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 [...]
I have two poems to offer this year: an invocation by Leonard Cohen, and an elegy by Rumi. Both of these I read at my nephew’s funeral last Fall. Both I think deserve wider reading. So here they are, in honor of Brigid, the poet’s muse. May the light return to us all. – Holy [...]
It is that time of year again, when bloggers around the world post a favorite poem in honor of Brigid, the Irish goddess and patron saint of smithcraft, poetry, and healing. Brigid’s feast day is February 1st, so between now and then is the perfect time to publish a poem to celebrate. Last year many [...]
This poem may not be finished—I have spent the evening taking it apart and putting it back together, and still have some tinkering to do around the edges. But what fun to have a new poem to share for Brigid! And to be writing poetry again. The stress of the past few years must be easing [...]
I had to go back to this post to find the earliest reference (Reya’s original blog post is lost in the mists) to the now annual Silent Poetry Reading in honor of Brigid (Saint or Goddess, as you prefer). And while the first invitation was for a single day’s blogging event, watching the misty full moon tonight got me thinking of [...]
My dad said he was a diamond in the rough. Forty years and no diamond. Your children inherit a chisel.
Has it really been four years now that we have been doing a virtual poetry reading for Brigid? Apparently so. Here is one then, in honor also of the great Hermes: Trismegistus O Egypt, Egypt—so the great lament Of thrice-great Hermes went— Nothing of thy religion shall remain Save fables, which thy children shall [...]
Are we bloggers going to do another poetry fest in honor of St. Brigid? Her day is less than a week away, and I’ve had an old poem rattling around in my brain lately, so I figure I’ll beat the crowds and post it a few days early.
Another year of losses, of big questions that elbow their way into the room and refuse to leave. A young man who grew up down the street and went to school with my kids was stabbed to death at a party this weekend. Two young men charged with his murder had a brother killed in Iraq at the beginning of the war.
What happens to kids? What makes one succumb while another one thrives? I don’t understand it, and all my pat answers, fears and suspicions merely mask the fact that I simply don’t know. I can’t keep my kids safe now that they’re grown, and the more beautifully they blossom the more I am aware of how fragile our hold is on this life we cherish.
Recently an old, dear friend of mine took off on an extended midlife journey. He sold or stored his possessions, left his practice, untied the mooring lines which kept him here in the Bay Area, and let the current take him without knowing whether it would bring him back.
Having dinner with him and a few other friends shortly before he left, I was reminded of this poem. I used to give a copy of this to everyone I knew who was going through a rite of passage, whether adolescent or adult, and before my friend left I sent him a copy, too.
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