Poems by Erika Ginnis
Poems by Erika Ginnis
Index
Note: All of these poems are copyrighted © by Erika Ginnis.
I went to the river today my old friend. It seems like years that I
walked that shore. I speak now in silences and use images and stories to
form that which is difficult in words alone...
There are so many worlds.
To travel among them one must be able to interpret and transpose, put shadows
where there are none so that a line can be seen..here and here.
Sometimes it's the shadow that is important,
sometimes the form the shadow defines.
As I walk the river I listen to the layers of my jumbled thoughts. I
let them slip out one by one and trail them behind me as if on a string. The
only danger here is that which we bring with us. As the number of strands
behind me increases I can see that there is no danger here at all, only my
own worries and folly.
The banks are shaded in this place. It is cool and the feel of the air
is deep and green. I watch the patterns of the leaves and the shadows of
those patterns.
Finding a soft bit of green, I rest myself. The strands of my word
thoughts are settling now. They rest like silk among the round stones of the
beach. It is here that I can unwind their colors, separate one from
another, lay them sided by side, contemplate their pattern. The stones on
which they lie are smooth and grey, they neither absorb the color of my
thoughts nor rebuke them.
There are so many colors. Some of the silk is deep indigo, an ink
soaked sky, bits of light in glittering icy air. It is the color of deep
night, indelibly printed dreams, a clear high note of power. Among these
strands are some of bright crimson...brilliant and beckoning. Life force and
the battle cry, clean pure anger honed to a fine edge. A warning to those
who seek to cross me. I am aware and will not hesitate.
As I speak, I weave these threads and loose the emotion from them.
I watch it as it shimmers onto the surface of the river ever changing and
renewed, it gives a sheen to the fabric I am creating.
Here is the gold of promise, shining with the warmth of the sun.
Here the silk is leaf dappled green, spring shoots on winter dead branches.
I know not what fruit these branches will bear, I know only that they are
alive.
The thread of my labor is now the color of song. A melody that is
almost familiar to me, as if heard over a great distance, harmony and cadence
lilting and sustained. There is a memory in this; it shifts and changes like
the river, but is held in my mind long after it fades. A recollection of
another time in which we danced.
I unwind my thoughts and shake them free. Let them float on the breeze
as strands of silk. The fabric I weave is my life. The pattern I use is
my own. I weave mountains and roses, power and song. There is anger, joy
and the sound of my own heart. There is love.
I use silk because it holds many colors, because it is soft and because it
is strong.
I walk the river. I listen to the layers of my jumbled thoughts.
I let them slip out one by one and trail them behind me as if on a string.
The string becomes the pattern, the pattern becomes the fabric, the fabric
I soak in the river: for these dyes, at least, are set. It is then I return
from the river, from the shade and the stones, from the shelter of the
leaves. And for a while I marvel at this fabric I have woven.
I speak now in silences and use images and stories to form that which
is difficult in words alone.
There are so many worlds. To travel among them one must be able
to interpret and transpose, put shadows where there are none.
Sometimes it's the shadow that is important
sometimes the form the shadow defines.
copyright 1985 Erika Ginnis
Don't be afraid
They say
Angels always
Their greeting
Around you they stand, hovering
Wings
Beware the effect
Heaven's smile has on your life
Empathy eyes amused
Embracing arms outstretched
They pose for a stained glass window
Irreverently
Vortex wings
Crystal cadence
Fear not they say
And give you another
Impossible task
copyright 1991 Erika Ginnis
Around the house he walks
tape measure in hand
scribbling cryptic notes
like ancient runes
foretelling the future of this sacred site
I stand like an initiate
silent
having invoked this ritual of transition
watching a stranger
measure my fate
and count the number of rooms.
copyright 1992 Erika Ginnis
Tempest wings trembling sought air
carried upward in thermal spiral
the earth's breath
The standard with which all are measured
no blue as bright
no action met with such sweet response
no absence as keenly felt
dare not look out past this
curving feathered edge
to mark the distance traveled
or note how taut this
mortal thread is pulled
see only the blue
into which the soul is fed
rising while there is only the blue
movement dissolves in the sky
pain and loss shatter with the altitude
falling back to the earth's stronger gravities
Revealing the unmarked back
where true wings unfold
in rarer atmosphere
with heavenly intent
copyright 1993 Erika Ginnis
Bruises, like purple roses
pass through the lines of spectral color
as they fade from my breast.
The only flowers I shall receive from this encounter
they linger now, where you have not.
In the bath they bloom darkly, with the steamy tropical water.
Glowing like tatoos, or strange badges from some sexual war,
that I now wear unwillingly.
