By, J. Lynn Dickson
It is the movement, the fire
Kinetic life to which I raise my glass
Dedicating the lighting of the cigarette
To the sounds below that reach up to be heard
So familiar are the wars
I can follow the tracks of fury with my ear
Plates batter the wall
Landing in shards on the tile
The enemy is there
Hissing the words of a man
That never knew love
She sputters blood, teeth
And tears
The words of a woman begging
To remain whole
He is crouched in the corner, head bowed
Praying
Or weeping
Because no one taught him
How to save his father's soul
His mother's spirit
How to see if there is enough grace
Left for him
Sometimes she leaves on a stretcher
Sometimes he leaves in handcuffs
I watch through the window
As the violence unfurls
To see what the silence brings
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Yesterday's Etching- poem
By, J. Lynn Dickson
Memories tiptoe into now
Like a child with padded feet
Edging towards the noise that frightens
To that nameless thing she sees
When her eyes are closed
Sleeping or not
She takes the covers, slams them shut
Yesterday is a pop-up book
Where the nightmares aren't real
Unless the pages are turned
She dreams her life
A shaken etch-a-sketch
Sadness erased
Memories tiptoe into now
Like a child with padded feet
Edging towards the noise that frightens
To that nameless thing she sees
When her eyes are closed
Sleeping or not
She takes the covers, slams them shut
Yesterday is a pop-up book
Where the nightmares aren't real
Unless the pages are turned
She dreams her life
A shaken etch-a-sketch
Sadness erased
Finding God- poem
By, J. Lynn Dickson
I’ve lived as a silhouette
Veiling my face from the sun
Protecting my spirit from the ugliness of truth
Remaining only for the moon
For the voice that spoke
When there was no one to listen
In my dreams,
I’ve hidden in the curve of your arm
Fallen breathless into you
My tears broke within your embrace
My fright ran from the unyielding power of your shoulder
The mask I’ve worn ragged is falling apart
A jigsaw of memories and faces at my feet
Life and people have passed me by
Forgotten in the shadow of years
Shielding my eyes with bleeding hands
Your light too strong
Stepping gently into my secrets, into my shame
In your palm lies my healing heart
I’ve lived as a silhouette
Veiling my face from the sun
Protecting my spirit from the ugliness of truth
Remaining only for the moon
For the voice that spoke
When there was no one to listen
In my dreams,
I’ve hidden in the curve of your arm
Fallen breathless into you
My tears broke within your embrace
My fright ran from the unyielding power of your shoulder
The mask I’ve worn ragged is falling apart
A jigsaw of memories and faces at my feet
Life and people have passed me by
Forgotten in the shadow of years
Shielding my eyes with bleeding hands
Your light too strong
Stepping gently into my secrets, into my shame
In your palm lies my healing heart
Paired Souls- poem
By, J. Lynn Dickson
Paired souls
Joined in the heart’s place
One, mistrustful before the sun
Holding its secrets tight in fist
Another, fully bloomed, petals outstretched
Reaching arms to the sky
You remind me of me
Before and after
**Note about this poem: When reading this picture a two flowers that share a single stem. One is looking up, the other is drooping. This was written during a workshop in which we were presented with a vase of flowers and asked to write about one.**
Paired souls
Joined in the heart’s place
One, mistrustful before the sun
Holding its secrets tight in fist
Another, fully bloomed, petals outstretched
Reaching arms to the sky
You remind me of me
Before and after
**Note about this poem: When reading this picture a two flowers that share a single stem. One is looking up, the other is drooping. This was written during a workshop in which we were presented with a vase of flowers and asked to write about one.**
Broken Beauty- poem
By, J. Lynn Dickson
Broken beauty
You look like a heart
Stopped beating, stopped loving
Broken in two by the gust
Of betrayal
Now your sadness weighs you down
You stare at the ground
Hunched over
Breathless
Yearning to be plucked
From the root of pain
**Note about this poem...when reading this, envision a flower with it's bloom broken and dangling from it's stem. This was written during a workshop in which a vase of flowers were presented to the group and we were then to choose one to write about.**
Broken beauty
You look like a heart
Stopped beating, stopped loving
Broken in two by the gust
Of betrayal
Now your sadness weighs you down
You stare at the ground
Hunched over
Breathless
Yearning to be plucked
From the root of pain
**Note about this poem...when reading this, envision a flower with it's bloom broken and dangling from it's stem. This was written during a workshop in which a vase of flowers were presented to the group and we were then to choose one to write about.**
Time- poem
By, J. Lynn Dickson
Where does time go
Once it has been lived?
Does it implode
Bursting inward shards of memories?
Does it vanish- a fleeting thought?
