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)
Magic Moon
Tag Archives: poetry
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—light and dark.”
Young Nyx ©Angela Bigler 2020
photo credit: DarlingJack Smoke Break via photopin (license)
The Dawn Rabbit
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)
Brigid
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)
Moon Mother
Fortune
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)
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?
©Abigler 2015
photo credit: 172/365 I Want to See the World via photopin (license)
spirit
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
her dream
Writing her dreams
I follow her in.
She craves the old path
Coyote, crow, fox.
The tricksters are at it
again.
© Angela Bigler 2013
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
photo credit: Grant MacDonald via photopin cc
