She is transcendental mist,
the glow between the veils,
bright spirals of madness,
strung together heartbeats
in my beloved darkness.
© Angela Bigler 2020
I meet her on a street corner in Brooklyn.
Turquoise hair, smoky shadowed eyelids,
Dark smudge lipstick cigarette.
She exhales a dragon.
She says she’s dying anyway,
and living, and dying again.
It never ends, like a labyrinth dream
like a myth.
I notice the angry scars on her wrists.
“Did it hurt?” I ask, pointing.
She shrugs and flicks an ash. “Doesn’t everything?”
“What was it like on the other side?”
“Same thing—light and dark.”
Young Nyx ©Angela Bigler 2020
Whoever said you’d stay the same is wrong.
Blood, water, flame.
Things change, like the elements—like me.
They weren’t yet cocooned, transformed, unfurled
in the fiery quest for their truth.
Now you become phoenix—
Healed and protected,
Forged into me as I am into you.
© Angela Bigler 2020
I am the poem goddess and
I dance on feathered visions,
fly above my little self
and send down birdsong wisdom.
“One day you’ll be a goddess
full of dancing, feathered visions,
you will be a poem song,
a strong and brilliant woman.”
When her hazel eyes get wide
I know that she has listened.
My songs live inside her heart,
she feels the goddess rhythm.
©Angela Bigler 2018
Two Leo moons orbit the heart of my sky.
Warm gravity bonds – flows with love.
Love, the essence of our days together.
What was it they said about love?
It’s everything. It’s all you need. It’s vast and unexpected.
Two Leo Moons – mother and daughter, soft and bright.
We take big chances in the life – rearrange the heart,
accommodate each other’s limbs and prayers.
Mother Moon, I wanted you to stay with me,
but your path led to heaven’s spirit place.
Daughter moon, I wished for your safety,
but now I see your path must breathe.
Follow your paws to uncharted islands,
rainforest jungles, oceans and sand.
Journeys, wishes, wisdoms born of you.
Beyond the moments our hearts beat together,
our celestial roots stretch endlessly,
beam across your distant lands,
where lionesses roar and dream.
We reach up to the heavens,
through realms and mysteries.
Two Leo moons, one Libra heart
spin through the galaxy.
© Angela Bigler 2016
In 1908, when Emily Carr painted the First Nation totem poles in British Columbia, she heard their strong talk roaring across the wild beaches. They were still speaking their truth even though they’d been wind beaten and faded, even though many were abandoned. This was forever strong talk.
Emily Carr was alone in the sweltering heat with the relentless mosquitoes when she talked to the ghosts and inhaled the strong talk of the ancestors. She could have wished for comfort and gone home, instead she kept on painting and that old talk spoke again through her determined paintbrush.
Sometimes you want to tell the world your story. Or maybe tell one person, just one truth.
I was scared when I was little, there were voices in the dark and they were sneaking in the window, mean and ugly. They told me that my voice was insignificant, told me I must be quiet to survive and I believed them.
What if I became a totem and told my own story? What if I was thirty-feet tall and blue, yellow, red and green and carved with the strength of my voice? Could there be strong talk in me? Would someone like Emily hear it? I’d like to think she would paint me with riots of color, thick coats of bright paint and layers of voice.
I want to be an instrument like that and make my own strong talk, spitting my words like wind on a reed. My breath would travel upwards from my roots to my heart, over my chords and out of my mouth, gaining power as it flowed over the wood to your ears, then strong talk would roar out of me.
Feathers which have fallen at my feet
Just another way to talk to myself in public...
A blog that will explore various topics designed to educate, entertain, engage, encourage, and empower both English-speaking and Spanish-speaking readers via writing and audio-video expression.The primary vehicle of self- expression will be Poetry and Essays but other forms of writing, including fiction, will make an appearance from time to time.
Only the Sense of the Sacred can Save us
Nurturing the Curious & Creative Mind
Literary News, Reviews, and Events in Central PA
EDGAR NOMINATED CRIME WRITER
Nail Your Novel - Writing, publishing and self-publishing advice from a bestselling ghostwriter and book doctor
thoughts on life, love & a bunch of other deep shit
Sexuality in Young Adult Film and Literature
Complex PTSD: The Art & Work of Healing
Quarterly Literature, Speculative and Otherwise
Night Thoughts of a Literary Agent
Science Fiction and Fantasy Author
My healing journey.
A wise man says what he has thought about; A fool thinks about what he has said.
Writing by Alan Annand