Sunday, July 17, 2011

Brigid's Song


Brigid's Song


Run with me where the moon
wavers in the gloaming
when the spears of the last seed sown
begin to bend their golden heads,
heavy and full in the pod.

Run with me in the dawn's mist,
then lay your head
where it belongs to be
so fine so weary
on the breasts that call it home.

Let the seed untie, let it blow in the wind
between the worlds.
Let your hands pass where
the skin is thin. Let the kite
give her harsh cry unheard.

In the space of a night the field is turned,
sown, and the crop fallen to the sickle moon.
The unchancy cailleach is full stoned.
The fires  flare and  smoke fills the deep woods
from the blaze of the heartwood that falls

but when the snow bites, and thought
and  memory lead the wild hunt
and what's green falls to the white sword,
remember the promise of all things
born to die and watch me go.

June 2011


 Posted for   OneLastShootSunday   at the inimitable OneStopPoetry

This is posted with sadness for the last One Shoot Sunday as One Stop Poetry disbands. Thanks to all who have made the place what it was, and especially to Chris Galford for these always challenging Sunday photo prompts.



Process Notes:
Brigid was the Celtic goddess associated with poetry, healing, and 'all things of high dimension.' She was Christianized as St Bridgit. I have taken liberties with her here and made her a summer goddess. The cailleach is the hag of winter, whom those familiar with my writing have met many times before. Thought and Memory were Odin's two ravens, and the wild hunt is an ancient folk myth prevalent across many cultures, of a spectral group of hunters. You can find more info on it here


Photo by Rosie Hardy

21 comments:

  1. Oh, Witchy. That last line is like a cold hand shaking me.

    I like this on its own merits, but I've got to say that I really especially like it as a response to that particular photo prompt. You took it and ran with it, appropriately enough!

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  2. Wonderful poem. I feel like I'm running alongside her, experiencing what she is experiencing. Well done!

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  3. where it belongs to be

    A lovely turn of phrase to encompass the double meanings of longing/belonging. Another delightful tale to capture the imagination.

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  4. Avsolutely lovely...and I've got to love every line in it...Roger ☺

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  5. A great poem to the prompt..about living life to the fullest and in the moment, because we are indeed born to die. It resonates for me and I absolutely loved this line ~ Let your hands pass where the skin is thin. Let the kite
    give her harsh cry unheard. ~ :)

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  6. "gloaming" ...talk about the perfect word to set an atmosphere. With her arm trailing back it does look like the woman is flying an imaginary kite. ha! Your footnotes enhance my reading of your poem, allowing access to multiple layers I'd have missed otherwise. Visiting here on Sunday has been a treat. While I never know where your lines will go amid reading, and enjoy thinking them through. Must say your words always leave me appreciative and motivated to write better. Also, your thoughtful, detailed comments have helped me consider my work in a different light after your visits. Many thanks, hedge. You rock and have been an excellent part of these weekend festivities! adam

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  7. The musicality of your lines is orchestrated with deeper meaning through the mythological and archetypal undergirding. I felt acutely the white sword of Cailleach Bheur in the vibrant seeds of Brigid.

    Let your hands pass where
    the skin is thin.

    This brought to mind the crossroads, the liminal spaces that allow us to hold one season, one remembrance, one idea inside another. I have a poem that may interest you about Liminal Spaces and artists at: http://chromapoesy.com/2011/06/30/liminal-spaces/

    Wonderful work!

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  8. "where the moon wavers in the gloaming"....this poem is magical, lifts me up and away. Simply beautiful, Hedgewitch!!!!!!! Wowzers!

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  9. I love the "running" imagery...you made me fly with your words.

    Lovely share as always ~

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  10. i love the energy and intransigence in this hedge - the running...the seeking home..the kite...and your footnote made it even more fascinating..you always weave such tight webs with your poetry

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  11. Run with me in the dawn's mist,
    then lay your head
    where it belongs to be
    so fine so weary
    on the breasts that call it home.

    Beautiful and the last stanza as well... oh, and I adore "gloaming". What a creative mind you have.

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  12. So much to praise in this, as always. I especially like "when the snow bites", "what's green falls to the white sword", and the lovely concluding couplet.

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  13. This photo called to me, yet I chose another to use... but your words speak deep, beyond the misty air.

    Beautiful, brilliant writing.

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  14. Let your hands pass where
    the skin is thin. Let the kite
    give her harsh cry unheard....

    love those lines...and your close...born to die, watch me go...hot....like the foot note too healing and poetry...yeah those certainly go well together....

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  15. wonderful Joy ~ I would run with this anyday ~ but I don't want to watch her go :( ~
    such imagery I have adored reading all of your poems and I am sad that this is finishing I have only just found out but I hope we may cross each others paths again ~ I loved this image too ~
    all of my best wishes ~ Lib

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  16. A beautiful piece, Joy. When I saw the photos, I was most excited to see what you would fashion for it just screamed mythical, ergo, HW! You didn't disappoint with a journey to the moon and back. Your sidebar commentary was most helpful as well, thank you.

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  17. I'm running after Brigit...
    You are something special

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  18. Thanks to everyone who's taken the time out of their weekend to stop here and read. Your comments are always appreciated, never more so than today as One Stop comes to an end.

    Many times I've cursed and muttered over these Sunday photo prompts, as they forced me to write first thing in the morning flat out of the gate, but this being the last one is infinitely sad, and I will miss what has become my defining Sunday morning pastime more than I can say. It's been great sharing it with all of you, and hopefully we will meet soon over other new and equally challenging prompts, and keep growing together.

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  19. I hate to see your beloved prompt come to an end, even though it was at times a bit early on a Sunday, because this is such a beautiful poem. The repeated "Run with me" and "gloaming" yes, all the fantastically rich language and imagery here leaves me wishing I really lived in such a body and dress. To be a goddess of poetry and healing, now that would be something, though I think you might have embodied her here. Splendid work, so lush!

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  20. Yes I did miss this yesterday, consumed by the everyday's moronic inferno ... Charm and alms and amulet for the poem to follow. I'm not sure if your "unchancy calleach is full stoned" means that this fantasia of Brighid She got from circus mushrooms or a potion of Ecstasy, or that the Dangerous One was sealed in the singing hut for the duration of this poem, but the sunlight here is dappled and merry -- promise of a day outside the Heat Thunderdome. Amen. - Brendan

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  21. @Ruth--yes, that dress is a fantasy and a myth in itself--a wedding dress, I believe, which fits my little poetic conceit here well. I'm so glad you enjoyed it, and hope it was a bit of an antidote to the darker poem.

    @Brendan: The image of the stoned hag comes from her spring transformation, when she is literally turned to stone till the blizzards consume the summer, and she once more rules--but I like your interpretation, and I can't say there wasn't a bit of that in the writing, both the potions, and the sequestering. Thanks for reading--and I hope it went down easier than the following one. At least it can be safely read after sundown, I hope. ;_)

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'Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance' ~Carl Sandburg