They pay homage to my conscience,
in unwelcome remembrance
of a passing painful sweetness.
At the gym, locker room eyes are filled
with the unasked question;
Are you victim or fool?
And who am I to say.
Victim of my own desires and illusions?
Surely.
But fool undoubtedly.
That I should risk my life in this age of latex
for nothing more
than a reasonably pretty boy
and an unanswered call.
copyright 1993 Erika Ginnis
My love is a sphere that circles in the night
call me Dreamer and I will come
a shower of sparks from your head and hands
My love is a pressure on my heart, a tear in my eye and all joy
call me Dreamer and I will come
a shower of sparks from heart and mind
My love is real and sits on a slender throne
wearing a cloak of mist
call me dreamer and I will come
The sparks rain down like the stars in heaven
collecting at our feet like fiery snow
while you and I stand together
hand in hand
glowing white hot in the fire
and laughing
copyright 1990 Erika Ginnis
The glass is pink, it shatters in the moon light.
You can see it as it falls glistening and soft like snow,
but sharp with its edges thin and fine from the breaking.
It is so light
that the separate pieces are caught by the currents in the air,
warmth holding them aloft,
a flurry of pink stars glittering in changing constellations,
or a flock of tiny angular birds with the sunset on their wings,
gliding with singular purpose
cool air calling them to the earth.
So much beauty from this explosion in the night,
and you wonder at the strength that held this glass together
at the power released from its breaking
and at the color which through the moonlight is shown, even now,
reflecting off the glass.
Another change, you think
as you watch what's left of the lenses drift away
like wisps of rose colored smoke.
The frames fall silently to the earth
empty and clear with the whole world passing through them.
And part of you wonders how things will look
in the true color of day
and part of you has always known.
copyright 1989 Erika Ginnis
When ever I bite my nails
I think of voodoo
Wondering if this shred of my DNA
Will find its way
To some unknown pouch
In a darkened room
With a lock of hair
When ever I bite my nails
I watch my movements closely
And wait for unexplained heat
copyright 1991 Erika Ginnis
The wolf comes to your seat, dressed in blue
Asking a favor
Smelling of alcohol, he smiles insistent
Looking for plastic sheep.
Their numbers spin in his head
Like a lottery.
copyright 1991 Erika Ginnis
Soft as silk,
skin pulled tight over muscle.
Tension held in the shoulders, waiting for release
unknowingly.
Looking at this landscape it is touched.
Follow the line,
I start at the neck and trace it down,
fingernail down the line of human fabric,
testing the weave and that which lies beneath the surface,
just barely beneath the surface.
Finger tips trace the division between hollow and crest,
shadow play.
You can see it out of the corner of your eye
if you know what to look for,
you can hear the tremors
if you listen differently.
Rippling,
and always that tension
following and flowing, releasing around the touch like an arc.
See the spark lift from the skin like a blue star and make the
connection, even over miles
to lift the hand is not necessarily to break contact.
copyright 1990 Erika Ginnis
My heart hurts
In my ears I hear the dying wind
A score of thoughts unwritten, tempt me with single phrases
They dissipate like water vapor as I turn
a mass of droplets on my skin
gone
I am dry
like the cracked floor of an ancient sea
Desert wind peels the layers of my soul away
crumbling to dust
I am the sum of many lives
compressed and forgotten with time
sediment into rock
made slow by the sun
stretched flat by the days
miles of sameness with bending horizon at foot and at crest
Patterns of lines
the random weaving
that nature plays with our lives
Dark night, bright with stars
the ancient tail of the eagle burst into flame
This sky is made of black stones
glint hard and smooth
oppressive and heavy with many atmospheres
like the sea on my back
I rode the line of past and future in a dream last night
The past was in black and white
The future was a desert
I stand poised in the middle, like a cat ready to spring
off a cliff
or into the air
copyright 1987 Erika Ginnis
At a light I begin this
it's been so long since pen to paper, my heart
bent
for expression pouring out
let me take this moment and hold it for a while
now the stars
dawn almost upon me
breath the air
feel the coolness
Tonight I will sleep
your kiss still
upon my mouth
Palms against each cheek
head in your hands
at once with a quickness
and gentle depth
that took me
and my breath, unaware
a sudden emergence
into the present moment
summer breaking over me in soft waves
In my minds eye I watch you walk away again
the gait unknowingly observed
I hold the reflection in stillness
feel the day about to begin
and think of your face
with head thrown back in loving
and eyes of brightest blue
copyright 1992 Erika Ginnis
Turning slow but unseen, surrounded by your friends
you were caught under unknowing black rubber.
Soft flesh was no match, you crumpled quickly
wings raised once as if in flight, then silent.
