Young Nyx

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—dark and light.”

Young Nyx ©Angela Bigler 2020

photo credit: DarlingJack Smoke Break via photopin (license)

Brigid

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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)

Great Mother Love

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?

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©Abigler 2015

photo credit: 172/365 I Want to See the World via photopin (license)

A poem by my mother

Reflections

Had I been adequately prepared for your visit,

I would have…

Plucked the weeds from my garden

And replaced them with budding beauties,

Invited you to sit on a soft carpet of moss,

Shaded by growing greenery,

Planned a picnic of your favorite delicacies from distant lands.

 

I could not arrange an appropriate setting,

Yet you made yourself at home among weeds and unpainted boards.

You refused refreshment and placed my needs ahead of your own.

 

Like our Lord, you came to serve.

Long after sunglow, I’ll savor your sensitivity.

~Nancy J. Ressler

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photo credit: Grant MacDonald via photopin cc