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