Feathers scattered on the ground
like fallen snow.
Surprising that you held so many.
We humans stand watching, included and accused by the swirling
pall bearers.
Black and white, sea birds and crows, they appear out of the
ether and sing your death song.
They fly where none existed just moments ago,
called by the changing of your spirit into the wind.
They spiral around and around lifting you up,
escorting you on,
and cry for us who have no words.
The ducks are also silent
still as a held breath,
a crowd of witnesses on the shore.
We have partaken in something today
like a shift of light, an opening of heaven.
We have been altered by it somehow.
It is all spirit, she says, and it is so.
There is shared responsibility but no guilt.
The verdict stands.
The procession leaves, vanishing like mist.
While we stay, caught in this web of reality
until consoled by one of our own.
A messenger without wings who has observed death and its effect.
It's all done now except for me
Human grasping for words
My tribute to this passing.
I watch as another of my kind takes the body, now empty,
and lays it on the grass,
out of harms way.
copyright 1991 Erika Ginnis
I spoke in poetry when I was with you. It was effortless and I felt
that this was how the world was meant to speak. Thoughts flowed from me.
Ideas arranged and rearranged themselves in seemingly endless patterns, so
many were there that I never tried to hold them and they fell all around me
like unkept blossoms. The warmth of loves summer released the fragrance from
the blooms at my feet, the baked scent carrying me to a place of nostalgic
fantasy as the heat relaxed my bones and drained the worry of the world from
me.
There was warmth in the winter of that year.
There was also a kind of poison and a price to be paid that was much too
high. It must be that some things cannot exist in this world. For that
flame of intense spirit took its toll on our own. Each flicker brought us
farther away from reality and perhaps eventually to death.
So we sacrificed the flame to save ourselves.
It's all that we could do.
But I feel the chill now, it is the one that brought me by the hand to the
fire in the beginning. The cold feel of wind against rock, and the echo of
something hollow.
So it seems that freedom comes gracefully to you, though of course not
without change. Still it seems good. I even sense your relief.
And as for me?
Poetry still comes at times but keeps a calendar of its own.
I have pressed the flowers in a book, those that I could still find.
I will keep them now, tidy and pressed with only a hint of perfume still
clinging, but steeped in memory.
I find myself in the midst of an emerging spring, sitting by a fire
built in the past, whose smoke is all but gone, feeling a chill in the air,
my heart and my bones. I know that there was only one choice to be made, I
watch light flow back into your life and see the rightness. But nonetheless
I feel as if I've lost something intangible and dear. Therefore I grieve for
lost love, and weep for the flowers of my imagination while the real ones
stand buds on the trees.
copyright 1990 Erika Ginnis
There is never only one choice
Nor is there only one direction in which a journey moves
So remain mindful of your feet on the path
And do not despair past scenery
only to miss what is fragrant
and blooming before you.
copyright 1990 Erika Ginnis
"You are completely safe" he said, as the leather fell across my back, an
even searing rhythm.
"I am taking you on a journey, you are going on a journey."
The way opened before me and I watched my feet fall in regular metered steps.
Though I stood naked, I wore a white shift. Though I remained inside
surrounded by candles, I walked a path through the grass under an open sky.
And then the sky fell away, as did the earth, and I was alone standing on the
invisible light of reality, everything was transparent. Then I looked around
myself and felt supported equally in all directions, down from under my feet
into the universe, and up from my head into the universe. I felt all of
creation supporting me equally all around, yet I was standing on a ledge of
nothing. But the nothingness was more solid than my every day illusion.
I saw vastness, which was the same next to me as it was an infinite
distance from me. I realized then, that he stood with me, and it was us two,
here in this moment of eternity, standing with the world falling away from
all sides.
He held my head in his hands, gently and with great strength and spoke
hidden things into my ears. I turned and looked into his eyes and then knelt
at his feet, hugging his legs and kissing each foot in turn.
"How can I serve you?" I asked.
"By sharing your sexuality with me" he replied, "by sharing the sex of
your transcendent body." And so I did, floating and feeling the energy build
in me, coming to me unbidden, when normally it is I who seek it out.
"I will always be with you." he said, and I told him I believed him,
because I did. He rocked me toward orgasm with complete control over when
I would come, and exactly how hard.
"When you come to me" he said, face next to mine "I want you to open
yourself and give yourself completely to me." How could I not?
He held me, as I shook and wept and laughed and cried out again and
again. And when he held me I saw wings, lying almost flat against his back,
but unmistakably wings. The color of wheat, tips crossed together in a V,
the strong wings of grace and flight. And his hair was longer, and lighter
but still then same soft curls that I knew.
