“Phases” by Erika Moss Gordon Now Available for Pre-Order

NOW AVAILABLE for pre-order from:
Middle Creek Publishing and Audio’s
Book Page

Phases by Erika Moss Gordon
Release date February 2nd
Paperback, 67pp.
$14.00

Erika Moss Gordon’s poetry opens the mystic door that transforms the events of daily life into moments of epiphany. We discover who we are, not in grand, award-winning actions, but in paying attention to how we relate, every day, to the world around us. 

-Rex Weyler, Co-Founder, Greenpeace International and author of Greenpeace and Blood of the Land 

Reading these poems, I find myself simultaneously wanting to applaud and to sit very, very still and let their wisdom do its quiet work. I thrill in these revelations—layers of knowing and unknowing, these dances with the mystery. This collection is very much driven by love, is a mirror to meet you wherever you are in your own journey of how to love the world, to love yourself.

-Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, Colorado Western Slope Poet Laureate, The Miracle Already Happening, The Less I Hold

Simultaneously sensual and meditative, these poems honor the sense of the sacred in daily life. With awareness of one’s interiority mirrored in the external environment, Gordon explores the delights of the natural world, of love and the beauty of the human spirit.

A celebration of mystery, deeply mindful, in a modern mountain-west mode. The tight simplicity of Gordon’s lines are as unclouded as the Colorado sky.  These poems allow frailty to become elegance, their inner resilience unfolding a potency rooted in place & moment.  Skillful line-breaks imbue her work with a fixed-economy of words treasured by minimalist, rewarding the inquisitive reader with added meaning and shadow.

Cover features the mixed- media painting “Unfurl”,  by Colorado artist Kellie Day. Check out her beautiful offerings at Kellie Day Art.

Middle Creek Publishing and Audio
We are a small, independent press dedicated to bringing you quality literature from unique voices. Middle Creek is dedicated to encouraging, sharing and celebrating the human experience with an emphasis on potential & positivity and focusing on the   richness, depth & beauty of  Human Ecology.

Seasons

I don’t want to leave,
says the girl
from her mother’s lap,
and already the
snow is melting.

After the Rain

Let’s be light, absorb

the storm we accidentally 

made, and make rainbows.

What is True?

At the top of the
mountain, all four directions
ask the same question.

Beauty. Salon.

The very old man
clutches his cane,
apologizes
for the condition,
he can no longer
reach his feet,
ingrown,
overgrown,

the manicured
woman clips
and files, asks after
his children.
She smiles a real smile,
calls him Babe
and takes
her time.

Simultaneously

Hold each other close

and set one another free

here is where love lives.

Eleven

Hand in hand,
our breaths freeze
into the shape of laughter
and the moon
is smiling, too,

white-toothed crescent
suspends the last light
of the setting sun.
We buy magnetic bingo
to play

at the Thai place,
where we take too many mints
and wink at each other
each time we pass
the bowl. At home,

we crunch the candies
between our teeth
in a pitch dark room
to watch the sparks fly,
a trick your grandfather

left for us, you tape
blue paper
to your arms and flap
your bluebird wings
into my room,

I watch you fly,

and we are in the middle,
you and I,
not quite what we were,
nor what we will
become, and lingering
tonight,
so joyously,
so perfectly
in between.

Candlelit

Candle burns by the
bedside.  Heat, but not the same
as when I’m with you.

Four Below Zero

Iridescent air,
the outside of a pearl, and
inside, you and I.

Sunshine in the pines,
we stop to play with light, cold
lashes blink rainbows.

Afloat with you, I
cannot remember feeling
a love quite this way.

On the white road home,
extremities succumb, and
on the inside, warmth.

The Island

My bed is an island
filled with dreaming,
a white raft to hold
soft bodies that I cherish,

my children,
my lover,
my own treasured and
broken vessel,

sleepy and satisfied
at the end of a day,
each of us afloat
for just a little while

as we travel
through our chapters,
or dissolve
like chocolate

on the tongue.
It is the place
I write alone,
or think of you,

or think of nothing,
an empty mind
on a quiet shelf,
or perhaps a busy heart

so full of questions.
At night we rock
upon our sea
of starlight,

sweet shelter,
skin to sleeping skin,
to remind one another
we are alive.