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