"You are so precious to me" He said, cradling my head in one hand and
my soul in the other. And I wondered how it was that I should be so blessed,
that an angel wielded the whip so well, and should come to love me in this
way.
copyright 1995 Erika Ginnis
Such a fool am I who invites Pain to my table
Naming him a place and holding my meal
until he is comfortably seated
Arranging my guests so he sits at the head of the table
holding my attention with a word
The musicians strike not a note until he has taken to wine
the meal is laid out to his fancy
I've walked with him in the garden
Showed him the view from my grounds
I've sought him in the town and called him to the feast
renting him a cart and driver
Why such lengths to entertain Pain
And make him a place at my hearth?
It's the only way I have known...
He makes Love his companion
And I seek her out quite hopelessly
She sits to his right whenever he is here
She'll not make her place without him
Her gown is vibrant and soft
warm as summer rain
strong and gentle as the arms 'round a child
The countenance of Love is forgiving
Even as she sits holding the hand of Pain.
They'll not travel alone
And though my tears fall with the entrance of one
I cannot seem to live without the presence of the other
copyright 1990 Erika Ginnis
I am God looking at the world through my eyes
I am one angle at which everything is seen
We are all just another side of the coin
and exceptionally so
the coin is just another expression of God
and rightly so
God is mass experience and light
copyright 1989 Erika Ginnis
I offer up my heart
to the flight of birds
take this
take this
I hold it high over my head, arms
stretched
eyes closed
take this
please
(they fly on)
I pour out my heart
into an unfinished vessel
wanting it to contain
what it cannot
what I know it cannot
yet I am hurt by the failure
Is this what I look for?
Am I drawn to the imperfection
seeking the safety
of what I know can not be
given
or received
Maybe we are mirrors all
and the fault lies in my own
reflection, deeper hidden
a flaw in the silver backing
(lining)
Or perhaps what resonates
each to each
is deeper still
beneath the fear
the knowledge that everything is
imperfect in
some way
And that the search
for perfection
can be the ultimate escape
A stillness
within me now
under a wingless sky
causes me to look
at my hands
And what they hold, warm
still beating
and ultimately my own
copyright 1994 Erika Ginnis
Crystalline memories, etched in finely edged lines
Pathways that thoughts flow upon
subtly guided
They turn and shine like water
gathering and combining
They merge and their power grows.
These riverlets and streams criss-cross through my waking life
Playing at the edges of my awareness, gently teasing
like a half remembered song.
They exist like a network of support and help to sustain me
when my spirit lags behind
caught in sorrow or darkness.
There are other forces at work here,
trying to sand down the aqueducts
to make then smooth
So that the water will flow in sheets
waiting for another's impression to follow,
which they surely wish to impose.
They try but cannot follow, for these memories run deep,
guided by inner knowing, and grounded in time.
And this is where I meet you, where I will always be
where memory becomes the present
at the heart of the dream
copyright 1989 Erika Ginnis
How lonely it is to be yourself,
surrounded by yourself, in the universe,
if all you do is invalidate your own existence and actions.
You need the validation and affinity from within. If you don't give it to
yourself then you look for it in others continuously, and it is never enough.
It has to be from within, not because it is the "right" way, but because it
is the only way.
To try and counteract the attack from within that results from self
invalidation......
is like trying to quench a roaring fire
with thimbles of water, thrown from a distance,
attempting to melt a glacier with a few lit matches.
But one word of reassurance and greeting spoken from within
brings a hush to the fire
and a river from the glacier...................
copyright 1988 Erika Ginnis
Winged thoughts on dawn's first mist arise
escape the quiet breath of night.
With haste they venture forth and find
darker yet our waking sight.
Quiet words on rain-soaked distant shore
spoke to me through timeless thought and deed,
to call a name that answers more,
and still an even deeper need.
What strength there lies in dampened hills!
What dreams are hidden 'neath the grass.
What songs hang silent in the wind,
where only owl and eagle pass.
Answer then, thy heart's desire
that shroud the deepest fears of night.
To light a blaze of sun-bright fire,
a brilliant arc of crimson light.
Winged thoughts on dawn's first mist arise
escape the quiet breath of night.
With grace they venture forth and stand
breathless in our waking sight.
copyright 1987 Erika Ginnis
I walked among the mountains
FLEW
felt the wind as I dived,
cutting it with my hands like water.
Soaring
climbing
faster...faster...
My mind moved playing with phrases
weaving words into melodies
into songs
into dreams.
Up to the stars, to the place where the silver violet night cools the line
of golden dawn. Through that thin line at which they meet.
