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Saturday, February 9, 2019

Four poems by Julie A. Dickson


Weather Report


The weather is ridiculous you say?
Back in my day, we had snow up to here,
had to clear driveway by hand,
distribute sand from a pail, all the while
assailed by drifting snow and wind.
Dogs romped through high banks
knocking snow down to my feet,
and when there was sleet,  I just froze,
bundled to the nose in wool scarf
and knit mittens that soaked through
till my hands were bright red.
No Thinsulate gloves, nor snow-blower then;
my jacket got damp, there was snow
in my boots, even though I had bread bags
over my socks, but I didn’t care a bit,
never threw a fit about being cold.
With driveway and walks done, now was time
for some fun, digging tunnels and caves
into heaped up mounds from the road plow.
I wonder how long I stayed outdoors
pretending an igloo was my icy home,
or dragging a sled, metal and wood, up the hill
just for the thrill of sliding down, to trudge
up again until the voice from within
offered cocoa after shucking my wet duds,
eventually warmed in the suds of a hot bath,
I relaxed, knowing school was closed today,
heard the weather report, thinking how cool,
to stay home on a winter day, frosted windows
decorated like lace, a smile crossed my face.


Julie A. Dickson



Long ‘til Spring


Road along the fence lays under snow
fields unmowed half-covered like a fog
no wagon tracks or furrows by the row
cannot discern a hillock from a log

Fronds of wheat reach up as if to wave
those not buried seek the morning sun,
you might describe those stalks as soldiers brave
they stand against the cold with faces dun

A single bird from fence surveys the field
may wonder if some insects have survived,
retreats to oak in hope that branches shield
his hunger, cold now winter has arrived

Field in silence, bird must weather storm
long ‘til spring, he struggles to stay warm



Julie A. Dickson
Exeter, NH



From the Womb


Phantom dark cast shadow,
sketched charcoal streak
marks a midnight story
where stark, cold branches cut
through heavy velvet night sky

Embraces gray clouds,
moonless, endless dark,
no pin-prick light shines
to disrupt blue-black drapery,
covers the window of winter

Dawn drains darkness,
brings lightness to morning sky
like new life born from
the womb of mother earth –
she opens the day to sunlight

A new season unfolds,
tiny litter suckles in the nest
of early spring, preparing
budding brilliance –
trees smile their greeting



Julie A. Dickson
Exeter, NH


A New State



Sad state of affairs they say too often
without means to resolve or demonstrate.
What we’re left with might best be forgotten;
I’m ready and waiting for a new state -
so unrecognizable at this time. 
Is there another choice you might say?
In trouble we are if we follow this line,
I’m ready for change if you name the day.
It seems that people have been misled,
the masses in tatters they wait, for what?
Listen in volumes, to lies being said
I’m ready to hear a new voice, but
who will come forth to lead the nation?
I’m ready for a revelation.


Julie A. Dickson











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