#brighids day
Imbolc grimoire page redo
Threshold (to Brighid, on Brighid’s Day 2022)
Just as everything to be born carried and conceived in darkness–
To some ancestors, the beginning was a dusk, not dawn.
Time reset as the sun faded, as sleep approached
The eye of the world shut, that we may better see our dreams–
Her hand, over the candle, that I may have light to read.
My eyelids twitch in sleep, shields against a night’s cold
That breaks with the dawn, tracing the horizon line,
A border of snow, from where the crocuses poke their heads.
(Written 1 February 2022. Do not reblog without crediting me as the creator.)
Banshee
When her voice howls at me through the night’s long ache,
or early morning’s sharp and barest light, or closes on my gut
at the end of a long and unsatisfying day, I hear.
And I know it not just for the sharp spindle of fate but
the high roar of inspiration, poetry, smashing
aside weakness and comfort for the utter magic of reality.
Crumbling away my greed for the fear I finally know it to be,
sediment of a thousand minor injustices, Brighid
points the finger of destiny, bright as a sunbeam;
The walls of my heart shatter with prophecy:
You will see injustice.
You must set it right.
You will live.
You will live.
You will live.
(Written 31 January 2022. Do not reblog without crediting me as the author.)
Stirring
Three cauldrons, is what my patchwork research shows me,
A shining thread of early wisdom, warped to modern tongues
By ears more clever and subtle then my own.
Amateur as I am, I suspect, even as I try to curl my hands
Around the warmth of the Cauldron of Vocation, it tips
My words splatter from a lack of discipline.
And yet, I still catch her fingers about my head,
my spine spins like a spoon that I may find how best
to pour out what she has given me–
only mine to taste, share, and not keep.
(Written 31 January 2022. Inspired by Erynn Rowan Laurie’s article “The Cauldron of Poesy,” published in Obsidian,1999. Please do not reblog without listing me as the creator.)
