“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
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)
If she could think herself sane
She would follow god maps
To clean, tempered planes
Even-keeled, deepening rests.
She’d soften her mind
On grass-fed rains
Her feet pressed
In long settled earth.
Maybe there is a way.
Sometimes the paint
Clings to her skin
Long after the brush
Pushes in.
Perhaps she drenched herself
There in the flecks
Where she can be colors
And rays.
And you wonder how
She imagined.
How she swept through
The taut pain.
If she could breath out
Through the frame
She would sing
And you would believe
She was sane.
© Angela Bigler 2013
photo credit: deflam via photopin cc
Bathed in words
She glanced within
and grinned.
Was anybody watching?
Who could care?
© Angela Bigler 2013
photo credit: Lotus Carroll via photopin cc
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
Feathers which have fallen at my feet...please, please look for the one's that fall at yours...for they are there....and do share them with us
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
A blog about writing, publishing, self-publishing and bookish doings by Roz Morris
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.
Shirley Allard Poetry
Writing by Alan Annand
Angela Bigler 