Untumbled Gem
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.
Cicada Song
Based on Aesop’s Fable: The Ant and the Grasshopper
Cicada sang his constant tune
while nearby worker ants collected.
Opinion was that he neglected
winter stores, instead he crooned.
Cicada’s singing filled the air;
below ground nests were slowly filled.
Ants toiled, not one crumb was spilled;
Cicada continued without a care.
When snow covered the ground and trees,
ants nestled below with winter store,
Cicada’s feeble attempt to ask for
food, denied despite his pleas.
Solemnly Cicada admitted
his song was meant to entertain.
They never told him to refrain;
this justification was submitted.
The colony felt collective anguish,
all summer Cicada’s symphony
in fact, eased their litany – ants
agreed to aid him, not to banish.
Then all were feasting, no one perished.
in summer, the ants would work along
with Cicada nearby, sharing his song –
at winter feast, the music cherished.
Acorn
I thought I recognized
A gnarled oak upon this path
My eyes search the tree line
Perhaps I am mistaken
Acorns at my feet roll
Among roots and brush
I hear a far-off cry
A lone red-tailed hawk
Gliding lazily above
Reminding me of something
Just beyond the edge of thought
The outcropping of rock ahead
Stands as sentry to beyond
I pause to pay homage
To stone and sky
In this ancient forest I walk
As others may have
In past lives,
No remnant of voices
Reach my ears
I am but an acorn
In this quiet forest
But for the hawk’s cry
Warning or beckoning
Causing me to glance up
Shielding my eyes from brightness,
His shadowed form casts shadows
On the ground, and on my doubts
Banishing them into the abyss
Like pebbles thrown down
A sacred stone well
Julie Dickson,
former Harvard resident
Exeter, NH
