Many people fail to understand the magic of poetry. Perhaps it was a run-in with some dull English teacher in middle school; or forced marches through obscure parts of Dante and Whittier, with the emphasis on rote memorization, not the passion and meaning of the words.
But as most shamans, priestesses, bards, Kahunas, Druids, and other magical folk know, poetry is one of the most powerful sorceries ever known to humankind. Poetry is nothing less than a mighty spellworking. And it is a gift bestowed by blessed Brighid, Celtic Goddess of creativity and healing.
She teaches us how to use poetry’s carefully crafted Words Of Power to evoke our deepest intelligence and emotions. She inspires us to weave rhythms that inflame the senses; ignite memory, premonition, and imagination. Poetry is a spark of Divine beauty that sings our souls awake.
So once again, on the sacred day of Brighid, Feb. 2 (Imbolc), please join this vast, beautiful global spellworking of Poetry. Invite everyone you know, by copying the following to your blog/Facebook/website 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, the Celtic Goddess of Poetry, Healing and Craft (particularly metal crafting).
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 we could keep track of. So, link to whoever you hear about this from and a vast web of poetry will be spun.
Please pass this invitation on!
I’ll be there.
Scrying on the Moon
By sibylline light
appear images I recognize,
creviced captures of my life.
I know her judgment to be my own.
“Nourished by Moon rivers
mythical cavern blooms
unseen by sunlight
glow green.” Thus she sets the scene;
becomes the prophecy.
“Purest white simplicity
curved to suggest fragility
faith fed maiden ready for
plucking,
given in bondage to womanly woes,
hard rows to hoe
for that little bit of hug through
crying of night.
Fate of Trojan soldiers, sacrificed to lust.
Unbended, beg for the boon of drama
high adventure
sneaking into sad hotels
for a fix or a tumble.
Laughs,
deadly play,
danger, a real chance.
Barefoot in the snow
icy roads
winds so strong
I could not make you hear.
I thought you were my destiny.
These thoughts are far from clear;
but I believed
song lyrics from somber deities
would not lie, leave me
dying, fading into winter’s grey
drifting clouds,
endless sorrow endured for naught.
Lost on this careless corner,
dreaming of oblivion, intent on visions
like rain
tapping against eternity’s
vast windowpane.
Scenic serenity.
Nature’s gradations of green
soothes tired eyes,
trembling nerves, throbbing veins.
Slivers of moonlight reflect
in withered refrains, unearth secrets
embedded in song
effervescing through cool pure air
cleansing the uprising nestling
set aflame
resurrected
tempered mettle,
pure, wise, tested
engorged with the will
to rise”
Yes, I will. Thanks!
Wow, Libramoon! Love this!!!