Whirling...slowly...sleeping...gliding
perfectly, perfectly
seasons form, meeting
Snow upon grass
upon blue skies
against bare trees
orange leaves, dragonflies
Water flowing...feeding...nourishing
completing the cycle
Mist rolling over and over
smiling quietly to itself
muffling the sharpness of words
silently moving dreams
I say it to the river,
the river gives it back to me all rippled and shimmering
laughing...cool...forgiving.
I toss it on the grass, it rolls softly cushioned.
The grass sings it a million times over
blade upon emerald blade
it has listened.
I plant it for the sun
awakening, it warms its dream with light
giving it a name.
And finally I leave it for the night
tiny touches of star light quickly
a thin gauze of moon light slowly.
copyright 1974 Erika Ginnis
When we swim we strike a delicate balance
we bridge the gap between air and water
motion helps to keep us afloat
gliding forward or in circles
Some of us keep to the top quite easily
hair not wet, head well above the waves
Then there are those of us who dive deep
swimming long spans without a pause
eyes open we sink down and make this our world
but even so we are forced, in time, to the surface
we cannot take the water into our lungs
It is not how we are made
We travel between two distinct worlds
The air from which we take our breath
And the pressured depths
which slow our movements, but support our forms all around
The light bends differently here
From above we can see our goals clearly and so we dive straight in sure of
our position
Only to find unseen currents pulling at us, and the object we seek
in a position other than we expected
Things change under water
In time we learn about this, and know how to adjust;
how far forward, how far back, how far down,
we set our goals
but take into account the medium through which we move
less of a fight, more of a dance
I often need to be reminded that I am swimming at all
Sometimes it takes a look from someone else in the water
or I think of a movie I have seen, and it stirs in me something
that speaks of how the air can feel
Gliding on the line between the worlds I have to remember
to breathe
it's minute to minute and there is always the temptation to forget
Because under the water I look up and all I see of the surface
is a moving sheet of diffuse light
the longer I look the denser it seems,
it starts to become a wall
until I catch a movement above me
And I burst up through the illusion, sending waves all around
I see again that I am only swimming
I may be in the water,
the water may be in me to my bones
But I am only swimming
at any moment I may fly
copyright 1989 Erika Ginnis
Golden liquid
color of angelic light
promise of euphoria
slow poison
starving the brain of oxygen
erasing pain's memory
Golden liquid
float in the womb of anesthetic
still born
Poison
the body remembers
what the mind denies
tries to avoid
the ritual harm, the stomach distended
contracts
tries to expel
what is already in the veins
And in the half light
in the rooms' spinning vortex
what you sought to bury
always comes back
multiplied like loaves and fishes
the rotten fermenting of
false salvation
Golden liquid
sweet voluntary poison
keeps well below your line of vision
tide rising
until
what is valuable drifts away
leaving only the pain
and a returning thirst
copyright 1994 Erika Ginnis
Moments drift like leaves on the wind.
Caught in an updraft of warm air, they dance
then settle gently
on us and around us
as we sleep
changed subtly by our every breath
forming the pattern we call our lives.
copyright 1991 Erika Ginnis
Though you may never know me, I have been touched by you.
You see, I've heard you play.
Blue sparks danced from your hand and fell to the stage in a
cascade.
I closed my eyes and saw the fire of heaven enter through you
like an inverse flame,
burning down from above.
I felt you strive to take what it was that you heard in your
heart, and set it free through the fragile wood that you held.
I waited to see it burst from the power of the emotion,
and it did.
As if your body were just a vehicle for the instrument.
As if the music came not from the playing,
but appeared fresh and pristine from your magic and our hope,
deciding only at that moment to ring from the bow and strings.
You took blood and flesh and passion and molded it completely
with a curve of wood and beauty. What we were privileged to
hear was something far beyond all of it, something better,
yet more truly human than we allow ourselves to be
most of the time.
I heard Music tonight.
I will remember it always.
Thank you.
copyright 1989 Erika Ginnis
We are the nomads of the desert
scattered and moving in small groups
the night is cold
black as ink
we wander through it as darkened shapes
heads turn to
a glowing distance
someone has made a fire
the light draws us
from across the dunes
riding beasts and on foot
we come
as family bands
and solitary travelers
we come
we are nomads brought together
by the sight
of fire
on the desert
it creates a focus
around which we revolve
the fire's heat
like a catalyst
increases reaction time
of our night
enthralled by the movement
we stare
into the brightness
as close as we can
without getting burnt
walking the moth flame tightrope
of swirling interaction
between flesh and combustion
we have no names
for the people who've made the fire their life
they are strange to us
committed to a single location
and purpose
we are only attracted
by the light
by the heat
by our own shadows that dance around the perifry
we've seen fires before
many times
through other dark nights
we are always drawn
and we always leave
when the flames are spent
we never look back
on the ashes of
what we've left
if the fire can't
maintain itself
if there's no more fuel
we are the nomad tribes of the desert
we make an assumption of fire
as a common occurance
and do not ask what it could be
that burns so brightly
since in the moment of asking
a change would occur
we would cease to be nomads
and become tenders of the flame
with suddenly something to lose
or learn.