Inklings linger- fragments-
The body matures without the mind
Seconds evade the hours
Escaping?
Abandoned?
Left behind to
Remember?
Forget?
Where does time go
Once it has been lived?
Does it implode
Bursting inward shards of memories?
Does it vanish- a fleeting thought?
Inklings linger- fragments-
The body matures without the mind
Seconds evade the hours
Escaping?
Abandoned?
Left behind to
Remember?
Forget?
Meeting- poem
By, J. Lynn Dickson
Seething clouds fuse together
Silent glaring eyes meet
Blended fists folded tight
Words sit muted on parted lips
Thunder pounds with questions unanswered
Common thought unspoken
Stars tumble free from the hook of the moon
Breaths held close in unison
Dust of dreams plummet
Joining together in a delusory psalm
Raging history, forgotten tomorrow
Sung out of tune
Seething clouds fuse together
Silent glaring eyes meet
Blended fists folded tight
Words sit muted on parted lips
Thunder pounds with questions unanswered
Common thought unspoken
Stars tumble free from the hook of the moon
Breaths held close in unison
Dust of dreams plummet
Joining together in a delusory psalm
Raging history, forgotten tomorrow
Sung out of tune
Phantom- poem
By, J. Lynn Dickson
Can you tell me, love
When the music died
~Limp harmony embraced by tuneless melody~
At our masquerade?
Sweeping in,
Phantom caped in mystery, danger…love
With no opera left to sing
We danced the tango around the truth
We waltzed, my limbs, my heart
On your strings
Oh, master puppeteer you wore your mask so well!
Perfectly painted porcelain lies
Perched on pink lemonade lips
Be careful, don’t let them fall!
How easily they shatter…
Crazy marionette, I believed
Grasping shards of dreams in bloodied fists
Crystal streaks of sorrow trace my cheek
As I gasp for breath,
Gasping your name
As the curtain closes on your farewell bow
Phantom, sweeping out.
Can you tell me, love
When the music died
~Limp harmony embraced by tuneless melody~
At our masquerade?
Sweeping in,
Phantom caped in mystery, danger…love
With no opera left to sing
We danced the tango around the truth
We waltzed, my limbs, my heart
On your strings
Oh, master puppeteer you wore your mask so well!
Perfectly painted porcelain lies
Perched on pink lemonade lips
Be careful, don’t let them fall!
How easily they shatter…
Crazy marionette, I believed
Grasping shards of dreams in bloodied fists
Crystal streaks of sorrow trace my cheek
As I gasp for breath,
Gasping your name
As the curtain closes on your farewell bow
Phantom, sweeping out.
It Wasn't the Wind- poem
By, J. Lynn Dickson
A prisoner kept without reason,
Confined to a cell locked without a key
Lies in each word you speak
It wasn’t the wind
That pushed me against the wall
Spewing venom
It wasn’t the wind
That threw me to the floor
With laughter in your eyes
It wasn’t the wind
That wrapped it’s hands around my neck
In my pleas, my screams
You found satisfaction
In my tears, my misery
You found joy
A refuge on the run
Trying to keep one step ahead
Prey fleeing predator
In all that you thieved
Have you not taken enough?
You stole my heart, my body, my spirit
My soul sits in ruins at your feet
Are you not satisfied?
A prisoner kept without reason,
Confined to a cell locked without a key
Lies in each word you speak
It wasn’t the wind
That pushed me against the wall
Spewing venom
It wasn’t the wind
That threw me to the floor
With laughter in your eyes
It wasn’t the wind
That wrapped it’s hands around my neck
In my pleas, my screams
You found satisfaction
In my tears, my misery
You found joy
A refuge on the run
Trying to keep one step ahead
Prey fleeing predator
In all that you thieved
Have you not taken enough?
You stole my heart, my body, my spirit
My soul sits in ruins at your feet
Are you not satisfied?
