Shane Dickie

How marvelous nature is!

How intelligent and independent!
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Nothing beats the excitement and expectation
Of the newborn! So much hope - so much happiness!
This is new life - the seeds of union; of love manifested
In the newborn, the loving pieces of a family,
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Poems are like drops of rain falling from the heavens above,
Poems are shards of wisdom; pieces of granite cleaved
By the hammering of the soul through life's hard lessons
Learned and life's hard lesson's won.
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Quiet at last!
Soothing serenity permeates the air,
Soundless sacredness seeps into,
Surrounds and sedates me.
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A sea of people I scan; I then look inside
Myself, I am one of them, there is no difference,
There is no separation in the seams— just one
Huge entity.
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He loves numbers; he loves to count,
To add, subtract, to multiply and
Divide to borrow, and to arrange,
Equations are his life. To him
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Determination deeply embeds inside my
Hungry, boiling veins, my heart feeds on
My veins' idea of nourishment, a food
Not edible yet in craving demand.
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Edges of buildings; defined space, a concern for Architects
The boundaries of Relationships are not so well defined,
They are fuzzy and the alleys are blind.
Edges of broken glass are sharp and jagged;
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Sadness has a thousand shades,
Happiness had ten; sometimes I
Feel all the sad ones, from low to
Medium and back to myself again.
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This man is different; he is odd,
This woman is weird; who is behind
The façade.
Cast in shame are these
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Silence in the morning,
Is as pleasurable and warming;
Silence at night is a long cruel fight,
Music and speech in the morning
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What are twins? Two persons
Born in a single moment in time?
Or the sharers of exact or similar
D.N.A., the keepers of secrets,
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Memories of special moments are frozen
In time; crystallizing with age and becoming
Ever sweeter like fine wine.
They are pure and become the shape of
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My imagination is the canvas,
The world - my paints; Language
My brush; words and phrases
—The Strokes.
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I spied a hummingbird hovering in the
Garden amidst the green bushes,
I felt a zephyr from the west,
I breathed in the fresh air of spring,
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If I still saw life through a child's eyes,
People would still be people,
There would be no race; no rich nor poor,
No right or left wing, no ugly or
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Daytime is for activity
The bright light of honesty
And truth burns brightly,
Night-time in contrast is for rest
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To watch the skirmish—surely fun,
Mass confusion I do enjoy,
Days without it my mind falls into a stupor
Where the action is where I am
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I feel alone and isolated,
I will find a way out of this trap,
Out of my feeling of alienation;
I imagine a brick wall with society
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Thoughts are morbid, deep, dark and sinister,
I feel I am already in the crypt, all ready for death,
Is it in my heart or in my head - the act is a mere formality.
My pain is the grief of a thousand bee stings
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