Imbolc, Sixth Annual Brigid Poetry Festival

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

Brighid2010@delicious.com

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

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.

Poem for Brigid poetry slam

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