Friday, February 25, 2011

From my amazing son...

...I found, in an old BOS, this poem, this morning. Written to me in 1991 on Samhain, when he was 22, and shared here because it's wonderful:

Stretch the taught tendon
--flex mind
Circle the cortex (lines of thought)
Feed the blood
Cringe not at truth
But smile at your reality
For laughable life is ever entertaining
And tears may be the most prolific teachers.
Spin the dance of love
Life is round, and so it comes
And bids farewell
To the body,
But never to the soul.
Fill your shoes in hope with dreams;
Walk the fear-lined path to solace
But never in loneliness.
Tread in the eyes of others
Never forgetting the color of your own.
Speak in peace to kindred souls (and foreign)
Never pace alone
And be not weary.


Damn, I wish I'd written that! But I love it that my kid did, and gave it to me. So now, I give it to you.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Once More, With Feeling....

Brighid, again....
Once more, with feeling,
Once more, Her festival.
Once more.

Brighid Duffy of Kildare,
My long-beloved ancestress,
Daughter of Duffy,
As am I.

An unique woman,
Unlike any other of her time.
"Not like other young things"
Said the poem.

She wanted to marry God.
She thought she was special,
She thought she had something to offer
And she did.

Look at this world,
Thousands of years later.
Everywhere, all over the globe
We know her name.

She is Springtime.
She is snowdrops
Blooming in the snow.
She is Hope.

She is Barding,
She is creating something
Where nothing was before.
She is Song.

She is Making,
She is using hands and heart
To make the world better.
She is Craft.

She is Healing.
She is waters of comfort
Flowing over bruised flesh.
She is Love.

On this day
The sun shines brightly
Onto melting snow.
It is Her day.

And she gifts us
With the sound of water
Snow melting, rain falling,
Life returning.

I will sing today.
I will do something loving.
I will make something new.
I will praise Her.

I have written
This poem, in the morning
On Her day
And for Her.

Brigid, my Mother,
My Ancestress, My Goddess
My inner Fire,
My Harpsong...

Burn bright.
Dance today, old limbs joyful
Sing with me
Voice rich and full.

Create with me,
Something new and lovely,
Making beauty
Where was none

It is Your Day.
I praise You
Once more,
With feeling.

Aisling the Bard, for Her Lady
Imbolc, 2011