—Poetry by Julie A. Dickson, Exeter, NH
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy
of Julie A. Dickson
EROSION
They say water is stronger
than anything
flowing through solid rock
carved path
downhill causing erosion
broken pavement.
I feel rather drowned
or eroded
sense of self washed away
down legs
flowed out through feet
undermined.
The ground beneath
left gouged
rivulets of a strong flow
unsure footing
trying hard to balance
on what’s left.
They say water is stronger
than anything
flowing through solid rock
carved path
downhill causing erosion
broken pavement.
I feel rather drowned
or eroded
sense of self washed away
down legs
flowed out through feet
undermined.
The ground beneath
left gouged
rivulets of a strong flow
unsure footing
trying hard to balance
on what’s left.
The fabric of my world
was a starched, white cotton sheet,
devoid of softness, encasing my feet,
sustenance provided
in a brightly lit room, I noticed
though no one chose this—
my very existence,
care provided in a flurry,
in a blur, fraught with worry,
verified—no fever,
they prodded and poked
keeping watch in case I choked;
dismal discovery
essentially alone;
never quite feeling at home.
was a starched, white cotton sheet,
devoid of softness, encasing my feet,
sustenance provided
in a brightly lit room, I noticed
though no one chose this—
my very existence,
care provided in a flurry,
in a blur, fraught with worry,
verified—no fever,
they prodded and poked
keeping watch in case I choked;
dismal discovery
essentially alone;
never quite feeling at home.
OBLIVION
I am
here now
quietly sitting
do you see me?
I watch
your every move
I hear
your every word
thrust out
verbal daggers
not for me
but I feel the knife
cutting
me to shreds
life’s blood
running down
silent tears
drop into the abyss
an oblivion
in which to hide
I am
here now
quietly sitting
do you see me?
I watch
your every move
I hear
your every word
thrust out
verbal daggers
not for me
but I feel the knife
cutting
me to shreds
life’s blood
running down
silent tears
drop into the abyss
an oblivion
in which to hide
CANTILEVER
hanging over the water
precarious-looking protrusion
I’d prefer not to stand under—
fully lit from expansive manse
decorated ballroom dance festive
I look up from sandy beach.
Can’t leave her, can’t walk away
trembled turmoil, hair whooshing
toppled suitors lie in her wake—
she hangs over the broken-hearted
well-built cantilever counter-balanced
not to fall, but crushing them all the same.
hanging over the water
precarious-looking protrusion
I’d prefer not to stand under—
fully lit from expansive manse
decorated ballroom dance festive
I look up from sandy beach.
Can’t leave her, can’t walk away
trembled turmoil, hair whooshing
toppled suitors lie in her wake—
she hangs over the broken-hearted
well-built cantilever counter-balanced
not to fall, but crushing them all the same.
CHALK DRAWINGS
On asphalt, bright chalk drawings
depict roughly sketched trees, cars,
dinosaurs and various stick figures.
The young one immediately sees
what they are, though my drawings
are worse than simple, I know.
I cannot draw a dinosaur, yet
he yells T-Rex when I add teeth
to a rounded body, bulbous head.
How his mind works to decipher
a jeep from a truck, I wonder.
A poet, no artist me, but he knows.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.
—Louis L'Amour
_____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Julie Dickson for today’s fine poetry and for the photos she found for us!
On asphalt, bright chalk drawings
depict roughly sketched trees, cars,
dinosaurs and various stick figures.
The young one immediately sees
what they are, though my drawings
are worse than simple, I know.
I cannot draw a dinosaur, yet
he yells T-Rex when I add teeth
to a rounded body, bulbous head.
How his mind works to decipher
a jeep from a truck, I wonder.
A poet, no artist me, but he knows.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.
—Louis L'Amour
_____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Julie Dickson for today’s fine poetry and for the photos she found for us!
of Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
The Poets Club of Lincoln will be having
an open mic this afternoon at 3pm.
For details and upcoming poetry happenings
in Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
an open mic this afternoon at 3pm.
For details and upcoming poetry happenings
in Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
