Poetry Niche – January 2026

To start the year, we feature the poetry of local poet Judy Dykstra-Brown.

Judy was The Tennessee Writers Alliance National  Poetry Award’s first place winner in 2002, and she posts a minimum of one poem a day on her blog at https://judydykstrabrown.com/
Her books include humorous poems on many subjects, memoirs and children’s books, all available on Amazon and at Diane Pearl’s Gallery.

Gazing Ball

On my neighbor’s lawn,
a Victorian gazing ball
revolves in the morning light,
the world around it
constant on its surface
as it spins.
Like some mad King Ludwig,
I am mesmerized,
letting the toast burn
as I watch it turn and turn.
Around it, the whole world spins as well—
revolution after revolution—
each time those with power
seizing the advantage
to widen the gap
between the poorest
and the rich few
who must have it all.
And here I am,
balanced in the middle—
accepting fate as my cavalier
to spin me as he will.

Those who stage the revolution
often thrive on discord,
playing the game of war.
Do we ignore those who exploit us now
or support those who will exploit us next?
Do we hide out,
hoping to build a world between walls
so high that we can control it—
our personal island
keeping safe our pets,
our families, our friends,
our private endeavors?
Is there an island
impregnable?
Is there any wall too high to scale?
Those of us too tired or disinclined
to march, to picket
or to go to war
hunker  here
with dogs in the night
to warn us if “they” come.
Deadbolts and bars
stave off those private revolutions
being planned against us—
each hungry burglar looking
to revolve our flat screen TV into tortillas and beans,
each motorcycle bandit searching for a weakness in security
to turn our revolving credit line into his own.
Every day, revolution.
Some days the battles larger than the next,
involving mobs and entire countries
looking for a new solution;
while as we look at history,
everything is revolution,
returning to
its start.

---

Transcendental Bad Boy

Nowhere to go, nowhere to flee.
I cannot run away from me.
I’m stuck inside with no way out.
Just me, with no one else about.
All the others are there outside
this place where I alone abide.

If I could climb out of my skin
and leave this body that I’m in,
(not limited to head-to-toe,)
I wonder where I’d choose to go.
Perhaps a river, perhaps a sea––
anyplace that wasn’t me.

For one day, I’d be a cloud
if changing stages of matter’s allowed.
Floating high up in the blue,
I’d think of new things I could do.
I’d find parades for me to view,
then just for fun, rain on a few.

If I were water and you drank me,
I’d view you internally.
I’d punch your uvula and then
slide down the chute inside your skin.
Inside you, I would rage and thunder,
from your throat to way down under.

If I were wind, I’d lift the skirts
of dour old ladies and teenage flirts.
I’d muss the hair of social mavens
pluck nestlings from the beaks of ravens.
No telling what a menace I’d be
if I’d not been limited to me!

---