Imbolc Cyberspace Poetry Slam

Today is Imbolc, a pagan holiday which celebrates, not Spring per se, but rather, the promise of Spring. It is also the sacred day of Brigid the Bright, the Celtic Goddess of (among other things) poetry.

The Imbolc Cyberspace Poetry Slam has been celebrated for quite a few years now by various pagans around the blogosphere. On February 1st (Imbolc Eve) or February 2nd (Imbolc Day), people post a favourite poem written by themselves or by another poet so that, collectively, an internet web of poetry is woven to honour Brigid.

This year I am posting a poem by Mary Anne Perrone, who is an educator, activist, and spiritual guide. For over 30 years her area of focus has been on human rights in Latin America. This poem goes by various names on the internet (such as Christmas at Midlife, Life at Midlife, and She Is Fire) but I have used the title I think is most representative of its theme: No Longer Waiting.

The only good photo I could find of the poet is from 30 years ago in 1994 --

No Longer Waiting

by Mary Anne Perrone

I am no longer waiting for a special occasion;

I burn the best candles on ordinary days.

I am no longer waiting for the house to be clean;

I fill it with people who understand that even dust is Sacred.

I am no longer waiting for everyone to understand me;

It’s just not their task.

I am no longer waiting for the perfect children;

my children have their own names that burn as brightly as any star.

I am no longer waiting for the other shoe to drop;

It already did, and I survived.

I am no longer waiting for the time to be right;

the time is always now.

I am no longer waiting for the mate who will complete me;

I am grateful to be so warmly, tenderly held.

I am no longer waiting for a quiet moment;

my heart can be stilled whenever it is called.

I am no longer waiting for the world to be at peace;

I unclench my grasp and breathe peace in and out.

I am no longer waiting to do something great;

being awake to carry my grain of sand is enough.

I am no longer waiting to be recognized;

I know that I dance in a holy circle.

I am no longer waiting for Forgiveness;

I believe, I believe.

Imbolc Cyberspace Poetry Slam

Today is Imbolc, a pagan holiday which celebrates, not Spring per se, but rather, the promise of Spring. It is also the sacred day of Brigid the Bright, the Celtic Goddess of (among other things) poetry.

The Imbolc Cyberspace Poetry Slam has been celebrated for quite a few years now by many pagans around the blogosphere. On February 1st (Imbolc Eve) or February 2nd (Imbolc), people post a favourite poem written by themselves or by another poet so that, collectively, a vast internet web of poetry is woven to honour Brigid.

This year I am posting a poem by Thich Nhat Hanh, the Vietnamese Zen Buddhist monk who recently passed away at the age of 95. He was a peace activist, author, poet and beloved teacher of mindfulness and walking meditation. Martin Luther King nominated him for the Nobel Peace Prize in the 1960s.

The Good News

by Thich Nhat Hanh

They don’t publish

the good news.

The good news is published

by us.

We have a special edition every moment,

and we need you to read it.

The good news is that you are alive,

and the linden tree is still there,

standing firm in the harsh winter.

The good news is that you have wonderful eyes

to touch the blue sky.

The good news is that your child is there before you,

and your arms are available:

hugging is possible.

They only print what is wrong.

Look at each of our special editions.

We always offer the things that are not wrong.

We want you to benefit from them

and help protect them.

The dandelion is there by the sidewalk,

smiling its wondrous smile,

singing the song of eternity.

Listen! You have ears that can hear it.

Bow your head.

Listen to it.

Leave behind the world of sorrow

and preoccupation

and get free.

The latest good news

is that you can do it.

This poem is even more resonant in our currently troubled, unsettled times. My favourite image in the poem is the dandelion "there by the sidewalk, smiling its wondrous smile, singing the song of eternity" despite all the odds against it.

"Grow where you're planted" and "Never give up" are valuable lessons for us all!

Imbolc Cyberspace Poetry Slam

Today is Imbolc, a pagan holiday which celebrates, not Spring per se, but rather, the promise of Spring. It is also the sacred day of Brigid the Bright, the Celtic Goddess of (among other things) poetry.

The Imbolc Cyberspace Poetry Slam has been celebrated for quite a few years now by many pagans around the blogosphere. On February 1st (Imbolc Eve) or February 2nd (Imbolc), people post a favourite poem written by themselves or by another poet so that, collectively, a vast internet web of poetry is woven to honour Brigid.

One of Brigid's symbols is the snowdrop which pushes through the winter snow to promise "new beginnings." The poem I've chosen for this year's post is also about the hope and promise of new beginnings after a time of desolation and pain.

Before Dawn, Before Spring

by Lady Tai-Ken

(Japan, 1190)

Is all the earth dead?

Dawn comes earlier each day.

I have been dreaming of crows.

What do the crows say?

There is a gate at the end

of the path; it is shut tight.

Who can open it?

There was a man I loved once.

When he died, the lock rusted.

Has no one come in?

Do I hear a bamboo flute?

Or is it just the spring wind?

What does the wind say?

Light pearls the gate. The crows call.

Oh, the perfume of flowers --

Imbolc Cyberspace Poetry Slam

Imbolc is a pagan holiday which celebrates, not Spring, but rather, the promise of Spring. It is also the sacred day of Brigid the Bright, Celtic Triple Goddess of healing, creative handiwork and (most importantly for today's post) poetry.

