moondrummer

SEVENTH ANNUAL BRIGID POETRY FESTIVAL

2012-01-30T07:49:00.000-08:00

And with the festival:
https://www.facebook.com/BrigidPoetryFest
it seems time to post on my blog again. The first poem I want to post is one I feel to be my favourite at the moment:

Still I Rise
You may write me down in history  
With your bitter, twisted lies,  
You may trod me in the very dirt  
But still, like dust,
I'll rise.
  
Does my sassiness upset you?  
Why are you beset with gloom?  
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells  
Pumping in my living room.

  Just like moons and like suns,
 With the certainty of tides,  
Just like hopes springing high,  
Still I'll rise.
  
Did you want to see me broken?
 Bowed head and lowered eyes?
 Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
 Weakened by my soulful cries.

  Does my haughtiness offend you?
 Don't you take it awful hard
 'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines  
Diggin' in my own back yard.
  
You may shoot me with your words,  
You may cut me with your eyes,
 You may kill me with your hatefulness,  
But still, like air,
I'll rise.
  
Does my sexiness upset you?
 Does it come as a surprise
 That I dance like I've got diamonds  
At the meeting of my thighs?
  
Out of the huts of history's shame  
I rise
 Up from a past that's rooted in pain
 I rise
 I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,  
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
 Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
 I rise
 Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
 I rise  
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
 I am the dream and the hope of the slave.  
I rise
 I rise
 I rise.

Maya Angelou

LABYRINTH

2011-01-30T07:21:00.000-08:00

As I enter the labyrinth,
she spirals into me,
drawing me deep inside myself,
unlocking ancient mystery:
memories of ancestors,
who drew on coins and pots and walls,
who knew how to enter sacred space
and journey between the worlds;
memories of Pasiphae,
all shining lunar cow goddess
secreted at the fulcrum
of a labyrinth of Cretan myths;
memory of losing myself
in a moon drenched crystal maze
and finding myself, deep in her heart,
as the sun rose through the trees.
The spiraling, folding labyrinth
is a dance to the centre of time,
a place where mind and body are still
and soul has a moment to sing.

Imbolc, Sixth Annual Brigid Poetry Festival

2011-01-30T06:06:00.000-08:00

Bríd

With a nod and a smile
this goddess of creativity graciously accepts my offerings
embodied in ten years of hard manual labour
at the canvas face

This goddess of fire demands
that I stand in her perpetual flame
and tell my truth

This goddess of water demands
that I baptise myself in the deep well of my emotional memory
and paint and sculpt my truths

This goddess of poetry
chooses me as a vessel
through which to pour her rhythmic velvet
and with each act of creative midwifery
she reveals more of herself to me
becomes more visible
solid
real

When my mother named me after Saint Brigid
little did she know that she was dedicating her first born
to an ancient goddess of healing, poetry, smithcraft, midwifery, creativity, fire and water

I did not know what I was looking for
that I was longing for her
as I set out on my spiritual quest

When I found her
in Glastonbury
in her chapel
with her wolf in stained glass
milking a cow on the tor
I recognised a kindred spirit
a home coming
and yet
the very last thing I ever expected
was to meet her
to know she is with me
in a room full of my art
graciously accepting my offerings
with a smile and a nod.

Bríd Wyldearth, Imbolc 2011

First Brigid poetry festival offering

2011-01-26T03:27:00.000-08:00

I woke up today, remembering a poem that still speaks to me and may very well have been my first step towards the goddess :"Mother of god, no lady thou,
common woman of common earth.
Our lady, ladies call thee now,
but christ was never of gentle birth,
a common man of common earth.
For gods ways are not our ways,
never a lady did he choose,
only a maid of low degree,
so humble she might not refuse
the carpenter of galilee.
Out she sang, a song of her heart,
never a lady so had sung.
She Knew no letters, had no art.
To all mankind, in woman's tongue,
hath israelitish Mary sung.
And still, for men to come she sings,
nor shall her singing pass away:
"He hath filled the hungry with good things."
O listen lords and ladies gay."
And the rich he hath sent empty away""

by Mary E Coleridge

INVITATION TO THE SIXTH ANNUAL BRIGID POETRY FESTIVAL

2011-01-25T16:31:00.000-08:00

I think this poetry festival has made this my favourite time of year :)

