How did that happen? How has it been seven years since we started doing a Silent Poetry Reading for the Goddess Brigid (patron of poets, healers and midwives) on our blogs?
The answer to this question is generally uninteresting to anyone save the questioner, so I will spare you my thoughts about the passage of time, etc. Suffice to say that it is time to celebrate the return of the light, and the Feast of St. Brigid, with offerings of poetry. For anyone just tuning in, the festival has a Facebook page where anyone can post their poem. It is a lovely way to spend the afternoon, scrolling through all the postings and immersing yourself in the beauty of language.
If you are not on Facebook, feel free to post a poem below in the comments, as I will link to this post on Facebook so people can find your poem. And to start the ball rolling, here is a poem of mine I just found this morning and can’t believe I haven’t posted before now. It is an invocation of the ancestors that I did one year at Samhain, broom in hand. Very effective! Use with caution.
Ancestor Invocation
Broom on the moor,
Broom on the floor
The ancestors wait
We open the door
Inside and out
Behind and about
Dust of the ancients,
We call you out!
Out of the past,
out of the ash
Out from the ceiling,
Floor and sash
We trace the sacred steps of old
We stand upon the year’s threshold
Now join us in this dance tonight
As darkness gives to us our sight
Of teeming life in hidden deeps
Come! Be our candle while all else sleeps.
Anne Hill
Samhain, 1999
Hymn to Brigid
in each shining forge
You hammer the world
from the first
from the stars
the metals Your nouns
the gases Your verbs
write the earth
write the sky
each day is reborn
in Your shining forge.
Beautiful!
I will have to put my Haiku Kitty boots on, and get back to you on that.
I have just posted my poem for Brigid, Contradance, along with a video, to
http://medusacoils.blogspot.com/2012/01/poem-for-brigid-contradance-by-judith.html
Blessed Imbolc! Here’s my offering.
http://hecatedemeter.wordpress.com/2012/02/01/imbolc-poetry-slam/
For the Lady Brigid 01-31-12
The stones under my feet speak
warmed by the sun, round, solid my toes can grip them
while I listen, listen, listen
for the song they sing
the tales they tell
the knowledge they carry for our benefit
She is the undercurrent that runs beneath it all
the directing force approaching disguised as others
the source for lovers, for song, for music, and dance and words that
pour through me rather than having to be sought
She is the blessing only waiting for me to open
to receive to allow
without questions as to purpose or results
duration or stamina
She only says Now
Breathe Now
Embrace Now
There is only
Now
I am walking through an unfamiliar landscape
that feels like home
It is verdant and green with old growth trees
The air is clear and clean and supple within my lungs
My throat is open and melodies flow over the vocal cords
like waterfalls
The song is the place
All is pristine, pure and overpoweringly fertile
I lean against a tree and feel its body as close as my own
We are kin
We both draw our strength our life blood within this sacred grove
There is no other here but me
But I feel the presence of those who have come before
and those who will come after
I find my way slowly to a spring
that burbles that bubbles that froths from deep within the earth
Dipping my head to drink
the taste is cold and bright and stirs body and mind and spirit
I awake refreshed and happy
No longer missing my home
My entire being recognizes I never left.
I’ve posted my offering here:
http://lizardsintheleaves.blogspot.com/2012/02/imbolc-brigid-poetry-festival.html
Bright Imbolc blessings to all!
I wrote two poems and posted them at http://gleomstapa.wordpress.com/2012/02/01/songs-for-the-fires-of-creation/ .
Year seven already? Here’s my poem:
http://africanalchemy.wordpress.com/2012/02/02/year-seven-of-the-brigid-poetry-festival/
Found poem from memery: Unexpected losses
In a vest-pocket kitchen
yesterday morning pouring tea
your silver-haired haunting reminds me
the choices I make:
book, office, sailing,
which ones keep my dementia at bay
which ones lead me deeper into sleep
driving young authorship
suburbs grandkids
weaving my future
stripes more fun than plaids, but simpler
‘my’ cat (what is thy bidding, my owner?) trips greedily around my ankles
she doesn’t notice what I’m not wearing:
red. bra. wedding ring. hair.
instead a black jacket
steadfast short powerful severe
I miss ‘vivid’ but it is missing, as are you
I want a gin and tonic, but am carefully caring for myself
drinking seltzer, tea, or milk
I want a coach and four but am slowly piloting my econosedan around town anyway
a borrowed book keeps me focused
away from the newly dead
sloth reaching for my feet
writing sisters offer but everything I read seems one-dimensional
I keep looking for permanent magic
the will to wear red again
unplanned complex reflections
the focus of a writing life
but instead
I am eating tapioca
from a plastic cup
foolish pride about 1986
sleeping supine instead of prone
emptying dishwasher quickly accurate
ex boyfriend dead 30 years later
last chance two kinds
the first Hartford Symphony or the last opera at the Met
Norway maple shedding branches
outside a window full of snow
I want to be planning worship
but instead I’m talking on the phone
“not at all,†I say, “or only onceâ€
New Haven
several times new ideas
lime cherry very simple
many colors master’s brilliant
If I leave the door ajar will the cat come home?
he wanted all or nothing
but I would have none of it
yesterday I was
remembering making love in the park in 1981
working on my novel
packing altar objects for camp
when we got married our three kids took turns pulling the bell-rope
joyous ringing over the whole town
now I look up when he walks in naked
“too hot in here for clothes, huh?â€
after a long moment he replies
“not really — but I needed to empty my pocketsâ€
doesn’t anybody think before speaking
the check was in the mail
seltzer, tea, tea for two
I would rather be watching the sun rise
tomorrow
up at 6 am
breakfast, change the oil, load the car
drive away
Friday
driving from Brushwood to Clairmont
“What are you reading?†she asks me
I don’t know how to tell her:
A Beginners Guide for the Recently Deceased
—- NorthLight, Imbolc 2012
Here’s this year’s — not mine, but a reading of someone else’s:
http://aquakerwitch.blogspot.com/2012/02/poetry-for-brigid-maya-angelou-reading.html
And here are past years’:
http://aquakerwitch.blogspot.com/search/label/Brigid%20poetry%20festival
Thanks for doing this, Anne!
Anne Reply:
February 2nd, 2012 at 9:14 am
You’re welcome!
Thank you, Anne, for ensuring this lovely tradition lives on. Here is my contribution this year, in memory of a great poet, chosen also as a prayer for our beloved Brigid to heal the wounds of war. http://ow.ly/8PJfB
Past the turning point,
Yet Hope sends sickened Earth to
Brigid’s healing well.