Sun Poem, Two Variations by Kersten Christianson

 

Brigit’s Light:  A Break from Rain

 

To remind us of her presence,

the sun opens her blinds

occasionally.

She dusts the glass-beaded crystals

waiting in windows

and washes my space in gold.

She travels across hushed waters

slipping silently into the sea.

 

(As published in Brigit: Sun of Womanhood, 2013)

 

Sun

 

Occasionally she opens

the blinds, to remind me she is there.

 

She dusts the glass-beaded

baubles swinging in the windows.

 

She washes in gold light

my bookshelves, my desk,

 

the dust collected in the corners,

the spider plant drooping on the sill.

 

She goes about her day,

moving across hushed waters,

 

gliding silently into the wine-dark sea.

 

(As edited and published in Something Yet to Be Named, 2017)

 

 

 

 

Image: Kersten's window, by Kersten Christianson.

“A Poem in Honor of St Brigid” by Brigid Claire Oak

 

A Poem in Honor of St Brigid

 

Her habit is

a dancing dress,

her prayer beads, tinkling bells.

 

She settles in

the sun’s caress,

and drinks from ancient wells.

 

Her abbey is

a grove of oak,

deep in a forest glen.

 

From here the Winds

of Wisdom spoke,

from here She’ll speak again.

 

Her bread’s a hearty

cake of oat,

Her wine’s a honey meade.

 

She gives away

her shoes and coat,

the hungry she does feed.

 

Her altar is

a peasant’s heart,

draped in Love’s linen, fair.

 

The Queen of Heaven,

Prince of Peace,

and angels meet her there.

 

Her mantle is

the meadow green,

all creatures are her friends.

 

Those once forgotten,

now are seen,

their brokenness she mends.

 

Her sacred well’s

a lake of ale,

with roses all around.

 

Her faith, a currach

setting sail,

her soul is Holy Ground.

 

Her crozier is

a wand of light,

her mitre; made of fire.

 

The Shepherdess of good

and right,

compassion and desire.

 

Her smile’s a message

of God’s care,

and Love that knows no end.

 

Dear Anamchara of Kildare,

Saint, Abbess,

and Soul-Friend.

 

 

 

 

Image: "The Lagan Meadows in all their summer glory" (July 2009) by K. Mitch Hodge. (Lagan Meadow, Belfast, Northern Ireland, U.K.) 

Note: This poem was posted by Paul Neeley on Godspace blog: “A Prayer and a Poem in the Spirit of St Brigid” on July 28, 2016. He wrote:

‘Here’s a poem in honor of St. Brigid written by ‘Brigid Claire Oak’ which I found through the Facebook group ‘Celtic Christian Tradition.’ She has given permission to share it here: She notes, “The words came with a little melody and I do sing it, but it is not set to music in an official sense.”’

 I have tried to track down the author of the post and the author of the poem, to no avail. I post them here in the hope that anyone who sees it who knows her may let me know and I can pursue permission retrospectively. Although most of the readers of Stone on the Belly are Pagan, I like to post Christian prayers and poems now and then to show another side of her cult. This one has some particularly lovely bits I wanted to share with you.

"Recalling Brigid" by Orna Ross

 

Recalling Brigid

Orna Ross

 

Queen of queens, they called her

in the old books, the Irish Mary.

Never washed her hands, nor her head

in sight of a man, never looked

into a man’s face. She was good

with the poor, multiplied food,

gave ale to lepers. Among birds,

call her dove; among trees, a vine.

A sun among stars.

 

Such was the sort of woman

preferred as the takeover was made:

consecrated cask, throne to His glory,

intercessor.

 

Brigid said nothing to any of this,

the reverence, or the upbraidings.

Her realm is the lacuna,

silence her sceptre,

her own way of life its own witness.

 

Out of desire, the lure of lust

or the dust of great deeds,

she was distorted:

to consort, mother-virgin,

to victim or whore.

 

I am not as womanly

a woman as she.

So I say: Let us see.

Let us say how she is the one.

 

It is she who conceives

and she who does bear.

