Yellow Slicker [1967] by Julie A. Dickson

Yellow Slicker [1967]

smelled slightly sour
perhaps oily –
definitely stained

The rubber boots
were too large
for my child-sized feet

We stood in line
my brother and me
between slicker-ed parents

Slowly we walked down
metal stairs into a cave –
rush of water loud in my ears

damp, moldy smelling walls,
water trickling down, looked
at the floor to ensure firm footing

until we reached the look-out.
Cave of the Winds, they said,
strange to a child of seven

whistling and howling winds
blew through, spraying my face,
a fine sheen of water soaking me

Peered out from behind a sheet
of water, thundering past cave
opening to the rocks below

I squeezed mother’s hand
feeling the power it yielded,
yellow slicker enveloped me

Julie A. Dickson is originally from Buffalo, NY. Her father’s family was from Guelph and Vineland Station, Ontario, Canada in the late 1800’s, they founded the Culverhouse Canning Factory there. Dickson lived near Lake Erie and Niagara Falls until her early teens, when her family relocated to Massachusetts. Always the lakes-girls, her poems often reflect in memories of Lakes Ontario and Erie, and visiting the falls. Her poems appears in many journals including Ekphrastic Review, Misfit, Open Door and others; full length works on Amazon. Dickson has been a guest editor, past poetry board member, is an advocate for captive elephants and shares her home with two rescued cats.

Julie A. Dickson was the guest editor of the Ekphrastic Review challenge to write a poem inspired by Frederic Edwin Church’s painting Niagara, 1857. See a page about ekphrastic poetry of Niagara, including the poems from the Ekphrastic Review

Niagara Ball Falls by Julie A. Dickson

Ball bounces to theriver Niagara

swept downstream in torrents of

rushing current thunderous wild

over falling into mist gone

Kept back from theedge mother

clings to my shirtback I scream

loss of ball the worst thing ever

Father tells ofbarrels going over

on purpose on a dare tightrope

stretched acrossraging cold river

My child’s eye blindto such feats

Guinness book but some deaths

Broken bodies barrels swirling

detritus among rocks angry water

thrown up tantrum of white mist

When they dammed thefalls dry

one year we saw wood fragments

dare-devil bones but not my ball

Niagara Ball Falls written and published in Mini Mag 2023

Read about When Niagara Falls Ran Dry

Uncertainty by Sarah Das Gupta

*Niagara*, 1857 by Frederic Edwin Church
Image courtesy of the National Gallery of Art

Dichotomy of light and shade
rainbow blurred in cloud and rain
white suicidal water
tangible tears of spray
rocks of despair, eddies of grief
days of uncertainty and loss

Still the blue face of control
cascades of courage and resolution
accepting the crags of destruction
the far horizon of the past
tethered on the edge of memory

Sarah Das Gupta wrote this ekphrastic poem, inspired by Frederic Edwin Church’s 1857 painting Niagara, which was first published in The Ekphrastic Review, October 20, 2023 in their Ekphrastic Challenges series. Read about ekphrastic poetry in Niagara.

Sarah Das Gupta is a retired teacher living near Cambridge, UK who has taught in India and Tanzania. Her work has been published in over 12 countries including US, UK, Australia, Canada, Germany, India, Croatia and Romania

Falling Days by Kate Copeland

Now the gulls
have chased away
the long- and lacewings,

Now the silt has risen
from the river floor
to overturn her days and ways,

and now their boat trip
has not shown the mist
she had hoped to see,

she sees that rainbows still fall on,
that tides rest at her feet
and barrels drift away anyway.

He might brighten up
once they drive down to the lakes,
once he stops mocking her love

for the waterfalls that make her
think straight, he wants to
control her rise and fall

but her moods to sing like birds
and butterflies, is a step further
towards the edge of
falling days, where her best choice
is, to choose her road carefully, is
to be aware of plunging

without sinking. To see he might just
be in her way. Dive in, dear girl,
but rise, down the shiny waves.

This poem, inspired by Frederic Edwin Church’s 1857 painting Niagara, was first published in The Ekphrastic Review, October 20, 2023 in their Ekphrastic Challenges series. Read about ekphrastic poetry in Niagara.

Kate Copeland started absorbing words ever since a little lass. Her love for language led her to teaching; her love for art & water to poetry…please find her pieces at The Ekphrastic Review, First Lit.Review-East, Wildfire Words, The Weekly/Five South, AltPoetry and others. Over the years, she worked at festivals and Breathe-Read-Write-sessions; she is now curator-editor for The Ekphrastic Review and runs linguistic-poetry workshops for the IWWG this year. Kate was born @ harbour city and adores housesitting at the world. https://www.instagram.com/kate.copeland.poems/

Read Dad, you have left us, also by Kate Copeland

Dad, you have left us by Kate Copeland

Dad, You Have Left Us

with this falling desire to find
the most magic breezes,
the best of both worlds, to drive
some mighty drives.

Let us go back to 1986,
when my parents opened shop
then proudly spent the money
in big cities, on bigger cars,
at biggest waterfalls.

A road trip, and all is grand, all goes
fast, and y’all say how-ya-folks-doing.
Yellow taxis, subway steams,
rush-hush diners, sneakers’ streams.

We got culturally confused over
morning coffee with no menu,
the fries on every sandwich, the toppings
on every sundae, in every National Park.

No end to the eye, no end to the sights.
Wonderstruck, we got
and our giant car past traffic lights
swinging from wires, we got pulled over
on I-90, by shiny-sunglass-sheriff.

Onwards to Graceland, for the King,
forwards to the Falls, for dear Marilyn.
Liquid silver river, blue-green falling
with no fear for borders,
or for yellow ponchos.

Nature is a thunderous wonder,
nature at its thunderous best.
Feeling like film-living in the mist
of rainbows, the foredeck pointing at
caves and hidden myths.

Dad, you have left us
with this healing desire
to hold on to memories, of cities,
of road trips, the water. You have
shown us your tall way, to fall without fail.

(To my dad, October 1997)

Read Falling Days, also by Kate Copeland

Category: Niagara Falls Poetry

Yellow Slicker [1967] by Julie A. Dickson

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Niagara Ball Falls by Julie A. Dickson

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Uncertainty by Sarah Das Gupta

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Falling Days by Kate Copeland

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Dad, you have left us by Kate Copeland

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