too loud

as I slowly backed away, almost

 

frozen in a raised-arm stance, felt

fortunate not to have alerted the hive

 

to my presence – I returned to the porch,

hanging pot replaced on its hook.

 

 

Julie A. Dickson is a long time poet and writer of YA fiction, whose full length works can be found on Amazon. Her poetry appears in various journals including Misfit, Ekphrastic Review, Blue Heron Review and Lothlorien, among others. Dickson holds a BPS in Behavioral Science, has served on two poetry boards and as a guest editor in several publications.