She who knitted us in the womb

and who will cradle our

tomb-fraying.

 

Daily she offers her arms,

clothes us in compassion,

smiles as we wriggle

for baubles.

 

Yes, it is she who lifts you aloft

to whisper through your ears,

to kiss with your eyes,

to touch her cooling

cheek to your cheek.

Image: by Raul Angel on Unsplash. "One in a million," Guatemala City, Guatemala.

First published on Instagram in February 2022, then on Orna's blog, Orna Ross, on 13 February 2022.

"Níl aon bhealach" by memoriata

Níl aon bhealach

 

Brigid shield of fire and water

Healing well, perpetual light

Threefold sister, Dagda's daughter

Guard me with your flame so bright

 

Tig an éirí na gréine tar éis an oiche fada

After the long winter comes the spring

 

Níl aon bhealach amach ach tríd

Níl aon bhealach amach ach tríd an tine

Níl aon bhealach amach ach tríd

Níl aon bhealach amach ach Bríd

 

Brigid spark of hope in darkness

Brigid of the forge of life

Smith of transformation, Goddess

Guide me safely through all strife

 

Tig an earrach tar éis an gheimhreadh fada

After the long night comes the dawn

 

Níl aon bhealach amach ach tríd

Níl aon bhealach amach ach tríd an tine

Níl aon bhealach amach ach tríd

Níl aon bhealach amach ach Bríd

 

Keep the darkness from me

lantern in my chest

Light the way before me

lead me to my rest

 

Coinnigh an dorchadas uaim

lóchrann i mo chroí

Soilsigh an bealach ar aghaidh dom

treoraigh mé do mo críoch

 

Níl aon bhealach amach ach tríd

Níl aon bhealach amach ach tríd an tine

Níl aon bhealach amach ach tríd

Níl aon bhealach amach ach Bríd

 

 

 

Níl aon bhealach from Songs to Brigid, released February 2, 2021

Words, tune and arrangement: memoriata

Be sure to listen onto this beautiful song.

Image by M.T ElGassier.

"Vigorous Dairy Maid" by Mael Brigde

 

Vigorous Dairy Maid

 

you draw forth milk

with such energy

vats froth over

a great pond forms

to last for all of time

 

cattle glance over white shoulders

look in wonder

at what they have produced

 

 

 

Image: "Freshly milked cow's milk" by Endee n. [CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons]

"Brighid Weaving Her Mantle" by Ashli Hall

 

Brighid Weaving Her Mantle

 

I think of Your famous mantle,

draped around Your shoulders,

a legend of Your kindness and cleverness.

Was it given to You?

Perhaps, but Your blessed mantle

feels crafted by Your deft hands.

Even with Your ability,

did Your fingers fumble

while arranging the warp?

Did inexperience pass into expertise

as You worked the yarn

over and under, under and over?

Emerald, sage, and grass green,

hues of the land coming together, one day

spanning the distance of the Curragh.

Once removed from the loom,

did You hang it on a sunbeam

to admire Your handiwork?

Your fair fingers idling

over the delicate fringe

as You prayed or sang.

I ponder these images,

sacred scenes resonating

as I weave.

Image: "Irish Colleen with Green Plaid Shawl." (1890s) This image is available from the United States Library of Congress's Prints and Photographs division. Public domain, accessed via Wikimedia. Photo is retouched and colourised. She wears a flowered headscarf and a long white apron over a black dress. She is looking off to the side, hands on hips, her dark red bangs visible.

Note: First published in Oaken Roots Hermitage, 14 December 2021.

“Brighid of the dandelion” by Jenne Micale

 

Brighid of the dandelion

 

You are in the dandelion, the gold

of the summer your bright eye, its edged lace

your mantle winter white in the grass, each

sailing on the wind to root in new ground.

After frost they still reached out to bloom, burning

in dim Samhaintide up until the snow

where under that blank mantle they abide

until the first fetching thaw. Roots reach deep

and ensure their return, the same as thought,

as a smoored flame slumbering in heaps of

snowy ash until the wind of a word

stirs it, a willing hand readies a twig

and so brings back day’s flame, the saving heat.