copyright 1992 Erika Ginnis
Poems are like you
They give me no rest
They keep me awake with musings
And leave me bleary eyed with the day
They tease me with a phrase
Bringing blood to the skin
Waiting
When sleep finally takes me
They enter my dreams
Floating on twilight potential
Just out of reach
Poems are like you
They flow through my veins like fire
Till I would lay myself down
Open and burning
The stuff of my life bleeding from me
Staining the pages
And bursting into flames.
copyright 1991 Erika Ginnis
They walk through
alone, or in groups
pairs mostly, nesting birds
Plastic mask of smiles
my face
caring that it is through my life they walk
As if I am offering up myself for sale
and not my home
copyright 1992 Erika Ginnis
Towering glacier
ice blue reflective
wary of the suns' company
which melts the outer defenses
only to freeze again in solitary darkness
forming new shapes
carving river beds and fjords
glacier
solid and seemingly immobile
motion slowed to earth time
where an eon is a day
two inches a year
this frozen mass moves
two inches a year
toward a larger body
salt water siren singing
two inches a year
slow cold progress
toward dissolution and immersion
seeking the sea and equilibrium
aquatic particle distribution
an eternal resting state
copyright 1994 Erika Ginnis
Things that are real are but a language.
Fantasy contains more truth in its symbolic form;
it comes from the seed of imagination, with many layers of meaning.
Life processes without substance are nothing more than obscure patterns; to
view one without the other is to experience only half the intricate puzzle
and not see the beauty behind the design.
I form a dance within this maze,
advancing and retreating.
Following the thread that curves around and through,
guessing at connections when the light is dim,
only to be blinded and laughing when it hits me headlong,
twining through my steps,
knocking me off balance.
I do not believe that there is a top or bottom,
front or back,
to this "thing",
only an endless center flowing in upon itself.
Learning the patterns of symbols that are a language
triggers pathways into which there are no words.
It is of this place that knowledge speaks;
therefore the language has a purpose and can shine.
But to mistake the language for the journey would be a sorry error,
an attempt to structure that which needs no dimension;
because the journey is much more than words can ever be,
far greater than any structure.
copyright 1984 Erika Ginnis
Help me to cleanse this vessel
So that what comes through it is clear
That I may hear the phrase
As it is meant to be spoken
See the image clearly
Write with a hand that is cleansed
And a heart that resonates with truth.
copyright 1992 Erika Ginnis
Hands at my side I touch you
Speaking of nothing I kiss you
As conversation revolves around you
I open my eyes and see
To take in the curve and line and form
And drink in Eternity
copyright 1990 Erika Ginnis
Dream on sweet dreamer...dream
cast your shadows in the sail, and ride the wind
lay your body down before the great bright light
escape the bondage of your body, let go
you shall perceive the night
Live on dear dove remember past existences here
becoming one with knowledge you have always known
reaping fruit of seeds you've sown
ten thousand miles beyond the embryonic stage you've grown
And it shall be so, long time to wait, no time to turn your back
It will be known, there is a call, nothing to hold you back...now
Once you sat upon a star, you shone
glory light issued forth from its source
you were the eastern dawn
with iridescent glow your movements catalyzed the energy
you were one with that which makes creation sing
rejoice
Sing on now sparrow you shall transcend the wheel
by living out the lives assigned your soul
rejoining that at last which made you whole
so that they might know
there are many things that you will have to learn again
be it so
Beginning at a point in time
you start at once the upward climb
retracing pathways lost forever
multiplying hope, wherever
And it won't be easy
But we'll guide your steps as well as we can
realizing we love you
even though you won't recall who we actually are
...for a moment
Still, it must be your own choice
you will sing, but with your own voice
the message revolves 'round your word
don't try now to comprehend, it will seem too absurd
...until the end
when the ocean ceases pounding the shore
when you finally ask, and receive even more
when the hand brings the rose and your spirits will soar
I woke to the sound of laughter
singing higher pitches than I'd ever heard before
I perceived the beings, pure thought only,
with no physical structure to restrict the flow
they were blue and graceful
dancing gently across vast sandless seas
copyright 1976 Erika Ginnis
Reading the last page of the book, first
doesn't really help
because eventually, inevitably
you will still come to the end of the story
And no matter how
sweet or sad
you will have to
put the book down
and walk away
Reading the last page
doesn't ever prepare you
for when the story really ends
copyright 1994 Erika Ginnis
How many verses have I written to you my friend
enough for velvet volumes
enough for my cries and thoughts and wisps of dreams to find
