Skip to main content

WARRIOR DANCE by Erin Larson

As a certified yoga instructor, I find myself infusing the spiritual teachings of yoga in a lot of my writing. After writing and titling this piece, a dear friend read it and noticed that the camber of the lines seemed to follow the rhythm of the “warrior dance” sequence, which is a series of poses often guided in a vinyasa flow yoga class.  Whether this was intentional or subliminal on my part, I’m not sure, but it does add another layer to its reading and interpretation.

Warrior Dance
Erin Larson

I am a woman,
A warrior
I am strong
I am powerful
I deserve to BE!

And for that I will apologize no more

I am not sorry for:
The state of my house
Wanting bread with my salad,
Leftover night,
My amateur prose.
I am not sorry for screen time
that I may cook dinner in peace

I am not sorry for opening my mouth,
My imperfections,
My stretch marks
My wild crazy moods

Contrivances be damned!
I will not squeeze into a mold that does not fit
nor wait demurely for rescue
I love my brain
I love my brawn!

I am a woman
A warrior
I am strong
I am powerful
I deserve to BE!


Erin Larson: I live in the beautiful state of New Hampshire with my husband, three kids, two dogs, a cat, a python and a bearded dragon. I am a lover! A lover of nature, yoga, good food and drink, traveling, reading, camping, hiking, running, etc. etc.  I spend as much time as possible in the woods, as this is where I connect most deeply to the Divine and find most of my inspiration for writing and creating.  I hold a Master’s degree in Environmental Studies (with a concentration in plant biology) and am a certified yoga instructor. You can find more of my poetry and inspirational ramblings at kaleandhops.com, my blog devoted to finding balance in the every day. 

*For submission guidelines, click here.*

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

IMAGINE A WOMAN by Patricia Lynn Reilly

  This poem invites you to look upon yourself with loving kindness… Gazing at your own true reflection, you will discover that everything you have longed for “out there” is already within you! I invite you to love your creativity fiercely. Faithfully plant seeds, allowing under-the-ground dormant seasons, nurturing your creative garden with love and gratitude. In the fullness of time, the green growing things thrust forth from the ground. It's a faithful, trustworthy process. AND it takes time and patience.  Blessed is the fruit of your creative womb! I invite you to trust your vision of the world and express it. With wonder and delight, paint a picture, create a dance, write a book, and make up a song. To give expression to your creative impulses is as natural as your breathing. Create in your own language, imagery, and movement. Follow no script. Do not be limited by the customary way things have been expressed. Your creative intuition is original. Gather

IMBOLC by Caroline Mellor

The inspiration for this poem came after I watched a magical winter sunset and full moonrise from the top of Firle Beacon in the South Downs... Unusually for me, I wrote the poem quite quickly and changed it very little before publishing it – perhaps the energies were working through my pen! Imbolc is the mid-point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. It’s a fire festival which I particularly love because of its associations with Brigid, the Celtic Mother Goddess of arts and crafts, clear sight, healing, inspiration and nurturance of creative talents – something which, through my writing, I am always trying to connect with.  I also love Imbolc because, with so much darkness and negativity in the world today, it is a time for hope, potential, visioning and initiation. With love and blessings as the light returns. Photography by Chanel Baran IMBOLC    by Caroline Mellor I am the dream of awakening. I am the returning of the night.  I am the tough green

WINTER SOLSTICE: A GIFT OF LOVE by Carolyn Riker

I’ve had several days now of alone time… It is unusual and a gift that I couldn’t see until I breathed it. I have been able to watch the sun’s rise through the grey of dawn and smile at the flickers of frost melting on the waving boughs of evergreen. It’s unique to follow daylight as it traverses the tempo of a cat’s soft slumbering purr. Night comes swifter and the glow of candles and the flames of fire comfort me more than the steady stream of always-doing-more. As much as I resisted, I needed this break. I had no idea how much my body was trying to tell me   slow down   until the exhaustion settled in around my joints. My eyes swam in molasses. Heaviness of I-can’t-hold-out-much-long, walked me to the throne of my nest. It’s winter’s gift of self-nurturing and love. It’s been a quiet proclamation of femininity and a need for comfort foods. Lemon crisps and cranberry, white-chocolate shortbread dipped in tea; I felt a hint of being pampered without