This year there Anne Hill has created a facebook page which will make it easier for non bloggers to take part I hope :
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Brigid-Poetry-Festival-2011/124403944294363

Also

HEARTS AND FLOWERS
a healing journey of paint drawings, ceramic sculpture and poetry
by
Bríd Wyldearth
3rd January ~ 18th February 2011
at The Mulberry Bush Cafe, High St., Lampeter

You are cordially invited to bring a poem to share and a little water from your favourite spring or well to celebrate the begining of spring and the fiery water goddess of healing, creativity and poetry
at 5pm on Wednesday 2nd February

Brighid2010@delicious.com

2010-01-31T15:35:00.000-08:00

What reminded and inspired me to go looking for invites to Brighid 2010, was the following edited email from my dear friend Nigel Lees. He has given his kind permission for me to post his poems on my blog. Nobody has ever dedicated a poem to me before and they are both so beautiful and so in tune with my experience of my namesake goddess that I am proud to make them my contribution to the poetry slam.

I am attempting to tag this to brighid2010 at delicious.com where you can catch the web of poetry we are weaving this full moon Imbolc.

Dearest Brid
I have been inspired to write two poems about this time of year. I know how this time of the year is very special to you so I’d like to dedicate them to the one and only Brid!

Much love
Nige

Two Poems by Nigel Lees:

Brighid

She comes up through the rich brown earth
A shadow before the light
Warming us with her Eternal Flame
Brighid, daughter of fire
Burn the chill from my heart
Burn the fear from my soul

Bride Bridie Brigit Brid
Awaken the seed, the passion in the soil
Awaken the passion in me
Sing to the land a song of longing
Welcome her return
Welcome her giving

Bright One of Kildare
Bring your breath of fire
To those not yet born
Midwife of my dreams
Bring flowers in your wake
Bring healing from your hearth.

Wake Up

Restless days between Yule and Ostara
With a cold bitter wind blowing through the world
Winter not far behind and Spring, oh so close, oh so close
Lead the way with words so old
Into a land stirring from sleep

Bright One with your arrows of fire
Kiss the soil with flames of knowing
Say goodbye to the Hag, see how she flies!
Draw up the warmth from our Mother’s heart
help us give birth to the light within

Stir up the cold ashes of yesterday
and purify this home
Scatter them on the wind and watch them burn
Restless no longer, the land knows the sign
It’s time for Bride to walk the earth.

Invitation to The Fifth Annual Brigid in the Blogosphere Poetry Slam

2010-01-29T15:57:00.000-08:00

I cannot find an invitation and it is getting late so have copied Oaks invitation from last year and am offering my blog as a place to link if you plan to publish: moondrummer.blogspot.com

I hope this is not duplicating something I have missed, but have so enjoyed previous years, I feel I can risk the spam for the sake of the goddess of poetry.

Brigid blessings to you all

Invitation to The Fifth Annual Brigid in the Blogosphere Poetry Slam

Feel free to copy the following to your blog and spread the word. Let poetry bless the blogosphere once again!
WHAT: A Bloggers (Silent) Poetry Reading

WHEN: Anytime February 2, 2010

WHERE: Your blog

WHY: To celebrate the Feast of Brigid, aka Groundhog Day

HOW: Select a poem you like - by a favorite poet or one of your own - to post February 2nd.

RSVP: If you plan to publish, feel free to leave a comment and link on this post. Last year when the call went out there was more poetry in cyberspace than I could keep track of. So, link to whoever you hear about this from and a mighty web of poetry will be spun.

Feel free to pass this invitation on to any and all bloggers.

Thank you, Reya, for beginning what is now an annual event.

Winter Solstice 2009

2009-12-26T11:33:00.000-08:00

SOLSTICE

At the still of the year
as the sun stands still
in the deep dark stillness of the longest night
I breathe
I listen
I am

I know
I see
I dream

child of Earth
blue, green planet
wandering, dancing mother

I take this winter pause
to thank you for giving me life
right here
right now
for giving me more than I can ever hope to want or need or use

I sit in wonder
in awe
knowing that I am just exactly where I am meant to be
loved
held
cradled

I know
I see
I dream

I breathe
I listen
I am

in the deep dark stillness of the longest night
as the sun stands still
and we turn towards another solar year

Bríd Wyldearth
21/12/2009

Imbolc, Brigid Poetry cyber fest 2009

2009-02-02T15:40:00.000-08:00

Messenger

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the humming bird – equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half perfect? Let me keep my mind on what matters,
Which is my work,

Which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,

Which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart and these body-clothes,
A mouth with which to give shouts of joy
To the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
Telling them all, over and over, how it is that we live forever.