a resting place in words
And yet through it all, it may be you never heard me
calling through the pain and darkness
one soul can carry
struggling with a shaft of light
to illuminate and make plain
meaning and intent
which ego and protections
cling to with tortured grasp
to cast that brief light unto the hidden place of caring
buried deep and guarded well
the glowing ember of love's heart
What cold embrace is this
that remembers not the sweetness
or that which had equal parts passion
that obligation could never carry
Cold embrace indeed
if you think it was all for a whim
a brief respite of satisfaction
or control's taut rein
You know me not for all my words
care not for such pretty volumes
were they all so hollow or poorly spoken
that you missed the point entirely
that I fought so hard to make
I will surely take the blame for loving incorrectly
without regard to protocol
or place in this world
but take not from me that I did love
for such cruelty I do not deserve
If it is inconvenient to you, that is your choice
but know that it was real and not all to be scorned
the heart in you was touched and mine resonated as well
not all incompatibilities these
Perhaps I cast my pages to a forgotten age
to let them lie upon meadows and field
fool that I am, perhaps blind as well
but better that than the unhearing ear
or the heart that alters its memories
copyright 1990 Erika Ginnis
Of how much worth is the lifeless body
prostrate upon the altar of you.
The heart having been given
no longer seems a prize
nor the hands
or the wordless lips.
The hair brushed back in beauty is now finite
and has ceased to inspire.
It's faded spark only an echo of light.
This flesh pales when compared to the living soul,
still untried and unbound.
Of how much value is the lifeless body
prostrate upon the altar of you.
In giving everything the mystery is revealed.
Frozen in an instant of surrender, everything is known.
Yet the feet no longer dance.
All that was in form is no more.
Offered in the quiet desperate longing,
of a gift freely given.
The shafts of wheat fall at the sickles caress,
even as it moves on in the harvest.
Transformation exacts a high price.
copyright 1995 Erika Ginnis
On points, like stars
delicately balanced, you rise from the stage like the sun.
My old friend, you wear a child's body like a costume
and I feel like a child beside you.
Ballerina, the angels gather 'round your laughter
and your wisdom gives them pause,
yet you in your innocence
continue unaware
thinking only that the lights are brighter this night.
Dancer on Heaven's gate
you remind me of who I am, why I began this journey,
and give me the kind of support
that comes from a kindred soul.
copyright 1988 Erika Ginnis
Words are stones with which I build my house
their substance strong
and I their unskilled mason.
The desire to create is a troublesome thing
with eyes of its own and path unswayed
it steals you from a hundred tasks
and leaves the beds unmade.
copyright 1992 Erika Ginnis
The hate that I have stored inside my mind
the pain that I have hidden in my soul
has kept me from the love that I could find
lest I should slip and lose this self control
Past wrongs contained and kept in tallies neat
forgiven not for fear of hurt again
appear like armored soldiers when I meet
another soul who seeks to call me friend
It may well seem to you that I deceive
and in as much as this I truly quake
I only hope with time that you believe
and understand the risk I seek to take
To let these structures fall and light ascend
and open up my heart which needs must mend
copyright 1993 Erika Ginnis
The new Religion wears a man's face
spiral hair frames it
like the crowning thorns of an old icon
chipped gold leaf replaced by stage lights on human skin
The Devotees throng to the weekly ritual
make their donations to the new Religion
receive the stamp showing their allegiance
and right to return to the fold
Some move before the altar in Pagan frenzy
some enact the ancient mating dance
on this ground made sacred
The new Religion wears a man's face
the new Religion fills your blood
the new Religion makes your head sing
far into the week
Many of the faithful stand in awe
pressed close, they gaze into the light
they know the litany
and sing it phrase by phrase
You become anonymous in the crowd
Your pride drops from you like burnt grass
In the blast of the furnace you stand
Naked and glowing like newly minted metal
Offer up your heart in flaming tears
and receive the coinage of the new Religion
Like a blessing
copyright 1992 Erika Ginnis
There is a small sphere
it rests on a slender pillar
surrounded by mist
I am walking toward it
slowly deliberately
I am walking toward it
It is difficult to see because the
mist swirls around me
floating on it are images
most are from dreams, many from the past
I have been walking this way for a long time
always in this direction toward this sphere
The mist is thin in places, so I can walk
but there is so much reality here
that I find I slow my step
I am closer now than I have ever been
and the beauty that I see nearly frightens me
Since there is so much implication in this
and so much telling me not to proceed
In other times I have walked this way, where my hand fell away