Chronicle- poem
By, J. Lynn Dickson
I’m the one you saw twenty years ago
Standing at the bus stop
Cloaked in first day jitters
Spiral curls twisted in place
By Grandma’s not so loving hands
I carried at my side a cold metal box
Puffed out Strawberry Shortcake
Filled with food that would return the same way
I smiled on demand
At flashbulbs and teachers
I scribbled bright colors over Care Bear faces
X-ing out the places where color
Swelled over the edges
Pushed by tiny, trembling fingers
X’s made them disappear
Made them perfect
I waited for my mother after school
Hands clasped obediently
Then stuffed in shallow pockets
Of a coat out of style
One hour turned to two
Rain drops to tears
Swallowed when finally familiar headlights broke
Through the midst of abandonment’s ghost
I’m the girl with the red/blonde hair
Green peering eyes that revealed nothing
Seeing everything
I felt the pain of your tears
The surge of your anger
The belly of your fear
Just by looking in your eyes
Your soul’s pane
And now here I am
Girl grown woman sized
With the same hair, eyes, heart
Still seeing, still longing
Still chasing the same rainbow
But now my curls are straightened
By the weight of circumstance
I still smile on demand
At clients and men
I still insist on perfection
Trying to X out the places in my life
Where mistakes swelled over righteousness
Tears over smiles
Trying to make them disappear
Trying to be perfect
I no longer wait for Mother,
Now I wait for me…
I’m the one you saw twenty years ago
Standing at the bus stop
Cloaked in first day jitters
Spiral curls twisted in place
By Grandma’s not so loving hands
I carried at my side a cold metal box
Puffed out Strawberry Shortcake
Filled with food that would return the same way
I smiled on demand
At flashbulbs and teachers
I scribbled bright colors over Care Bear faces
X-ing out the places where color
Swelled over the edges
Pushed by tiny, trembling fingers
X’s made them disappear
Made them perfect
I waited for my mother after school
Hands clasped obediently
Then stuffed in shallow pockets
Of a coat out of style
One hour turned to two
Rain drops to tears
Swallowed when finally familiar headlights broke
Through the midst of abandonment’s ghost
I’m the girl with the red/blonde hair
Green peering eyes that revealed nothing
Seeing everything
I felt the pain of your tears
The surge of your anger
The belly of your fear
Just by looking in your eyes
Your soul’s pane
And now here I am
Girl grown woman sized
With the same hair, eyes, heart
Still seeing, still longing
Still chasing the same rainbow
But now my curls are straightened
By the weight of circumstance
I still smile on demand
At clients and men
I still insist on perfection
Trying to X out the places in my life
Where mistakes swelled over righteousness
Tears over smiles
Trying to make them disappear
Trying to be perfect
I no longer wait for Mother,
Now I wait for me…
Evidence of Him- Essay
By, J. Lynn Dickson
Many times I have questioned my faith. Most of my doubts were in essence an act of rebellion when I didn’t believe that God had cared for me well enough. Where was He when my mother chased me up the stairs with a butcher knife? When all of those men taught me things no little girl should know? When I was drugged beyond comprehension to hide their secrets? Where was He when my rent was due and my wallet empty? Where was He when someone else got the job I had prayed for? Where was He when I drank anti-freeze because I thought the only way to end the pain was to end my life? Where, where, where…?
The truth is, I’m beginning to understand that God was in all of those places. I just wasn’t looking. He is the One who wrapped my broken heart tightly in His cocoon of strength and allowed me to transform into a butterfly of faith. He was the hope in the rising of the sun and the solid ground beneath my feet. He announces Himself in my life every day, if only I get out of the way to let Him near. He’s not manifested in money, power or even the will to live. After all, He is the one that gave me free will in the first place, but He can be found, if I seek Him.
Evidence of His love is all around me, in the strength of the human spirit, in the profound reflex of the mind to not only persist in the impossible, but to find a way to make the unmanageable normal so that facing it every day loses its enormity. He taught me to endure, to persevere, and most of all, to overcome. Perhaps that is the essence of His spirit dwelling within me; within us all.
It is not the act of a mortal man or woman to continue to participate in life after the death of a child. But we do. Even more so, we claim the reason for their death as a personal war, a crusade against disease, against violence. It is not within the capacity of a typical person that faces immense tragedy and trauma to turn around and write a book about how the experience made us better than we were before. Yet, we pass hundreds, thousands, of such testimonies in every bookstore in America. We share our experience not only to heal ourselves, but to give hope to those who struggle.
The next time I feel my belief begin to waver it might be in your eyes, your smile that I find the proof I need of His love for all of us. Christian or not, there is a Divine presence inside of us, each one of us. The choice is ours whether we accept or deny it. He has given us the greatest gift of all, by not only loving us, but also by giving us the compassion to love each other. It is with our own free will that we decide whether or not to receive it.
Many times I have questioned my faith. Most of my doubts were in essence an act of rebellion when I didn’t believe that God had cared for me well enough. Where was He when my mother chased me up the stairs with a butcher knife? When all of those men taught me things no little girl should know? When I was drugged beyond comprehension to hide their secrets? Where was He when my rent was due and my wallet empty? Where was He when someone else got the job I had prayed for? Where was He when I drank anti-freeze because I thought the only way to end the pain was to end my life? Where, where, where…?