Mary Oliver

At last,
just before midnight,
I know which poem to slam.
My friend gave me Mary Oliver's poem for my birthday.
She gave me the gift of naming my work
"My work is loving the world"!
I entered a floating alternate reality of knowing who I am,
of being witnessed for who I am.

I said:
"I want to see dolphins and know that I've seen them for sure"
We turned the corner,
onto the quay
and there they were
three?
four?
five?
black, finned hillocks in the grey glassy sea.
We were mesmerised.
Had they heard me?
Did they come to witness my friend's hillock belly?

The baby is close to birth in Bríd's moon.
During the four months since the dolphin trance,
her belly has grown
and I have blessed and buried my dead mother
and then blessed new life within a new mother.
Bright blessings on new life and new mothering
Bright blessings on all whose "work is loving the world"

copyright Bríd Wyldearth Imbolc 2009

Reconciliation in Northern Ireland - more poems for Brigid

2009-01-30T11:11:00.000-08:00

As I begin to celebrate the patron goddess of the land of my ancestors, who is goddess of healing and poetry, governments are talking about how to move on from the "Troubles". I am also a child of Africa and am so proud of the "Truth and Reconciliation Councils" in South Africa and so despairing of Zimbabwe ever recovering.... I was brought up to "forgive and forget" and, although I have tried, I find re-membering to be a more wholesome healing process for me. Asking a victim of violence to forgive can heap burden of responsibility upon injury....

Re-membering

To forgive and forget is to allow injustice to be repeated. Nobody learns from the experience
and the victim remains a victim.

Forgiveness is a process,
not an act of will.

It is impossible to forgive,
to give to the past
and move on from,
wounds that we cannot remember.

Amnesia is an illness,
not an accomplishment.

It is only when we forget how much we love our beautiful planet,
how much we depend on her for our very survival,
that we can poison,
rape
and destroy her.

It is only when we forget how much we love our beautiful children,
how much we depend on them for our very survival,
that we can poison,
rape
and destroy them.

It is only when we forget how much we love our beautiful selves,
how much we depend on ourselves for our very survival,
that we can poison,
rape
and destroy ourselves.

We must remember
and re-member,
reconnect with our severed limbs,
our disowned parts,
our humanity,
so that we can begin to put ourselves
and our lovely planet back together again.
It is only when we have fully re-membered
that we can begin to move on
and co-create a better world.

by Bríd Wyldearth 2007

Getting Over It

by Bríd Wyldearth 2007

When they say they wish that I would get over It
they are saying that they want me to stop talking about It
They are telling me to shut up

I will not shut up
I will not stop talking about It
And I will not get over It
until It never happens to anybody ever again!

Poem for Brigid poetry slam

2009-01-29T15:28:00.000-08:00

I have not been blogging because my mother had a stroke last April and I have been visiting her and grieving. She died at 9.30 am on 25th October 2008. I privately washed and blessed her body before a three day Roman Catholic funeral. She was buried on Samhain, 31 October. The church was full. My brother celebrated the mass with twenty seven fellow priests and the cardinal supporting him on the altar. I wrote the bidding prayers. The first was the celtic blessing that ends: "until we meet again may god hold you in the palm of his hand" and the last prayer, which my brother read was: "Deep peace of the quiet earth to you". A procession of hundreds of people: purple clad priests, school children, family, friends and my brothers' parishioners walked behind the hearse to the grave and the family members lowered her coffin into the earth and threw rose petals onto her. I read the following poem to her. There was around of applause when I was finished.

Joy

You are my mother, my deep, deep mother, our memories entwine.
You are my mother, I am your daughter, our memories entwine.

I remember you, Joy, embodiment of your name, full of joie de vivre.
I remember you singing as we drove through African bush:
“Kookaburra sits on the old gum tree, merry merry king of the bush is he,
Laugh kookaburra, laugh kookaburra, gay your life must be!”
I remember learning the contralto part of “Jesu, joy of man’s desiring”
with you in the church choir.
I remember watching you sing the Messiah in the Albert Hall.

