Below are the all-time best Julie Heckman poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members
I sailed past the river
till I felt myself lost
night was falling so fast
winds started to quiver
my compass was tost
Soon night would be past
Julie Heckan, October 28
Senses for a Sestet
Crimson lips, lovers awaken with a kiss
Creamy white skinned Goddesses resting
In a time where Socrates lusted after Sappho's
Poetry and art.
The Grecian people worshiped her with
her beauty and exquisite prose. On the wings
of her art she played enchanting music arranged
Golden chariots in fields of apples bold,
yet, solitary like one fallen from the tree,
Sappho wrote her memoirs and music
while exiled, her death unspoken.
Unleash the thread of unaltered seams
Night shade matters for restless dreams
Woven to knit each day of the night
Lie with the moon amidst the light
My grandfather on my father’s side, was a pecker-toothed sidle who raped his
daughter when she was just ten. He threw down vodka from an eternal well and took my father out to buy prostitutes when he was just fifteen... It was here that my father first learned the true value of a woman. Mercifully, a permanent steel brace got loose at the Pennsylvania steel mill where he worked and crushed Grandfather into a pool of blood and urine.
My father was a dried seed rattling in an empty gourd… he had grown up
hardened with leather-stiff roots exposed too long in the sun. My mother knew
that he wanted to rape me, so I kept guard with knives and ran away whenever I could. I went to bed fantasizing how to sneak into his bedroom and kill him with
the kitchen carving knife.
My older brother hadn’t adjusted well to the chaos either, so he put all his expectations and dreams into a matchbook and burned down three houses in the neighborhood. He secretly, robbed his friends of their valuable coin collections. He grew weary and confessed and was taken to a local Mental Hospital for evaluation. At fourteen, I needed a good stiff drink! I was transferred to two different foster care homes and grew up like a weed.
My mother Dolly was an auburn haired porcelain bisque, matt finished doll from a
discriminating collections of dolls... her father's dolls. She was not a witty woman
but silent, afraid and alone. She gave birth to three children who grew up like
wild dogs while Dolly made Betty Crocker weekends and otherwise TV dinners
until she grew tired... very tired.
One day the brothers were playing with Dolly tossing her back and forth…
like a ball, one to another... until we dropped her. Fragile, she shattered into pieces
on the gray cement patio. My father came out determined to put the pieces back
together but clumsily, he repeatedly stepped on Dolly crushing the refined
fragments into powdered dust.
Armaggedon is not a biblical geographical location
that will one day destroy the world. It is symbolic
for the battle of good will that lives in the human
Armaggedon is not one remote event in history but
an on going occasion for the self to connect more
fully to the spiritual nature that resides within and
beyond the self.
Armaggedon. Divinity establishes that love is
primary throughout the universe. The self is a
part of Divinity which experiences love as
primary to existence.
Armaggedon is an opportunity to realize the
personality of the Divine within our own moral
and spiritual life. Morality is an aspects of the
personality not only of humanity but of Divinity.
Armaggedon the fever is already raging.
in war that surpasses all wars alive inside
us on a daily basis. Divinity measures the
souls weight of individual loyalty toward or
away from love.
Constellations of values and ethics
like dancing stars in onyx nights.
Majestic fields of ideals stay grounded
in what seems right. Keenly, I search the
philosopher’s heels to grasp theoretical
notions, held together by gravity’s scales
as comets of light circle in tails
and teach me in a dream.
What is the uniqueness of your poetry?
Someone once said to me that “poetry can’t include abstract language.”
Well, that really got me going! As a lover of language and theory I just couldn’t let this one pass. The uniqueness of my poem is that I use abstract language with planetary imagery to lightly illustrate two mega-abstract ideas, ethics & philosophy. The end culminates that all knowledge is refutable (i.e. “and teach me in a dream”).
Armaggedon is not a place where Divinity
lives, the battlefield is within our heart and souls.
It is not a remote event in history but an occasion
for the Self to connect more fully to the nature of
God. Divinity resides both within and beyond
Armaggedon is not the end of the world or an
upcoming historic deadline for disaster. It is
in the heart and soul of the individual. The
Self is the creation of God. The serial disasters
that we accumulate in our lives are not about an
All Powerful God handing out retribution.
Revenge is not in the seed of divinty, who
contends that love as primary.
Armaggedon is an opportunity to realize the
personality of God within our own lives.
Justice, wisdom, love, knowledge, thoughts,
feelings and behavior etc. are all aspects of
the personality of God who created us. It is
our responsibility to merge with Divinity more
and more to strengthen the relationship
between ourselves, God and all people.
Being a child of God means you already have the
inherent qualities of God within you, we all do,
no matter what your religion. Like a mother
who gives birth to a child, the child has aspects
of the mother’s personality within her. Thus, as
God has given birth to all of us, we have attributes
of Divinity within that we need to grow and
strengthen. Armaggedon is not a place outside
of us, it is a symbol of our faith.
I just sat in the house trying to think and
write. The silence was far too loud and the
stillness seemed too threatening to all of my
family. Responsibility, jobs, success, relationships,
were all making their excessive demands from the
kitchen to the living room. My silence and just
thinking was quickly eliminated and so I walked
outside. All I wanted was to hear myself think, no
distractions, only the sound of my hair
thinning on the top of my head.
I exiled myself outside to the deck and waited for
each family member to be off doing their own
personal errons. I was entirely complete, alone in
the quiet, no illusion of loneliness only a soft desire
to write and think. I was inspired by the calm and
cool air and the blackbirds fidgeting on the roof
preparing nests for Spring.
Once completely alone, the silence was both
terrifying and marvelous. To hear my
own birthing process, pushing away then leaning
against my own thoughts. Silence wasn’t a prison to
escape from, but a sacred space used to repair
and sift through the past to find treasure and to
contemplate the future for rich jewels to come.
Your wings shades me like a wild oak tree
gentle and warm leaping the spiraling sea
the seagull rushes in the sultry soft breeze
speak forth your dreams and let them be free.
Songs and festivals we drank to the depths
and lovingly, prayed to the devil, bewitched
too many lovers passed this charming ditch
where all I have now is one lonely breath.
With my brazen fire I kindled the beasts
fallen from heaven dried brown the earth
down on my knees to beg my own worth
hungry dark angels circle the feast.
Surround me Seagulls your voices sailing
Where can I fly to quicken my failing?
Lies, glamour, gossip and Earl Grey tea,
Turbulent tales boiling in china cups.
Elegant sacraments of blue-haired ladies,
pinkies stuck in the air, hiding their anger
or boredom or feeling their own
Crimson glass roses, feathers and jewels
crowned with wide-brim hats… trims of
gloves, lace fans and perhaps some pearls
are appealing to these extravagant, fast
and proper old girls…
The guild does not approve of:
tortilla chips or
piercings of the tongue.
Invitation is by Tea Bag Only merely
a device to project the status of a
stunning, affluent wife. Shaved legs,
polished nails and GiGi’s Brazilian
waxing, will enliven you as a part
of the crowd but may seem
a little bit taxing.