Best Dickson Poems
bayboats purse seine whey
journey yearlong gay
laddy inured dry up
haughty yachty yea
mildred mayhem dewlap
naughty jaunty jay
sons caught in car capers
haughty yachty yea
vicar baking in butterfat
orphan boy screwed in larder
bluejay frollic jane
and a haughty yachty yea
bombs in bay bombard
dickson singsick cockpit
french chicks s’envoient en l'air*
oh a haughty yachty yea
idols jailed in temples
choked in garlandy incense
priestly eyedance pose
yes a haughty yachty yea
masons’ mildewy masters
with compass stone and pilasters
plan solomon’s might on earth
yea sing haughty yachty yea
royal houses love in stables
lords and ladies love in regalia
loving ones love in limbo
cry haughty yachty yea
dote on damsels in december
hey yachty haughty yea
make them deliver in september
ho yickety yackety yea eh
* "s'envoient en l'air": French, literally, for "throwing legs up in the air"; in France - guess, if you can - this phrase means: ???
©T.Wignesan - Paris, May 4, 1997
[from the collection : longhand notes: a binding of poems. Paris: 1999]
Categories:
dickson, funny, love,
Form:
Burlesque
The internal war within us does originate with humans. It does, however, originate with the spiritual wickedness in high places. With demonic powers and principalities that are so very prevalent in our twenty first century's contemporary society. Our spiritual battles are not with other people, it was with the demonic world. However, it is possible for human beings to be inhabited by evil spiritual forces.
Jesus delivered Mary Magdalene from seven demonic forces of darkness. He liberated a demon possessed man of a legion (many) demons. It Resulted in him being clothed and in his right mind. I saw on Christian television a young man from a foreign country physically shaking uncontrollably because of demonic possession over him. Only after he was set free from his demons, did he stop physically shaken.
I know from personal experiences demons can even rob a believer of her sanity! I know because I was that young middle aged woman in 1996! I was rushed to the seventh ward of Stevens Memorial Hospital. It is now Swedish Hospital of Edmonds. How did I regain my sanity in a relatively short period of time? Jesus Christ restored it to me completely.
It was only part one of a severe nervous breakdown! The lesser part took place in 1998, where I was admitted to the same hospital. However even that did not end my battle with mental illness. It is now in complete remission, mainly due to Jesus Christ, and the rest by counseling and psychiatric care.
But in 1998 I got my remaining teeth pulled out! Without them being extracted safely returning to sanity would have been impossible! But all things are possible for those who love God!
"And it shall come to pass that in the last days all those who shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved." God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit are the only ones able to deliver us and set us free from demonic possession! "And those who the son sets free are free indeed!" A spiritual rebirth is a requirement for true and lasting demonic deliverance.
Dedicated to Gregory Dickson
Television Evangelist
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
September 13, 2020
Categories:
dickson, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
A mature woman in a white and blue dress
peruses the memorable works of Emily Dickson
who was an unhappy person confined to a lair...
a poetess who narrated dire and loneliness;
no brightness was present, only a distant and faint glitter
of hope at the beginning of the unfolding, mysterious dawn!
And her inner spirit speaks as pages are slowly turned,
it's strange how that eager reader impersonates Emily's soul...
emitting a sadness that conveys regret for days not lived;
why does she see things darker than the blackness of coal?
Copyright ( c ) 2015 by Andrew Crisci
Categories:
dickson, dark, loneliness, mystery, solitude,
Form:
Rhyme
You can give me
the pen of Emily Dickson or
Langston Hughes but still
submerged in losing
languished hues.
I just cant win,
to the air I never hold my chin,
with my trophy in the air illuminating my win.
I just can't win, but all this time I watch my
kin win,is jealousy a sin. I just cant win, I lost
my balance in this poetic race, never able to
see victorys face,below the bronze metal sulking
in disgrace.
Even if you put me ahead these senior
poets with beat me in their bed. I just can't win
theirs to many trap doors and rules against my
rookie writing tools. I just cant win even with a
boost or ultimate poetic springs, under my thinking
boots.
You can give me the pen of Emily Dickson or
Langston Hughes, but still submerged in losing
languished hues.Out shined, I can't seem to grow,
from this seedling stage, because these mountain poets
take my light and the refreshing aqua win, I just can't
win, I do seem to lose, if you were me I guess you
would lose your mind,but open up your eyes some
times losing is winning in disguise.
Without cheers.
Without prize and
peoples jealous eyes.
The best victory you can encounter sometimes
is excepting a loss. This I do often, if my poetry isn't
number one when the coin is tossed.
(Sigh) I just can't win or maybe I already have.
You can give me the pen of Emily Dickson or
Langston Hughes but still submerged in losing
languished hues.
Heads or tails I just can't win.