I remember making clay crocodiles with you.
I remember learning to sew a beautiful, turquoise doll’s dress with you.
I remember sketching and painting with you.

I remember your belly growing with child.
I remember you bringing my baby brother home,
a tuft of black hair emerging from the blanket in your arms.
I remember your belly healing.
I remember thinking that all babies came out of a hole in their mummies’ tummies like we did!

I remember you driving miles every day to visit me in hospital.
You ate the revolting hospital food for me so that I wouldn’t get into trouble.

I remember how happy and gentle you were with me,
when I woke you in the middle of the night of my first blood.
You showed me how to use those clumsy, old fashioned towels and belt.
We drank weak tea by the warm aga and you told me how, when you were a girl, you made your towels from flannel and washed them,
instead of throwing tons of paper and plastic away.

I remember visiting the farm where you grew up and the gravestone nearby
that you had designed for your father:
simple words beneath a simple Bethlehem star.
I remember driving through Glen Coe with you
and looking for the Loch Ness monster in the rain.
I remember circling Ireland with you,
from the Giant’s Causeway all the way round to the birthplace of Brigid.
You followed the Stations of the Cross,
in honour of the saint you named me for,
while I communed with the legendary stones that bore witness to the life of the pagan goddess of healing, poetry and smith craft,
whose name I thank you for.
I remember your beautiful and extraordinary, dear, departed friends:
Ellen, your fellow teacher, who named her daughter Mary Brigit
six months before you named me Brigid Mary;
Bibi, mother of my first love, who loved the moon and always made us laugh;
Babs, who you first met feeding horses on the way to your son’s school,
your first friend in England, and, by sheer coincidence,
related to your mother’s best friend;
Christine, gentle country dancer, passionate warrior against nuclear weapons;
May they be at the pearly gates to greet you.
I remember your dear old friends who survive you:
Phillippa, Peggy, Mickey, Felicity, Nancy.
I remember laughing with you with all of them.

And I will always remember all your loving friends in Bannockburn
who I got to know at your bedside.
And I will always remember, with deepest gratitude, your beloved Barbara,
who held you as you died.
And I will always remember washing your dear face and hands and feet
for one last time, in holy water from St Non’s well.

Thank you, Joy, for painting with me.
Thank you, Joy, for singing with me.
Thank you, Joy, for laughing with me.
Thank you, Joy, for loving me.
Thank you, Joy, for having me.
Thank you, Joy, for birthing me.
Thank you, Una, for birthing Joy.
Thank you, Mary, for birthing Una.
Thank you to all my mother’s mother’s grandmothers for giving me life.

Deep peace of the bubbling Bannock Burn to you
Deep peace of the Scottish winter sun to you
Deep peace of the gentle breeze to you
Deep peace of the magnificent mountains that guard your resting place to you
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you
Deep peace of your beloved Son of Peace to you
Deep peace to you
Deep peace to you
Deep peace to you

Bríd Wyldearth, né Brigid Mary, 31 October 2008

invitation to the fourth annual Brigid cyber poetry slam

2009-01-29T14:39:00.000-08:00

Feel free to copy the following to your blog and spread the word. Let poetry bless the blogosphere once again!

WHAT: A Bloggers (Silent) Poetry Reading

WHEN: Anytime February 2, 2009

WHERE: Your blog

WHY: To celebrate the Feast of Brigid, aka Groundhog Day

HOW: Select a poem you like - by a favorite poet or one of your own - to post February 2nd.

RSVP: If you plan to publish, feel free to leave a comment and link on this post. Last year when the call went out there was more poetry in cyberspace than I could keep track of. So, link to whoever you hear about this from and a mighty web of poetry will be spun.

Feel free to pass this invitation on to any and all bloggers.

Thank you, Reya, for beginning what is now an annual event.

A Million Wimmin Rose!

