In my dreams, the women are drumming,
their waters are rising, silver and wild.
Making prayers of their bodies,
they dance as if swimming
under the Moon Mother spell.
© Angela Bigler 2016
Her songs are earth deep mantras calling names of constellations into being.
Her light soaked in, released the magic pine and herbs.
All those folded flowers lifted up their sacred prayers – water, light, dirt, love.
Her gifts – who could forget them?
Did you see her gentle curves?
The way her spine supports her children?
It’s impossible to live without her heaven/earth transcendence.
Aren’t we all turning, turning with the planet that she raised?
To be woman
Is the flowing strength
This caring for others
Breaks my heart
But lifts me
And my curves
What is different
Is my voice
More like a song
Than a masculine gruff
Not that I can’t growl
And bare my teeth
But my soft folds
And my million thoughts
A certain way that contrasts
Yin from yang
To be woman
Is the pulse
No matter if her
That she tends
© Angela Bigler 2013
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
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