A poem for Brighid’s sacred holiday.
(Image description: A photo of a green, woven square with fringe. It is placed on a cloth with Celtic knotwork in two different shades of blue. A small acorn is next to the the woven piece. A couple tealight candles can be seen off to the left corner of the image.) Credit: My own work.
Imbolc is finally here! January has felt like it has dragged on for a while, but the first glimpses of spring are already happening. I have seen a few wildflowers popping up, despite the ground still appearing dormant.
This year’s festivities have been dialed back some, as the last half of the month have been fairly eventful. However, doing so is fine, as I’m not one for extravagant celebrations. Small observances of the festivals are just as valid as large ones.
I had a simple, hearty meal that reminds me of the change in seasons, a beef-vegetable stew and some bread. I left out some Brighid’s mantles I had received during past Imbolcs and placed my handmade Brighid doll in Her bed, showing Her hospitality.
Hospitality during Imbolc is offering Her something of value, indicating that Her presence is welcome. One of the offerings is this poem I wrote.
On Imbolc Morn
On Imbolc morn,
fair Brighid rises
from Her bed.
So dutifully made
by kind hands
and hospitable hearts.
Taking the birch wand,
imbued with potency
primacy-laden spark
Much like Ogma’s seven marked stave,
it lays the groundwork,
the call of rebirth and purification.
Out of the cold, dark earth,
warmth blossoms form the core
into each seed, each kernel.
Regrowth follows in the wake,
the sprouting from the blessed hem
of Her life-giving cloak.
The lowing of birth pangs tell
of sheep and kine pushing,
then of babies suckling.
Brighid crosses the land,
spreading threefold blessings
across the land, sea, and sky.
Leave a Reply