(Photo of Stacie Eirich)

 

 

 

Silver Glow

 

Shadows of blackness

pass against a light-post,

casting a wicked aura

against the darkened night.

 

The songbird winces in the tree,

its melody ceases, as

it is frightened and alone.

 

The stars come, playing a melody

to lure the moon out of its hiding.

Shy when it is only a sliver, she slips out

from behind her curtain

casting a velvet shadow

over the earth.

 

Alive with this silver glow,

the dark shadows retreat,

the sky alights with

melodic tones,

and the moon shines,

trusting the angels above her.

 

 

A Perception of Sounds

 

Pitter-pattering raindrops

glance my window

as the gray sky meshes

into a night-shadow;

it sings of melancholy,

chirps at me listlessly,

a patterned throng of madness against

the previous gray stream.

 

Click-clack, click clack touches

my fingers as I type,

missing the moment

when light fades to dark.

It passes with small notice

from hands above.

They are back and reminding,

tick-tocking in precision

with my mechanical task

until the last dot is in place.

 

Swip-swap, swip-swap comes

the rush of whispered messages,

floating towards me as I rise.

They move in lines towards

my awaiting ear, yet rush

away in quite a hurry

to join another waterfall

with larger currents.

 

Clip-clopping to my evening

destination, I slip on my coat,

listen for the familiar

beep-beep, beeeeep of the

tiny red light--it alerts me

to my changed atmosphere

as I alight from my daytime existence,

shuffle off into this night,

listening to my own sighs

bouncing off the pavement below.

 

 

Journey of a Reader:  In Thanks to all Writers 

 

I read voraciously, soaking in

the language of others. I gaze at

volumes of words overflowing on

the page, in awe of artistry that

seems never-ending.

Each new voice paints

a world that I lose myself in

between front and back covers.

 

Opening a new package, I peel

back its cover as if unwrapping

a chocolate candy bar.

I become that Korean child, that British Inspector

the 19th-century whore, the film star.

I fly through mountains of nouns, verbs, phrases,

watch them melt into my hand

as I turn each page.

 

I take my time in that sacred house of words,

skimming through “New Fiction,” being careful

to only allow myself two new treasures.

Yet, somehow, I always leave with three.

 

In the evening, one sits at my coffee table,

beckoning me, causing me to stay awake

late into the night.

Its yellowed edges send me into dragon-flight,

wearing crimson dresses, carrying

sword-wielding passions.

I can hardly bear the anticipation

which comes with each turned page,

each suspended moment.

 

I mark page 100, look up at the clock: 1 A.M.

I hurry to bed

so that I will have fantastic, full dreams.

 

 

Wendy's Refrain

 

Lured into a mystery,

cascading like flowered petal

waterfalls,

moon glances in a half smile

as black piano keys,

accidentals,

play haunting melodies.

 

In glazed candlelight somewhere,

an old love of mine

celebrates another un-birthday.

I am without, fooled by my

own passions.

 

An orchestra crashes through in

climactic chords

as I realize I am caught

in a trance,

outwitted by this lustful

illusion, smirked at by love.

 

The Sea outside my window

is drowning my china-doll-like

limbs, a sleepless breathless

form without life am I.

 

Captain Nemo, rest here,

stay with me,

don't wake me once

I'm sleeping.

 

Hide me in a creation

of fiction, wake and you'll

be disappointed

that I am no angel,

just a girl,

and you are no God,

just a boy.

 

So let me sleep

and therefore remain

mesmerized on this ghostly ship

of tattered sails and

fragile dreams.

 

 

Running Shoes

 

Running

to the door,

she flushes into an

am-biotic world,

lights her relief,

takes a swift drag,

looks up to the sky.

 

Leaning against the wood,

scarlet warmth

embraces her body,

orange embers

fly across her jeans,

skipping on

the boards beneath her

shoes.

 

© Stacie Eirich

 

Bio:  Stacie is a writer, mother and unabashed dreamer who reads poetry by moonlight and dreams of traveling beyond the stars. Fueled by hazelnut coffee, dark chocolate and red wine, she's currently writing her next children's fantasy in The Dream Chronicles series. She lives north of New Orleans with her family and two adorable cats, Ollie & Oreo - writing, mothering, and dreaming. Visit her blog @ http://www.writerstacieeirich.blogspot.com, and connect with her on Facebook @ http://www.facebook.com/writerstacieeirich