I Just Can't Win contest
Sponsor:Joe Flach
By:Elliott Bowe
Categories:
dickson, life, loss, sad, me,
Form:
Free verse
A mature woman in Victorian attire,
peruses the works of Emily Dickson:
does her spirit speaks on every line?
Brightness is absent, only a glitter
of hope at the beginning of dawn.
Categories:
dickson, sorrow,
Form:
Rhyme
I am but a living matter, with no much giving wonder
I’ve seen my birth twice, all after an attempted suicide thrice
I still weed and weave, that is, think and compose
Yet I am still but willed to be still.
Ignition in my struggle have seen my daring heart through
I still and possibly, will write with no much height
In me I see the silent child-like Emily Dickson, still doing my fiction
Still, creating, hoping, losing and breaking my skeletal friction
I know rejuvenation shall get me there
Where the hearts grill with cheer.
I’ve crawled to the lands Far East, then Far West
To the North and South Pole
In my interactive intractable mind of imagination
Yet to lose but to give I’ve captured the silent mourning
Of many unable, disabled, able-less people
I’ve coined the immaculate wealth and health
Of many reliable very able people
And still to be real, I am but still.
Written 2006
Just the young thoughts of the young mind
Categories:
dickson, age, change, how i
Form:
Rhyme
The spirit of Emily Dickson still lives...
from her sensitive soul, words of hope
and fortitude flow as spring rivers,
and their sprightly sounds makes one look.
And closely look into her life not lived for glory,
find those treasures she sew in a fascicle;
can her poems be appreciated and not annoy
the reader who seeks words not very humble?
Emily ponders sorrow and death...being not afraid,
and while looking to the infinite, serene Heavens:
she accepts her fate and turns it into a quest of faith,
to make her journey a memorable one before it ends.
Let her gentle, firm voice warn you of an unexpected, fierce storm;
feel the cold breeze turn into a strong wind as she beats her drum.
My Sonnet is a tribute to Emily Dickson.
Categories:
dickson, death, inspirational, nature, on
Form:
Sonnet
And I was there
My Dickson Street ,now
is so urban, sad, bare
I miss my Nasty Dickson Street
where I roamed without a care
We hoped, knew not to hurt another
we were all hurt, in a way
Spencer, he drank coffee, drew my feet
He gave me love and a different way
I miss those times
almost jealous
when I see
My own child
with the same thoughts
of being me
Categories:
dickson, angst, life, places, sad,
Form:
ABC
It cost all of fifty cents
This treasure from a far
New York, Its derivation
Emily Dickson its creation
I read her poems in awe
One by one I turn her page
Then came across the pencil draw
An angel sat upon
“A little road not made by man “
A masculine
Yet feminine
This angle from afar
Not standing
Walking
Flying
Beautiful yet haunting
Contradicting in all its light
This angel of the night
I wonder about its pose
Prose
Its purpose on the road
I place it back, hence it came
Upon the road, not made for mode
Ever I lay my eyes on its pages
I make sure to sight the angel
Upon a little road
“A little road not made by man “
Emily Dickinson
Categories:
dickson, angel, books,
Form:
Free verse
Censorship’s alive and well
In Dickson, Tennessee,
Whose Roxy Theater advertised
Upon its proud marquee:
“Heckboy,” playing there beside
Both “Dumbo” and “Shazam.”
Of course, there’s no such movie
And that title is a sham.
The owner thinks profanity
Should not be on the sign,
So “Hellboy” was a name that she
Decided to refine.
To me, there’s not much difference
In those words; they’re neck and neck,
But such censorship implies this country’s
On its way to Heck.
Categories:
dickson, words,
Form:
Rhyme
For days now, nay, weeks cocooned in a cave,
Away from hands that could drag each to grave,
One of them, Seth, all the time craving sex;
He'd had brawls with Dickson this did much vex:
Dickson's giant fear: it could expose the gang;
On fate's set day, on their door hear a bang
Either from cops' hard knuckles or their gunshot;
And from then things would always be red hot!
Dickson might have made a cited prophet,
But for last-minute long look at poor profit...
Seth was to nail their group through his girlfriend,
Her last careless visit, that was the end!
A swift attack that tested Gang's mettle:
Nine in all, in minutes, Black kettle!
Categories:
dickson, allusion, evil, places, violence,
Form:
Rhyme
He is Desperate Dancer Dickson,
Styles rehearsing with Gifted Ericson
Coveted first prize eyeing
Much of Michael Jackson trying…
Avidly seeking some chance
To the rest outshine in a dance
He was ready to around prance
And the wind stab with a lance…
For this, still thinking of everything
But from it figuring out not a thing.
“One thing is sure: a dancer can jump”
Like one avoid an abysmal dump
And should sometimes slump
Like taker of a choker lump”.
Now and again, a little of Michael Jackson,
Betraying his mixed feeling about being Dickson;
Off and on a determined tilting
At the Choreography of Trainer Milton.
Categories:
dickson, anxiety, devotion, music, sports,
Form:
Rhyme