2008-03-10T10:29:00.000-07:00

Just to let all you who have welcomed my specific brand of positive discrimnatory sexism, I had the most brilliant international wimmins day ever! I was part of a river of wimmin of many ages, colours and lifestyles who flowed from Hyde park down Park Lane, along Piccadilly, down Haymarket, to create a sea of beauty in Trafalgar Square. We sang and danced and celebrated being wimmin. The speakers were more ordinary wimmin talking about their lives than celebrities. I was moved to tears as a muslim woman asked us to imagine being held down and unable to move by wimmin we trust, our mothers and aunts, helpless as they gouge out our clitoris with rusty and dirty knives and sew up out labia leaving only a hole as big as the tip of our little finger....If we survived this mutilation , the problems with menstruation, child birth sex etc were a lifelong struggle.

I met five of my oldest and dearest friends and we sang my song again and again with different pockets of wimmin to the tune of "If you're angry and you know it stamp your feet".

Sila na Gig came with us and daances with Eros and Nelson - photos to be added when I get home!

Then we danced all night! One twenty four hour orgy all about aand by wimmin - just for a change!

Happy Vulva Day!

2008-02-14T07:59:00.001-08:00

Many moons ago, when I was studying radical anthropology, and vulva imagery in prehistoric art, we re-named 14 February as Vulva Day! Then a friend and I composed and performed The Vulva Show. We wore vulva masks, made slides of paintings and photos of vulvas and I sang:

I sing of all the vulvas in the world
I sing of all the vulvas that I mourn
I sing of all the vulvas that are cut and torn

I sing of all the vulvas that are sewn to fit a custom or a man
I sing of all the vulvas that are raped
I sing of all the sacred parts of women that are desecrate

I sing of women’s wisdom and I sing of women’s pain
I sing of women’s courage and I sing of women’s rage
I sing of ancient wisdom and I sing of ancient lore
I sing of times when women’s parts were named with reverence and with awe

I sing of times that may have been of times that may yet be
I sing of beauty, joy and love, exquisite ecstasy
I sing to break the silence and I sing to ease the pain
I sing and dream a future where we can be whole again

This was the first time I ever sang in public, unaccompanied, infront of a vagina dentata slide with a veil.

We called ourselves Sheela Na Gig, in honour of the goddesses who display their vulvas on medieaval church walls. And I also sang:

Síla na Gig

by Bríd Wyldearth 1993

Wild Witch, Vulva Woman,
Vulgar, vulgar Vulva Woman,
Orgasmic, dancing Vulva Woman, Sila na Gig.

Frog Woman, Toad Woman,
Bleeding Woman, Bloody Woman,
Eerie, hairy Faerie Woman, Sila na Gig.

Sitting on a steeple wall,
Bathing your vulva in the sun,
Laughing as they go to church, Sila na Gig.

Woman on the edge of time,
Gate between the worlds,
Doorway to life and death, Sila na Gig.

Wild Witch, Vulva Woman,
Vulgar, vulgar Vulva Woman,
Holy, sacred vulva woman, Sila na Gig.

This song came to me after I saw my first Síla on whittlesford church and I think I have uploaded my painting of her at the beginning of this entry.

We were celebrating our womanhood and our sexuality. We wanted to say that there is no excuse for rape or misogyny and that keeping wimmin covered up and hidden away from the world does not prevent rape, all it does is make wimmin feel responsible if they are raped.

So today I celebrate my vulva, my sexuality, my right to roam, dressed as I like and all the other luscious, beautiful and sacred parts of woman in the world!

May All The Wimmin In The World Be Safe And Free

2008-02-13T11:07:00.000-08:00

Of course that was not the final draft! I went to Mandi's on Thursday and sang till midnight. We even sang down the phone to Gemma. But the minute I got in my car I had forgotten the tune! Here is what I hope is the final draft:

May All The Women In The World Be Safe And Free
by Bríd Wyldearth (words) and Mandi Laugharne (musical arrangement) 2008

May all the women in the world be safe and free.
May we never live in fear and misery.
Nourished and protected,
Cherished and respected,
May all the women in the world be safe and free.

May all the women in the world be safe and free.
And if any man has violent tendencies,
May he choose to stop before he acts
And get his kicks down other tracks.
May all the women in the world be safe and free.

May all the women in the world be safe and free.
But if a woman suffers rape or cruelty,
May we believe her when she tells us,
May we rage and demand justice.
May all the women in the world be safe and free.

May all the women in the world be safe and free.
If men violate our freedom or safety,
May we be heard and supported,
Empowered and comforted.
May all the women in the world be safe and free.

