"The Anvil” by Essy Thorn

 

The Anvil

The descending pein and the anvil 

I’ve been between. Yet, the hammer’s

Not anything I can’t handle. 

I’ve dents and dings by the handful. 

Bends and creases and man, have

I been in pieces and shambles. 

When it seems that I’m damned, though

That’s when to Bríd I incant all

My gratitude

for the crucible of usable lessons.

Passing through I was crude. But my true and mutable essence

Has been extracted. 

Had to have the slag removed. But what’s left has been

Gathered, tooled, and connected, then crafted, cooled, and perfected. 

Yeah, I do get to stressing but my perspective is now

When I get dejected and down 

It won’t incessantly hound

Me even if I wanna be a grieving pessimist, how

Can I, when I look around and see too many blessings to count?

Precious encounters when pressure is pounding me into shape. 

Treated for strength. 

It’s no problem. The heat I can take. 

It deepens my faith. Cause even when I’m  beaten, Her flames

Temper and mend me so as long as I’m with Brighid I won’t break.

Audio: To hear Essy Thorn perform this prayer, go here.

Image: "person hammering metal using hammer" by Maranda Vandergriff on Unsplash.

"Like Trees” by Seth Ford

 

 

 

Like Trees

Somehow, it seems 

even when I’m down and beat,

defeated and clowned, I keep

building my self up from the ground like trees 

that sprout from seeds

to boughs that reach

ten thousand feet.

My crown of leaves 

is all the way up in the clouds at least.

Fall I may, but what I found is peace,

resolve, and strength. And for my boundaries,

astoundingly—

though fear is surrounding me—

I wearily prowl and creep,

digging in my roots under mounds of peat,

and sipping nutrition from fountains deep. 

So now you see

this tower of green

may wither to wintery brown and sleep

‘til given the signal by Brigid at Imbolc.

Then, little by little, I’m flowering.

Image: Oak Tree, Waterford, Éire, by Mael Brigde.

"Hearth Shrine” by Jenne Micale

O Hearth Mother, the tiny light on your shrine

dances and holds. You teach me: one candle

can dispel the darkness, a brightening

circle your gift and delight. With two you can

see where you’re headed and what you’ve become.

With four, the corners of the room are made

visible. With thousands of small flames

held in the heart, we can topple governments.

You teach me: with wind and kindling, we can

fashion a forge and remake everything.

It is our breath that purses the wind, our hands

gathering sticks and saplings, laying the wood.

The Hearth Mother is the Mother of Judgments.

She says, I will show you: your hand strikes the match —

Image:  "red green and blue candles” by Elena Kloppenburg on Unsplash.

“To Brigid” by Mary Eileen Grace

 

To Brigid

 

 

Holy Brigid, Bride, you lead me home today,

Queen of Love, showing me my own true heart.

 

Fire ever lit, flowing milk that does not cease

to fil the hungry poor and give captives sure release.

 

Your compassion calls me out to do my part—

gather, listen, share, forgive and pray.

 

These seem so little, merely straw and coal

to stave off winter’s howling winds

 

and certain death. Yet still I know

myself called to take the plunge below

 

and enter your well of Wisdom, facing sins

of generations past to find your blessing:

 

Woman, be made whole.

 

 

 

 

Credits: This poem is a revision of one that appeared in Seasoning the Soul: Meditations for the Celtic Year (Pilgrim Spirit Communications), (2012, 2018), a collection of writings by members of “Brigid’s Circle.”  Mary Eileen Grace is a pen name of Eileen Loeher Knoff of Redmond, Washington.

Image: Ladybug in garden by Mael Brigde.

Three Poems by Cynth AB Salas

 

Surely as the day comes

Surely as the day comes,

As the sun rises again and again,

Sure as its light shines on the land,

Is the great light of your forge's fire,

Is the great heat of it,

That tames with your tools.

Is the great light of your wisdom

And illumination given to poets,

Is the great healing given to all who come to you.

Great Brigid watch over us.

 

  

Brigid of the Forge

Brigid of the Forge,

Forge tending Her flame,

Flame kept by for healing,

Healing given time and time again.

Again, Great Brigid calls out the birth of Spring,

Spring following your Imbloc, Brigid,

Your feast day, your sacred day,

Day rich with poetry upon the land,

Land that knows your story, Brigid.

Brigid of the Forge, 

Forge that brings work,

Work tend Her flame,

Flame that heals,

Flame that warms,

Flame that holds light despite the darkest hours.

 

 

 

Bless you, Brigid, who acts in great miracles

Bless you, Brigid, who acts in great miracles,

Miracles that move obstacles,

That give what is needed,

Her cloak stretched across the green of the land,

Land on which to build, to work, to grow.

Who in mercy closed the womb,

Who in mercy fed the hound,

Who in mercy healed the man with leprosy,

Bless you, Brigid, who in mercy brings peace.

 

Image: “Street Dog” by Slyronit, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons