Julie A. Dickson
Homage to Fear
Cadralor poem
1.
Darkness descends,
ebony blanketed sky
skeletal branches
loom, arms outstretched
provoked terror
mounts to crescendo,
perspiration
soaked skin beneath hooded
jacket, eyes
wildly searching path.
2.
Rope swing sways, empty
now.
Swimmer dropped
into unknown depths,
awaits his
brother, bubbles - breath
to break swirling
water, clouded
with silt, no sign
yet.
3.
Voice of anger
permeates silence,
cringe into the
nearest retreat,
caustic cacophony,
sadistic screeches rise
in volume while
madness beckons
from every
perceived safe corner.
4.
Dog lurches
against his chain,
pass by quietly,
ignore barking,
jaws clenched
watching foam appear,
strangled growls,
front paws grapple
rough ground, walk
away quickly.
5.
Empty water
bottle, lips cracked
parched swollen
throat feels raw,
heavy leaden
footsteps through sand,
dry desert floor,
sparse saguaros,
phantom shadow
feigns cool oasis.
Julie A. Dickson
---
Trees
Walk
In
the woods
Leave
yourself behind
Peaceful
pines surround you
Sun
set
Julie
A. Dickson
---
Hold on Tight
1.
They told her she
was barren,
her damaged womb
felt as sad
as her empty
heart, no baby
to love - until work from home;
quietly allowed
fetus to implant, calling
to her, I will be born.
2.
My father was
replaced, with this
stranger, peering
out through blank eyes,
not the volatile
man he was,
firmly planted in
an orthopedic wheelchair;
dementia stole my
father, but I
admit I sometimes
prefer this substitute.
3.
A young tabby,
alone in the city,
tail broken and
flattened, thin, starving,
trapped, sent to a
stark crowded garage;
she fears humans,
but accepts food,
finally placed in
a forever home,
languishes sated
in a sunny window.
4.
Dark blue eyes not
open much
at first, so
sleepy and hungry,
arms stretched out
over his head,
emerged from my
daughter, already loved,
held close to
hearts, swaddled tight;
cannot stop
touching his soft head.
5.
A stroke left her
weak, feeling
helpless, lonely.
No more will she
create her lovely
hand knitted sweaters,
we talk of
Ireland; she smiles
at memories held,
gardening and plants,
hand clasped
softly in mine, remembering.
Julie A. Dickson
---
Untitled
Cherita Poem
I shouldn’t have
tried to look inside
The abandoned
house boarded up
but for this
single window
Dog and I
approached to peek in,
disturbed hornet’s
nest, sentries
reminded me of our
lapse in decorum
Julie A. Dickson
---
Rope Swing
Grab ahold
tightly, don’t lose your grip.
It’s important to
look beneath as the rope
swings left and
then right.
Over dark veiled
water, you cannot see anything;
could be rocks or
soft sand below;
don’t let go too
soon unless you feel safe
but if you sway
with the rope, back up the hill,
there are surely
rocks, boulders even;
you’ve hit your
heels before and it hurts.
The gnarled rope
shows signs of age, knots frayed
with the years,
but its still strong enough to hold
your weight until
you decide whether to jump in.
Julie A. Dickson
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