May all the women in the world be safe and free.
May we never live in fear and misery.
Nourished and protected,
Cherished and respected,
May all the women in the world be safe and free.

May all the children of the earth be safe and free.
May we never live in fear and misery.
Nourished and protected,
Cherished and respected,
May all the children of the earth be safe and free.

Then, on Monday, we tried recording ourselves at St Non's well. There were a number of strange things that happened on the tapes. And when we came to copy the tapes one sounded like a male ghost. On the one where we had used the well as an echo chamber, Mandi had even caught my flatness and I apologised to Gemma for complete failiure. I did however listen to them all again this morning and the first recording of Mandi solo nolonger sounded like a male ghost. So I upped the base and re-recorded it and sent it off. I am hoping that Gemma might be able to make a more professional recording and I may even manage to post it here.

I feel that I want to explain that I was shut up in school and church as a child for being tone deaf. I have since had singing lessons and even managed to sing one of my songs in public but I still have difficult following some tunes and despite going flat in places, I have actually enjoyed hearing the recordings of my voice. I shall be listening to Mandi's recording every day so that I can sing along in Trafalgar Square without risking turning everybody else flat!

millionwomen rise and international womens day

2008-02-06T05:13:00.000-08:00

There is now a wonderful web of poetry circling cyberspace! I am taking it very slowly to give each poem her due. But just a glance at Branches up, roots down has changed my mood and renewed my hope that we can by acts like this create a beautiful and peaceful world together!

I am both terrified and excited as I look forward to reading some of my poems for Women Centre Stage in Swansea on 5th March and then rise with a million wimmin at Hyde Park, speakers corner, where we will sing a song wot I rote before marching to Trafalgar Square for a Rally calling on the world to end male violence towards wimmin, on international wimmins day!

Here is whar I think the final draft is:

May All The Women In The World Be Safe And Free
by Bríd Wyldearth 2008

May all the women in the world be safe and free
May we never live in fear and misery
May we be nourished and protected
May we be cherished and respected
May all the women in the world be safe and free

May all the women in the world be safe and free
If any want to cause one fear or misery
May he choose to stop before he acts
And get his kicks down other tracks
May all the women in the world be safe and free

May all the women in the world be safe and free
And if any cause one fear or misery
May we believe her when she tells us
May we rage and demand justice
May all the women in the world be safe and free

May all the women in the world be safe and free
And if any cause one fear or misery
May we comfort her and heal her
May we support her and empower her
May all the women in the world be safe and free

May all the women in the world be safe and free
May we never live in fear and misery
May we be nourished and protected
May we be cherished and respected
May all the women in the world be safe and free

May all the children of the earth be safe and free
May we never live in fear and misery
May we be nourished and protected
May we be cherished and respected
May all the children of the earth be safe and free

Poem for the third annual Brigid cyber reading

2008-02-01T17:19:00.000-08:00

On the radio this week, I heard how many millions of miles per hour our planet is travelling around the sun, the galactic centre and other star systems. I am afraid that, although it was mind boggling, I cannot remember the exact number. I have always been slower than most, the only race I ever won was the slow bicycle race! And now that I live on the coast of West Wales with ME, I have slowed down even more. May I invite you to slow down and listen as you make your plans and pledges for the coming year?

SLOW DANCE

by Bríd Wyldearth 2006

slow down, slow down, slow down,
and listen, really listen to the land
lie down on her soft belly and feel her breathe
she is a wild old woman who will not be rushed
and if we can slow down and listen long enough
we might also gain the courage not to rush
the courage to dance with her
our hearts beating time with the timeless heart
of this wise old woman who will not be rushed
we might hear the secrets that she holds
the thousand daily miracles that she unfolds
in every cell of her magnificent body
slow down, slow down, slow down,
and listen, really listen to the land

slow down, slow down, slow down,
and listen, really listen to a tree
put your arms around her and feel her breathe
she is an ancient, rooted being who stands proud and tall
and if we can slow down and listen long enough
we might also gain the courage to stand proud and tall
the courage to dance with her
our hearts beating time with the timeless heart
of this ancient, rooted being who stands proud and tall
we might hear the secrets that she holds
the thousand daily miracles that she unfolds
in every cell of her magnificent body
slow down, slow down, slow down,
and listen, really listen to a tree