You cannot be eradicated, fire-eye

and pale foot, the heat of thought melting the ice

Image: "Dandelion" by Jill Burrow from Pexels

Acknowledgement: By permission. This poem first appeared in Brigid's Light: Tending the Ancestral Flame of the Beloved Celtic Goddess, March 1, 2022 by Cairelle Crow and Laura Louella , editors. 

"A Charm for a Person Living With an Illness or Pain" by Jennifer Parsons

 

A Charm for a Person Living With an Illness or Pain

Fiery Brighid, shaper of stars,
Bear your hammer down upon this one’s suffering.
Turn your breath, glowing with poetry, upon their body
Let flaring pain recede like the glow of metal in the forge
Let the softest of your healing words rend pain into ash and sparks
Which, scattered upon the night, glow and are no more.
Let strength reside where pain once lived.

Merciful Brighid, soft-handed
Pour your healing out upon this one
Sweet to the mouth and cooling to the throat as well-water
Let cracks of pain ease and mend together, leaving suppleness
Bear them up with your smooth and soothing hands, 
As the earth bears up the deepest of wells,
Hurt and wear and damage shall run through your fingers,
Leaving relief and resolve and peace floating about them.

Glorious Brighid, woman of the sídhe
The barest glimpse of your beauty haunts the poet
Stirs fire into their blood, overflows their mouths with song
But now it will silence a riot of suffering, in both body and mind
The discord of pain will be brought to fit as rocks in a cairn,
Solid joy, rest, and gratitude that will last summers upon winters upon summers again.

If you accept this, let give you a roof in the rain, a line out of the turbulent river’s current, a hearth to warm you, let it be a wave to drown your enemies.

If you do not accept it, let it melt and only its beauty remain, as the pink and gold of the dawn does into day.

Note: First posted on Tumblr.

Image: "Mother's Love" by Sandy Kumar on Unsplash.

 

Celebrating Brigit - A Gathering of Friends (Book Launch of A Brigit of Ireland Devotional - Sun Among Stars)

To my complete surprise, I've just discovered that I completely forgot to post this video of my book launch. I was inspired by the way Geraldine Moorkens Byrne (two below me, long blonde hair) organised her book launch. Rather than having something very dry, or having the spotlight 100% on the author, it became a community event. I stole the idea and consequently had a wonderful hour and a bit of Brigit readings and song, from a slew of wonderful folk. So if you like to put faces or voices to your creative Brigit offerings, this video will help you with that.

From the original Facebook post (we launched via Zoom and Facebook Live simultaneously):

That was a joyful gathering, this launch of A Brigit of Ireland Devotional - Sun Among Stars. Great thanks to those who read or sang, great thanks to Clélie Rich for not only hosting this and dealing with tech issues I didn't even know existed, but for being the editor of my book, and creating an arc for the poems to follow.

Thank you to everyone for coming today, with hearts open and ears at the ready.

Big hugs and Brigit's blessings!

A Brigit of Ireland Devotional - Sun Among Stars:Book launch with Mael Brigde

"What She Speaks When I Tend Her Flame" by Erin Aurelia

 

What She Speaks When I Tend Her Flame

Erin Aurelia

I transform, she says:

the raw meat into food
the raw thoughts into poetry
the raw materials into arts and crafts
the raw ore into weapons and tools
the raw plants into healing draughts

in your heart, distress to peace

in your mind, worry to reassurance

in your body, death into life, then life into growth

in your life, suffering into power

I transform, by the grace of the flame

She said, you too can embody transformation:
from chaos to order

from complacency to vigilance
from disease to healing
from loneliness to togetherness
from otherworlds to thisworld
from outside to in
from self to others
like a gift

 

gifting is gracing

gift yourself, gift another, and then another
receive in grace, give in grace,
become grace

and then, we
become the Flame,
her flame in this world

 

so shine on:
for her, for you, for all

 

 

 

 

 

Image: "Juvenile bird resting on human hand" by Razvan Narcis Ticu in Războieni, Romania. Image from Unsplash.