Julie Dickson --------------- three poems

 Ghost Warrior

 

 

I am not the ghost;

let me be clear on this.                             

The ghost is my past

and my most fervent hope

is to at last be free.

 

I am the ghost warrior,                                               

fighting invisible echoes,

a story that is better forgotten,

realizing no gain or reward

from listening to a ghost.

 

I am its bane, to silence a voice,

an apparition I cannot see or hear,

though I hum music , close my eyes

to assuage fear, writing the very words

that will allow this ghost to rest easy.

 

Julie A. Dickson

 

An Absent-stance

 

 

I implied you were never there

yet there you stood

stolid

stoic

 

Your absent nature left me

alone in a peopled room

without empathy

without touch

 

Nothing expressed plainly

your volatile nature left me

confused

wanting

 

Implicitly absent in your stance

a father that wasn’t

loving

caring

 

 

Julie A. Dickson

 

                                                                                                                                    

 

Beach Rose

 

Snow falls soft as cotton,

blankets a withered vine,

twisted about a trellis pole.

 

A single beach rose, dark pink -

frozen, locked in translucence,

a treatise of summer bloom.

 

 

Julie A. Dickson