slow down, slow down, slow down,
and listen, really listen to the birds
rise at dawn and hear them sing
they are sun serenading divas who sing their own songs
and if we can slow down and listen long enough
we might also gain the courage to sing our own songs
the courage to sing with them
our hearts beating time with the timeless hearts
of these sun serenading divas who sing their own songs
we might hear the secrets that they hold
the thousand daily miracles that they unfold
in every cell of her magnificent bodies
slow down, slow down, slow down,
and listen, really listen to the birds

slow down, slow down, slow down,
and listen, really listen to the stars
lie down away from streetlights and watch them dance
they are sparkling, mythic guides who follow their own paths
and if we can slow down and listen long enough
we might also gain the courage to follow our own paths
the courage to dance with them
our hearts beating time with the timeless hearts
of these sparkling, mythic guides who follow their own paths
we might hear the secrets that they hold
the thousand daily miracles that they unfold
in every cell of her magnificent bodies
slow down, slow down, slow down,
and listen, really listen to the stars

slow down, slow down, slow down,
and listen, really listen to the sun
sit down by the sea and watch her set
she is a dazzling, hot goddess who knows how to shine
and if we can slow down and listen long enough
we might also gain the courage to learn how to shine
the courage to dance with her
our hearts beating time with the timeless heart
of this dazzling, hot goddess who knows how to shine
we might hear the secrets that she holds
the thousand daily miracles that she unfolds
in every cell of her magnificent body
slow down, slow down, slow down,
and listen, really listen to the sun

slow down, slow down, slow down,
and listen, really listen to the moon
lie down in a stone circle and bathe in her light
she is a cool, silver goddess who caresses the earth
and if we can slow down and listen long enough
we might also gain the courage to caress the earth
the courage to dance with her
our wombs beating time with the timeless womb
of this cool, silver goddess who caresses the earth
we might hear the secrets that she holds
the thousand monthly miracles that she unfolds
in every cell of her magnificent body
slow down, slow down, slow down,
and listen, really listen to the moon

slow down, slow down, slow down,
and listen, really listen to the sea
lie down in her watery belly and feel her breathe
she is a gentle and stormy mother who will not be tamed
and if we can slow down and listen long enough
we might also gain the courage not to be tamed
the courage to dance with her
our hearts beating time with the timeless heart
of this gentle and stormy mother who will not be tamed
we might hear the secrets that she holds
the thousand daily miracles that she unfolds
in every cell of her magnificent body
slow down, slow down, slow down,
and listen, really listen to the sea

slow down, slow down, slow down,
and listen, really listen to the land
lie down on her soft belly and feel her breathe
she is a wild old woman who will not be rushed
and if we can slow down and listen long enough
also gain we might the courage not to rush
the courage to dance with her
our hearts beating time with the timeless heart
of this wise old woman who will not be rushed
we might hear the secrets that she holds
the thousand daily miracles that she unfolds
in every cell of her magnificent body
slow down, slow down, slow down,
and listen, really listen to the land.

2008-01-31T15:35:00.001-08:00

This is a photograph of my painting: Holy well and Sacred Flame. It is an abstract representation of the Goddess from whom I get my name, Bríd, goddess of fire and water, poetry, healing and smithcraft. We celebrate her feast on 2nd February as the first lambs are born to suckle in ewes milk from which we get the ancient name of her feast Imbolc - pronounced imolg.

Here is an invocation which I wrote some years ago and use on this day:

Invocation to Bríd

by Bríd Wyldearth 2007

Bríd, Brighde, Brigid, Birgit, Brigita, Brigantia

Woman of the Sacred Flame

Woman of the Deep Well

Gone is the time of little sun, ruled by the fierce, one-eyed hag, Cailleach

In a chariot, drawn by swans, she rode to the Sacred Isle of Youth

She drank from the spring in the holy oak grove

and transformed into youthful, beauteous Bríd

like the snake, emerging from her winter lair,

sloughing her skin, renewed again

re last post

2008-01-31T15:30:00.000-08:00

I am new to this Blog buisness so please forgive me for omitting to add that the last post was copied from Oak on her blog branchesup.blogspot.com . Thank you Oak for this invitation. Last year we held a minifestival on wimminsmoondrum@yahoogroups.com because I did not yet have a blog or know how to access them with dial up connection from a windows 98 machine! A Happy and poetic Imbolc
to anyone who reads this!

