Friday, March 6, 2015

I Begin

 I have just published my first book.
Can't hardly believe it is done, it feels like I birth my third child.
I Begin: poetry and prayers of a woman's journey through loss and grief is a meditation on life, love, loss, and incredible perseverance.  In this, Ginny Gaskill’s first poetry collection, she chronicles a journey of devastating loss that ultimately leads not only to a deeper faith in herself and in life, but increased wellbeing and sense of belonging in a community of artists.  Ginny recounts her experience as a “rebuilding of soul,” a need and a quest that should interest any reader truly engaged in the sorrows and joys of a life well lived.  It is through speaking her truth that Ginny Gaskill has survived—and thrived.  She invites us to begin, and begin again, as we enter into that shared experience where life takes on new meaning through opening to all that love holds.

Sunday, February 15, 2015

Albuquerque Open Space

Read at Albuquerque Open Space on Valentines Day.  Family joined me.  Really nice venue.

Thursday, November 13, 2014

POETRY - The Calla Lily

The Calla Lily

A Calla Lily
folds upon itself.
One single perfect petal
the phallus, the stamen.

Intertwines him
with perfect longing
and he dusts her with
a golden shower.

Saturday, November 8, 2014

POETRY - Last Night's Moon

Last Night's Moon

Last night the moon
chased the sunset away.
Pillows of gray and purple
were laced with
the gold of the moon.

Friday, October 17, 2014

POETRY - Art Is Breath

Art Is Breath

Art is breath.
My lungs take baby steps,
tiny breaths of fear.
It feels right, good.
Air in
words out.
Deeper breaths
fear replaced by joy.

Oxygen to my mind
thoughts quicken
my fingers trembled.
I pick up the pen.
The lace that I draw
words today
tangles tomorrow
the line that turns
to a leaf, a flower.

I thank my God
for breaths today.
For the thoughts
he gives me.
For the words that
tumble from my mind
to my pen, my lips.

Friday, September 12, 2014

POETRY - His Fingertips

His Fingertips

His fingers so wide
I cannot slip mine

So I hang onto the tips.
Smile, happy inside.

He curls around
enfolds my hand.
I am cocooned
safe for the day.

When I have grieved enough
he will open that hand
and let me soar.