inches from the sphere..all but reaching it
my heart bursting but without the strength to finish it
the commitment of a task completed
So when I touch it as I know I must this time,
in some way
I don't know if the power of that focused desire
will lift me up skyward, eagle wings and feathers
the corona of the sun around me
or if in the glory the ground will open up below me
taken from beneath my feet
so that my support is gone
and I cause my fall
In my minds eye I can see my fall
These thoughts are with me now, because I look my creation in
the eyes and it does not back down
I have spoken its name out loud and have chosen to acknowledge
the path that I walk
on which my feet have been set for longer than I chose to see
But in my heart I have a hope
that if I hold the sphere within my hand
and believe true enough
that when the ground drops away
I will remain aloft
I will see that the need for support was only an illusion
and that gravity does not abide in this place
I am home
copyright 1990 Erika Ginnis
Sometimes tears can be like a rain
Deluge
Brown rivulets run across soil too dry to absorb the water
Tears like a storm, carrying all that was on the surface
away
downstream
Leaving a feeling of emptiness
not of loneliness
or sadness
but a sense of being washed clean
empty
at peace
Emotion released and stilled
like the silence after a pounding rain
In which you hear the voice of God
copyright 1992 Erika Ginnis
To free this passion from my breast
which breathest in unholy fire
to let it walk its rightful place
set straw upon the blazing pyre
Take from its sheath, the silver blade
and cut the binding cord in two,
for this I live and breathe and pray
one single task I strive to do
But quick am I to set aside
this ringing voice that speaks within
and cover it with lesser things
the search for love, the need to win
With all its wisdom, hope, and grace
when left untended for a time
it turns into a raging thing
to set afire all strength and mind
It comes upon me unaware
and stops my heart, exacts its toll
for keeping chained within my life
this living, breathing, poet's soul
copyright 1987 Erika Ginnis
In some other time
I took your picture
I engraved it in my mind
I can almost hear you talking while we walked
Another time I touched you lightly
But I swear it burned my hand
the memories come pouring from my skin
So it's now that I can see you
it is now I see your eyes
They're the eyes I knew before
I'd stake my life
Like I did before, that winter,
another spring, another time
Some other time I took your picture
some other time
Right now
is all that we remember
the past is just a light
that fades away
then sometimes it flickers right before us
and in that darkened window finds a way
to reach back
to some unfinished moment
it takes my breath
but what price would we pay
and if only I could touch you
no I won't be that unkind
what a shock to see you here
so close at hand
now there's someone there beside you
so I'll have to wait again
I can only hope there'll be
some other time
it is now that I can see you
it is now I see your eyes
they're the eyes I knew before
so still and deep
it's your face that I can picture
there's the image in my mind
I'll memorize your smile
as I sleep
like I did before that winter
another spring another time
Some other time you touched my heart
some other time
copyright 1992 Erika Ginnis
It wraps around me in bindings soft and strong
it lifts me up to where I might abide
in language I might not understand
if spoken with a different word
there are tears in this,
falling in winding streams
still and bursting,
every frame the players life,
his loves and dreams,
passion's pure fire,
a commitment in time,
each note speaks of it...ringing
just to me
a silent witness
in a crowd of strangers
here begins the moment
in another language we would not understand
but to my ear all is plain....as the soul is poured out
to fill a form in the air
and on the page
the power and the gentleness
in that vibration
a human voice
though the mouth is not opened
I sing with you Sir
I follow you yet
as the music still clings to me
echoing my emotions and my words
with that of your violin
I am counted in an audience that you will never know
but is that true....I wonder,
it sounded as if you played for all the world
and here I stand among them
copyright 1988 Erika Ginnis
I, who love to fly
sit with nose pressed against
hard plastic
staring out into the black
infinity of night.
Planes, their running lights flashing,
move below us in the distance
like fishing boats on the horizon
of a three dimensional sea.
The scenery is taken from Aboriginal Dream Time
billowing astral fields that are lit from within
glowing in scattered patches
diffuse evidence of civilization
coming up through the clouds.
All around us, stars
that ships once steered by
their mythic stories
hung on a curtain
that I long to sail through.
How close we are it seems
Yet safe still, and confined,
beneath this canopy of atmosphere
bombarded by solar wind.
I who love to fly,
sit caged in this bird of steel and string
yearning for unseen landscapes
and snapping at my companion,
whose only crime was to ask a question
thinking I was seated beside him.
copyright 1991 Erika Ginnis