Invitation to the third annual Imbolc cyberspace poetry reading

2008-01-31T15:20:00.000-08:00

Well, Anne Hill asked if we were going to do this again, and I say YES! Feel free to copy the following to your blog and spread the word. Let poetry bless the blogosphere once again!

WHAT: A Bloggers (Silent) Poetry Reading

WHEN: Anytime February 2, 2008

WHERE: Your blog

WHY: To celebrate the Feast of Brigid, aka Groundhog Day

HOW: Select a poem you like - by a favorite poet or one of your own - to post February 2nd.

RSVP: If you plan to publish, feel free to leave a comment and link on this post. Last year when the call went out there was more poetry in cyberspace than I could keep track of. So, link to whoever you hear about this from and a mighty web of poetry will be spun.

Feel free to pass this invitation on to any and all bloggers.

Thank you, Reya, for beginning what is now an annual event.

Imbolc Full Moon

2008-01-23T16:18:00.000-08:00

IMBOLC FULL MOON 22 JANUARY2008

I lay on my couch in front of my wood burning stove and started to drum on my large moon like drum. She sang with the heat of the fire and I filled my charkas with firey earth energy and then icy moon light through thick clouds and sheltering roof.

I journeyed to my clan lodge and was welcomed with hugs and love. I felt that I belonged. I was told that when we ask for something we have to be prepared for the possibility that the answer might be “No”. It was necessary to start the wimminsmoondrum for my own solitary journey. The dream of community and wimmins drumming shaking the earth may only belong to dream reality. I might never have met the wimmin in my clan and moon lodge had I not started the moon drum. My grandmother noticed that my singing voice was stronger and more in tune. I was given a wolf mask to wear – to feel how it was to be wolf and told to read up about wolves – maybe it is my lot to be a lone and grumpy wolf, longing for clan….

We went together as wolf clan to the moon lodge and I went to the centre of the labyrinth and howled. Bev was there and gave me a big hug – said that she would not have missed it. She noticed that I had her lippy in my coat pocket.

I sent blessings to each woman in the drum and came back, exhausted into my living room…. And kissed my beautiful drum.

xmas lies

2007-12-29T17:48:00.000-08:00

As for xmas - it was very important for me to admit all the crappy things about it for me - It is so very, very long since I spent it with somebody that I loved and I have been pretending ever since to join in by sending cards and presents and saying "Happy Xmas" and really not being able to join in because one of the truths about xmas is that there is nobody else around because they are all with their families, whether they want to be or not, and there is only one thing more depressing than xmas on my own and that is xmas in some other family who are being kind - nomatter how kind they are, it is even more obvious to me what I am missing....

What I have realised about xmas, by trying to be honest about how I feel, is that most of it is a horrible lie and that is so sad. The biggest lie is father xmas - the whole world pretends that he exists - why cant the whole world pretend something useful like world peace or an end to hunger???? - I do have nothing against presents and magic and love but if anyone came down your chimney any other day you'd call the police wouldn't you? And would the police believe him if he said he wasn’t a thief but had brought presents? And wouldn’t they then call sniffer dogs and/or the bomb squad? And if you told your teacher or social worker that your parents let a strange man into your room to give you presents while you slept can you imagine he investigations? And if the parents then insisted that they had been lying to you and that it was them all along???? And how many people spend how many millions in therapy over the lies their parents tell them anyway????

The reason that I hate the lie about father xmas is not the lie, but because, when a child finds out about the lie, xmas is never the same again and they stop believing in magic and I think that is very, very sad and might even be the reason that we put up with war and famine and dictators etc etc - When we stop believing in magic, we stop believing that we can help to change our world and we stop believing that change can happen...

It has taken me many years, not to restore my belief in magic, but to experience magic and know that it exists every second of every day of every year in my enchanting life on this awesome planet and I know that with the help of magic I can and do make a difference.

At this moment, I do not know how I will experience xmas next year but I suspect it might be even more magical!

Solstice / New Year Wish

2007-12-26T17:10:00.000-08:00

May All The Women In The World Be Safe And Free

by Bríd Wyldearth 2006