Graduation

There was a day each year

when baby ducks were led

from the nest behind the school

through crowds of teachers, students, praise

 

Waddling over smooth, linoleum floors

through the lobby where the crowd

beheld the sacred, duckling footsteps to the door

 

They would leave the nest

smooth, round tables

long days of numbers and words

for dreams of water songs and wings

made real

 

 

© Angela Bigler 2013

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photo credit: stevehdc via photopin cc

Surrender

I should have bowed down

And surrendered

Every day

 

I should have told you

I could see you

Lovely

Like the wings of all those geese

Who flew away

When we could not

 

Our minds are different

Every nuance

Every chord

Like tight wound wire

Exposed

 

All the songs and visions

Overwhelm

The feelings come in swarms

Through skin and bone

And brain

All those nerves

Are reaching

For a breath

Within the flame

 

Without it

Where would words be?

Would summer be so deep and hot?

Electric

 

Can we live without ourselves?

Maybe, for a day

What then?

A quiet respite

In a lonely, tired grave?

 

You have a light

Surrender

To the weight

Of all these

Prayers

 

Heavy

Till you bow down

Head to earth

And shed the blame

 

© Angela Bigler 2013

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photo credit: chiaralily via photopin cc

Redwood Dream

Image

 

Dreaming takes down

The light curtain

Bathes us with visions of pregnant earth

Her life, her dreams

 

If we could listen in

Hear her whisper in the trees

See the color in their dreams

Those monolithic earth whale redwoods

 

Go see them in your heart

When you cannot feel their leaves

Or bark

Or roots

Inviting

You

 

She meets us there

That sacred

That vision

That rooted beauty

 

Folds our prayers

Into her soft bark

Her singing leaves

Her living roots

Inviting

Us to strength

 

Footstep by footstep

Connected in

Her graceful image

 

She

Can

Hearten

All of them

 

These waking walking earth dreams

 

© Angela Bigler 2013

photo credit: Lotus Carroll via photopin cc

Woman

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To be woman

Is the flowing strength

Surrender

 

This caring for others

Breaks my heart

But lifts me

And my curves

And bone

Smooth pelvis

 

What is different

Is my voice

More like a song

Or spirit

Than a masculine gruff

Not that I can’t growl

And bare my teeth

And burn

 

But my soft folds

Add dimension

And my million thoughts

Create

A certain way that contrasts

Yin from yang

 

To be woman

Is the pulse

And wind

Melodic mounds

Of birth

 

No matter if her

Children are

Her words,

Her songs,

Or beings

That she tends

 

© Angela Bigler 2013

 

photo credit: [auro] via photopin cc

mental haiku

Sometimes, when my mind is busy and spinning and sparking a notch too fiery, I tell it to be quiet. When that doesn’t work (that never works), I try to ignore it and find myself reading (but not quite retaining) self-help or reminders on post-its with advice for myself from myself.

If my mind is still reeling, unable to settle, I will write a list of the pulls fragmenting my attention. What books I want to read or research that needs to be done. There are scenes to be fleshed out. A page of displaced sentences impatiently awaiting adoption. Phone calls to suffer, people to connect with and appointments to schedule (the dentist – you must!). Not to mention the numerous life changes necessary for perfection.

The list expands into a fury of unrelated obligations and reminders about posture, forgiveness and potential dog behaviorists. I write a list of things to list on separate lists, and now I’ve really (totally) lost it, for underneath lies the compulsion to achieve it all instantaneously. It is the habitual inner crusade that drives all thoughts together into an impossible tangle of immediate demands. Now I am caught (again).

What I long for then, is to reset the mess and get clean. I seek out my haiku book. The white one with the fresh, spring green pear on the cover and open to any page. I carefully read one three-line set and float into simplicity and calm, thankful for respite and peace.

The time it takes –
For snowflakes to whiten
The distant pines

by  Lorraine Ellis Harr

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photo credit: jsbanks42 via photopin cc