Don Dickenson Poems

Please, can you tell me
the little boy said,
why you've hundreds of legs,
but only one head?
...

A whistling wind in the rigging,
driving rain like rods of steel.
White topped waves, that are riding high,
throwing flotsam, on the deck.
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Puddles are made for children,
Who wearing their wellie boots,
May splish, and splash, fuddle and muddle,
Without ever caring two hoots.
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When Jesus came a preaching,
with a laugh, a joke, or word of cheer.
He was ready, with the folks so poor,
to shed a gentle tear.
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Once, when I walked in a Woodland Glade,
I saw such a funny man, sat in the shade,
with a coat of blue, and hat of green,
his trousers were red as ever I’d seen,
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Oh, the dark, dark, darkness,
Oh, the coldness of this tomb,
Where is that light which voices say,
avails to scatter gloom?
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I’ve got a rod, I’ve got a line,
I need a fish to make it fine.
I’ll cast my hook in the river deep,
Where denizens of the water sleep.
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A summer storm

Clouds arise
Leaden skies
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I saw the Red Orbe'd Guardian of each day,
slowly rise in majesty, to rule in kingly sway.
But somehow held by misty chain,
it seemed to struggle height to gain,
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Swollen buds, on springtime bough,
Herald a change of season.
New life released from winter store,
Rejoicing heart and reason.
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