Writing her dreams
I follow her in.
She craves the old path
Coyote, crow, fox.
The tricksters are at it
again.
© Angela Bigler 2013
Tag Archives: poetry
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
Watching
Bathed in words
She glanced within
and grinned.
Was anybody watching?
Who could care?
© Angela Bigler 2013
photo credit: Lotus Carroll via photopin cc
Woman
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
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
Angela Bigler 