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Thursday, June 6, 2019

Three poems by Julie A. Dickson



Rock, paper, scissors


“Paper or plastic”
I call out to the river, as if it has a choice

Un-chosen bit of plastic flotsam
drifts lazily, white billowed mass
undulating in the current,
Market Basket logo still visible -
floating advertisement flows downstream
catching briefly on twigs and rocks

Stick extended, sad fishing expedition,
a sodden reminder of human invention –
cheaply-made goods destined to join
as kindred polyethylene spirits
on gull-swarmed piles of immortal refuse,
floating detritus , an eternal  wasteland at sea

Mind drifts with the river current -
photos recalled:
Distorted turtle shell grown around plastic ring
Contents of dead whale’s belly strewn on a beach
Skunk’s head stuck in a plastic peanut butter jar

Glass grinds back to sand
Paper mulches into earth

Rock, paper, scissors
Plastic prevails



Julie A. [Dickson] Richter
Exeter, NH

Julie A. Dickson ---------- three poems


Rock, paper, scissors


“Paper or plastic”
I call out to the river, as if it has a choice

Un-chosen bit of plastic flotsam
drifts lazily, white billowed mass
undulating in the current,
Market Basket logo still visible -
floating advertisement flows downstream
catching briefly on twigs and rocks

Stick extended, sad fishing expedition,
a sodden reminder of human invention –
cheaply-made goods destined to join
as kindred polyethylene spirits
on gull-swarmed piles of immortal refuse,
floating detritus , an eternal  wasteland at sea

Mind drifts with the river current -
photos recalled:
Distorted turtle shell grown around plastic ring
Contents of dead whale’s belly strewn on a beach
Skunk’s head stuck in a plastic peanut butter jar

Glass grinds back to sand
Paper mulches into earth

Rock, paper, scissors
Plastic prevails



Julie A. [Dickson] Richter

Exeter, NH 



Cavendish


Tendrils of gray smoke
crossed sun rays,
shone through gauzy curtains

Grandfather’s two-toned brown pipe
was filled with tobacco,
Cavendish scent

My young nose abhorred cigarettes
but his intriguing two-toned brown pipe
emitting such a rich fragrance
drew me in

I moved close enough
to taste the aroma on my tongue

His eyes closed as he drew in;
I watched and then closed
my own eyes



Julie A. [Dickson] Richter
Exeter, NH





Violet Dance

Air clear, billowed clouds lay against the blue.
Six oak stood in a circle, near a high rock wall,
capstones toppled into thick grasses.

The six, when night fell, joined low branches,
hands held in a graceful forest waltz.
Ancient murmurs welled up their trunks
reaching tall in joy, swayed and turned.

By morning, the six returned to their places
in the grove; a new patch of deep purple violets
stood as a reminder of their nocturnal dance.


Julie A. [Dickson] Richter
Exeter, NH