STACIE EIRICH - POEMS

Stacie is a writer, mother and unabashed dreamer who reads poetry by moonlight and dreams of traveling beyond the stars. She has recently published stories & poetry in MUSED, Wee Tales (Golden Fleece Press) and Ruby Magazine. Author of The Dream Chronicles, a fantasy series for middle-grade readers, she lives north of New Orleans with her family and two feisty furballs, Ollie & Oreo - writing, mothering, and dreaming.
Website: http://www.writerstacieeirich.blogspot.com 
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​Sand Castle

​She walks through the waves,
they flow wildly, mingling with
her thoughts, ripping against
her feet like stones, their hard texture
scratching her skin.

She picks up a shell in the sand,
its glow filling her hand
like candlelight burning against her palm,
she scrawls out her message,
it scrapes against her pale
fragile flesh.

She lays in a soft tunnel of her creation,
waiting for winged angels to fall
from the sky, heeding her call,
her thoughts bite at her 'midst the wind,
with every breath the waves covering her,
until she is another castle
washed away with the tide.

​Night Harmonies

​Iridescent threads of light
shine through my window,
the sky is alight and joyous
with star-strewn brightness.

A slice of moon
hangs above the stars,
enticing the earth
with its slender beauty
against the indigo cloak of night.

A night-bird in the distance
beacons me with rhythmic harmony
and bright tones.

The stars hum, creating
a golden stillness,
a perfect peace
in the sanctuary of night.

Momentary Vision
​

​Silvery gray eyes look up to a
September moon, it hangs in the
starry distance, giving off tiny spots
of light between the trees.

Her skin chills underneath her
crimson cloak, she pulls it
tighter around her as the wind
blows her long hair around her cheeks.

He gazes at her in this silence,
imagining her thoughts as her eyes
move up and down the darkened
shadows of the trees, they encircle
the bench she sits upon.

Like a tiny bird she flutters
when he unexpectedly slips,
shuffling his feet, he sees
her momentary fear like
a startled little kitten,
he wants to draw her close, comfort her.

She pulls a hood over her head,
now all he can see are those
silver eyes turning towards him,
seeming to pierce him,
her mouth suspended beneath
a multicolored scarf, the wind
grabs its fringed ends just as
he wishes to hold her lips
tight to his own.

The moon slides behind
darkened clouds above, obscuring his view
for a moment, he waits
until darkness passes,
looking through his lens in
anticipation, his pupils fixing,
enlarging, transforming to
pinpoints where she rests.

Shimmering gray light
explodes onto the path,
his vision darts to and fro
searching for her red cloak.

The bench sits staring back at him,
her scarf dancing between its
legs, a token she has left behind,
when she vanished
into the wind.

​Troika

​She kneaded the clay into her fingers
like finest jute fibers,
spinning it into
curved perfection.

She sang an ancient song
as she worked, of her native India,
a glorified Sanskrit,
the melody flowing
conterminously into
the texture of the clay.

She dreamt of the old city,
the great abbeys and temples
where the bishops wore
their miters,
she formed the dough
as tall as they stood.

She melded the form into
many, an ancient unfolding past,
it was a manor of white,
a church of gold,
and a cowbird, the
symbol of an American
future.

​Kaleidoscope

​Suspended beyond the river,
my soul reaches out, catches
a glimmer of truth
in the ebony shadow of night.

The crisp outline of a face
with indigo eyes, lost inside
a rhapsody of color, a wonder
beyond the worth of magic.

The secret beneath this face
is within my grasp,
I drink of it boldly, without a notion,
in pursuit of a frail secret,
a future unknown.