The truth is, I’m beginning to understand that God was in all of those places. I just wasn’t looking. He is the One who wrapped my broken heart tightly in His cocoon of strength and allowed me to transform into a butterfly of faith. He was the hope in the rising of the sun and the solid ground beneath my feet. He announces Himself in my life every day, if only I get out of the way to let Him near. He’s not manifested in money, power or even the will to live. After all, He is the one that gave me free will in the first place, but He can be found, if I seek Him.
Evidence of His love is all around me, in the strength of the human spirit, in the profound reflex of the mind to not only persist in the impossible, but to find a way to make the unmanageable normal so that facing it every day loses its enormity. He taught me to endure, to persevere, and most of all, to overcome. Perhaps that is the essence of His spirit dwelling within me; within us all.
It is not the act of a mortal man or woman to continue to participate in life after the death of a child. But we do. Even more so, we claim the reason for their death as a personal war, a crusade against disease, against violence. It is not within the capacity of a typical person that faces immense tragedy and trauma to turn around and write a book about how the experience made us better than we were before. Yet, we pass hundreds, thousands, of such testimonies in every bookstore in America. We share our experience not only to heal ourselves, but to give hope to those who struggle.
The next time I feel my belief begin to waver it might be in your eyes, your smile that I find the proof I need of His love for all of us. Christian or not, there is a Divine presence inside of us, each one of us. The choice is ours whether we accept or deny it. He has given us the greatest gift of all, by not only loving us, but also by giving us the compassion to love each other. It is with our own free will that we decide whether or not to receive it.
If You Asked- poem
By, J. Lynn Dickson
If you asked me who I am
Maybe I would tell you
I’m a writer
A fighter
A giver
I’m a mother
Most of all
Maybe tears would spring forth
Maybe I would say
I don’t know
I hide myself
In a box
In a cave
A turtle in its shell
Maybe I would tell you nothing
And let the answer
Rest in the silence
If you asked me who I am
Maybe I would tell you
I’m a writer
A fighter
A giver
I’m a mother
Most of all
Maybe tears would spring forth
Maybe I would say
I don’t know
I hide myself
In a box
In a cave
A turtle in its shell
Maybe I would tell you nothing
And let the answer
Rest in the silence
Emergence- poem
By, J. Lynn Dickson
It’s not who you are~
Flower closed in fist
Withdrawn
Afraid to scorch your petals in the suns light~
I fear
You see,
When you’ve pulled yourself so far inside
When your soul is screaming for release
Lashing out- razor tongue
Pointed finger, anger cloud
Darkened with misguided fury
Hovering
That I descend, grown woman
Down to the dirt of childhood fears
Shrinking,
Sucking in breath, tears
I’ve not run, hid
Nor forgotten
I’ve only taken a step
To a space where I can breathe
I’ll be here
In the shadows
When you’re ready to blossom
Flower petals extended to the warmth
Climb the ladder
Of sun’s rays
Emerge from the darkness
Meet me in the middle
Of the heart’s place
It’s not who you are~
Flower closed in fist
Withdrawn
Afraid to scorch your petals in the suns light~
I fear
You see,
When you’ve pulled yourself so far inside
When your soul is screaming for release
Lashing out- razor tongue
Pointed finger, anger cloud
Darkened with misguided fury
Hovering
That I descend, grown woman
Down to the dirt of childhood fears
Shrinking,
Sucking in breath, tears
I’ve not run, hid
Nor forgotten
I’ve only taken a step
To a space where I can breathe
I’ll be here
In the shadows
When you’re ready to blossom
Flower petals extended to the warmth
Climb the ladder
Of sun’s rays
Emerge from the darkness
Meet me in the middle
Of the heart’s place
Breathe- poem
By, J. Lynn Dickson
Breathe in, breathe out
Does it hurt you too?
Is your chest on the brink of self-destruction,
Internal combustion?
Can you hear the bomb
Tick
Ticking
As steady as the beat of your heart?
Does it hurt?
Inhaling, knives piercing
Blood dripping red on every breath
Death lingers thick
Pendulum on a string
Tears prickle desert lids
Pools escape on darkened half moons
Jagged, cold,
The needle digs deeper
Drawing hope, injecting despair
Time to whisper goodbyes in the wind
Take the final exhale…
Breathe in, breathe out
Does it hurt you too?
Is your chest on the brink of self-destruction,
Internal combustion?
Can you hear the bomb
Tick
Ticking
As steady as the beat of your heart?
Does it hurt?
Inhaling, knives piercing
Blood dripping red on every breath
Death lingers thick
Pendulum on a string
Tears prickle desert lids
Pools escape on darkened half moons
Jagged, cold,
The needle digs deeper
Drawing hope, injecting despair
Time to whisper goodbyes in the wind
Take the final exhale…
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