JULIE A. DICKSON
Author Feature - July 2021
Julie A. Dickson is a poet and YA author whose work ranges from Bullying and teen issues to elephant advocacy to nature and environment. Her full length works are available on Amazon.
Dickson holds a BPS in Gerontology, allowing her home care work with elderly to enhance her poetry. Journals such as Ekphrastic Review, The Avocet, Misfit, Gleam, Smoky Quartz, Open Door and many others have included poems and stories. Originally from Buffalo, NY she makes her home in New Hampshire with two rescued feral cats, Claire and Cam.
Elephants , A World Without Ivory [Sunrise Press 2018]
Untumbled Gem [Goldfish Press 2016]
Big Boys, Bullied into Silence [Piscataqua Press 2014]
Forest Nectars [Morris Publishing 1997, Reprinted Lulu 2011]
Elegant in their stance
Lumbering slowly through the forest
Echoed voices, rumbles as they feed
Patiently caring for their families
Handsome young bulls growing to adulthood
Aunts and cousins nurturing their calves
No death goes un-mourned among them
Tenuous grip on freedom slips away as
Slaughter remains the imminent threat
Sometimes I am rough like an untumbled gem,
true essence hidden below the uncut surface.
An outward façade covers my deep red garnet heart,
spiritual warmth gently held in balance.
When polished with sunlight, I might glow
in facets of brilliance like a rose quartz;
but don’t be deceived by my reflection –
for healing takes time under soft reiki-touch.
While gazing into seemingly endless depths,
the crystal light of my topaz-brown eyes
holds something else, as yet undefined
that mirrors a struggle you may have shared.
Dance around on carpeted floor
music plays, perhaps Clair de Lune,
no matter – my arms swing on their own,
a tempo of irresponsibility – in glee,
ah, Swan Lake now I’m in a ballet
on tip-toes, but no, I am no dancer.
I sit and wonder about joy, fleeting
thoughts while writing to birdsong,
eyes raised to sunlit window, finch?
No matter, I cannot play music, nor sing
but in words I can bring to life a time
when I smiled, wonderful bliss
taking over my face, if only a bell
rang at the moment I saw the new baby,
son of my daughter, delight to see
her smile, recall that exact time –
no matter, I can bring it back, her joy
in announcing Holden is born.
Facedown in a snow bank,
my brother lay frozen and still
Not wanting to incite more anger
from the kids that attacked him
though what he did to deserve
a torn jacket and a face full of snow
he would never find out.
I stood far away, afraid to move
until the big boys wandered off,
until their laughter died down
as they rounded the corner
on their way to buy candy at the store
as if the most natural sequence of events
was to tear my brother’s jacket and push him
face first into snow and then buy candy.