“This is hallowed ground,” she says,
“The taproot of our lives.”
My mom, her mom, her mom and on…
We walk back home to soil
we were dreamed from.
Veil lifted – our ancients arrive.
Root within root, we are trees,
resurrected.
One hallowed being,
a circle of women.
© Angela Bigler 2021
Photo by Shane Rounce on Unsplash
She is transcendental mist,
the glow between the veils,
bright spirals of madness,
strung together heartbeats
in my beloved darkness.
© Angela Bigler 2020
photo credit: starmist1 Moonlight and Clouds via photopin (license)
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
photo credit: DarlingJack Smoke Break via photopin (license)
Call me Angela
Call me the Dawn Rabbit.
The inside one,
the dreaming
forest spirit,
soft and fast.
©ABigler 2020
photo credit: Fr@ηk Don’t eat them, just caress them 😉 via photopin (license)
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,
Inspired, transcendent.
Forged into me as I am into you.
© Angela Bigler 2020
photo credit: alisonleighlilly Give Creativity: Word(s) of the Day 2/23/2016 via photopin (license)
I didn’t know about fortune.
It was treasure you hunted,
or magically found,
something inherited.
Now I see it is grown
of a tiny seed planted,
deep in the soil of me.
©AngelaBigler 2017
photo credit: coofdy Down amongst the leaf litter via photopin (license)
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?
©Abigler 2015
photo credit: 172/365 I Want to See the World via photopin (license)
I rattled all the chains
in the old kingdom.
Thinking I was wind
or dirt, or rain.
A ghost
pressed in
the miles thick earth.
A whisper stoked
by worms
or armored friends.
The bark fed climb
and I’ll be rising.
Find me calling
fresh, reborn
again.
© 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
Author
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
Auto Life
Author. Speaker. Librarian.
My healing journey.
A wise man says what he has thought about; A fool thinks about what he has said.
Writing by Alan Annand
Angela Bigler 