Sunday 3 February 2019


I'm late for Brigit's Day but am posting these couple of poems again.

Brigit’s Cross

Its strength lies in the fold.

You bend the rush firm and hold,
finger fasten it to the centre
Turned clockwise and returned,
again and again, it’s the last rush
that decides if your lattice will hold
or fall apart or hang slack
woven through with chinks of light.

At Imbolg

Stooped to the rhythm of sickle
we gathered rushes from the bog.
Or, with our hands, pulled stems
that raised wheals and reddened palms.

We lay them in piles and folded
and turned and turned and folded
until we made a centre
that would hold.

Not knowing then that she was daughter of Dagda
Celtic Goddess, Crone turned Maiden each Spring
and that we were cutting deeper than bog
i mbolg, at imbolg.

Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2017

1 comment:

  1. I love these! Yes, Spring is here. Praise the Goddess!!!