Some Poetry

I’m sharing a couple of my previously published and/or contest winning poems with you today. I hope you enjoy them.

“Spirit Awakening” won first place in the Bartlesville Library contest in 1994, and was published by Firefly Magazine on January 1, 2016, in their 3rd issue.

“Mother” won second place in the Bartlesville Library contest in 1995 and this is the first publication of this poem, here on my blog.



Spirit Awakening


Drums are beating

from ancient places

as I open my eyes

to the filtered light

of a new day.


Chants are echoing

from ancient places

as I make hot water

turn black and smell

good this morning.


Tears are pouring

from ancient places—

my heart pounds painfully

as I try to remember

what my spirit

could never forget.



drums, beating

air from Father Sky

fills my lungs

as ancient places

surround me

with light and open spaces.

Feet are stomping

from ancient places

from Mother Earth

the dust rises in a cloud

to cover my skin

brown and red.


Dancing to the drums

singing the song

I have always known,

my spirit is born

my teeth



September 1994 by Kim Bailey Deal


Processed with MOLDIV
Processed with MOLDIV




She is the Dancer delighting,

celebrating God’s creation

as she moves swollen-bellied in the nest,

preparing the home for birth

cleaning, arranging, waiting

for her seed to spring from earth.


She is the Wisdom Woman,

who at the right hand of God

now sits once man incarnate,

flooding the void of men and women

nurturing the spirits of babes

with blood, milk and skin.


She is the souls of children

rocking in their mother’s arms

listening to poems about stars and moons,

drifting on songs and lullabies,

carried to bed in oblivion

spied in the night by watchful eyes.


She is the bread of strength;

producer of life, enduring death,

blood and sweat drip from her brow

as she asserts her place with men

often feeling frail and forsaken

as on the Cross back then.


She is leather-faced and gray,

black-eyed in her golden years

rocking in solitude in quiet rooms

left with faint smells of young hair and skin

resting in the memory of exhaustion

laughter and lullabies, fiery men.


She is Mother Creation

crying in rains, rivers and seas,

laughing in the dancing leaves,

howling in the wind of winter.

A fortress for ailing spirits

though scarred by the Tree of Life

from which her bones yet splinter.


October 1994 by Kim Bailey Deal





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