The Imbolc Cyberspace Poetry Slam has been celebrated for quite a few years now by many pagans around the blogosphere. On February 1st or 2nd, people post a favourite poem written by themselves or by another so that, collectively, a vast internet web of poetry is woven to honour Brigid, the Goddess of Poetry.

This year I am posting a poem by Mary Oliver, the National Book Award and Pulitzer Prize winning American poet, who died last month at 83. She was predeceased by her partner of more than 40 years, the photographer Molly Malone Cook. Mary Oliver's beloved poems have inspired many women to embrace the twin spiritual truths of reverence for nature and of personal empowerment.

When Death Comes

by Mary Oliver

When death comes

like the hungry bear in autumn;

when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;

when death comes

like the measle-pox;

when death comes

like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:

what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything

as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,

and I look upon time as no more than an idea,

and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower as common

as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,

tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something

precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say: all my life

I was a bride married to amazement.

I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it's over, I don't want to wonder

if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,

or full of argument.

I don't want to end up having simply visited this world.

Imbolc Cyberspace Poetry Slam

[statue of Brigid by Paul Borda of Dryad Design]

Imbolc is a pagan holiday which celebrates, not Spring, but rather, the promise of Spring. It is also the sacred day of Brigid the Bright, Celtic Triple Goddess of healing, creative handiwork and (most importantly for today's post) poetry.

The Imbolc Cyberspace Poetry Slam has been celebrated for quite a few years now by many pagans around the blogosphere. On February 1st or 2nd, people post a favourite poem written by themselves or by another so that, collectively, a vast internet web of poetry is woven to honour Brigid, the Goddess of Poetry.

This year I'm posting a devotional poem that I found somewhere or another several years ago. I'm afraid I don't know who the author is. Possibly the poem may be based on a traditional Celtic blessing. Either way, it's charming and I offer it to all of you as an Imbolc gift as we await Spring --

The blessings of Brigid be about you,

on your going out,

and on your coming in;

in the name of She

who blesses each doorway;

in the name of She

who calms the waves;

in the name of She

who brings us safely home.

Imbolc Cyberspace Poetry Slam

Imbolc is once more upon us, the sacred day of the Celtic Goddess Brigid, She Who is the Radiant Flame of Gold, the Summoner of Spring!

And that means it's time again for another Imbolc Cyberspace Poetry Slam! This event has been celebrated for several years now by many pagans around the blogosphere. Everyone posts a favourite poem written by themselves or by another so that, collectively, a vast internet web of poetry is woven to honour Brigid, the Goddess of Poetry.

This year as a special devotional offering, I am posting a traditional Celtic poem of praise to Brigid the Bright, the Goddess Herself, as transcribed by the late, great scholar of the Divine Feminine, Patricia Monaghan.

Brigid, gold-red woman,

Brigid, flame and honeycomb,

Brigid, sun of womanhood,

Brigid, lead me home.

You are a branch in blossom.

You are a sheltering dome.

You are my bright precious freedom.

Brigid, lead me home.

Imbolc Cyberspace Poetry Slam

Today is Imbolc, the sacred day of the Celtic Goddess Brigid. Many pagans around the blogosphere celebrate it by participating in a Cyberspace Poetry Slam which has been occurring now for several years. Everyone posts a favourite poem written by themselves or by another. Collectively, this results in a vast internet web of poetry being woven to honour Brigid, the Goddess of Poetry.

This year I am posting a favourite poem written by Bethroot Gwynn, a respected Crone and Elder of the lesbian, feminist and Goddess communities. She is a long-time feminist organizer, activist and women's land pioneer in the USA. And also a beautiful creator of women's culture and feminist spiritual practice. I read this poem many, many years ago in a We'Moon Datebook (of which Bethroot Gwynn has been a Special Editor for two decades). Her joyous and imaginative imagery of the Divine Feminine's sacred creativity inspired me then and it still inspires me today! I hope you enjoy her poem as well. Blessed Imbolc to you all!

I am the Author of All Life.
I scribble the World.
Sometimes I laugh, and galaxies spill out between my teeth.
Sometimes I whisper my secrets to the crystals and they remember -- all rocks are wise.
All fibers of being are encoded with my will, my skill.
I blink, and the light-years stretch out, curl back upon themselves.
I smile, and the universe is a beloved dream.
I am always available.
You may drink the milk of wisdom at any time.
All your thoughts are cells of my body.
All your cells are my thoughts.
You are one pure moment: matter and spirit, flesh and heart.
I am the sea you float on.
I am the air of your inner sky.
Your molecules are my dance.
Your soul is the song I sing.

                                            -- Bethroot Gwynn, 1997

Sacred Brigid and Profane Groundhog

Today is Imbolc, the sacred day of the Celtic Goddess Brigid. For several years, many bloggers have celebrated by participating in a Cyberspace Poetry Slam. Everyone posts a favourite poem written by themselves or by another. Collectively, this results in a vast internet web of poetry being woven to honour Brigid, the Goddess of Poetry.

This year I am posting one of my favourite poems by the Canadian-American lesbian poet Elsa Gidlow (1898 - 1986).

You Say

by Elsa Gidlow

You say I am mysterious.

Let me explain myself:

In a land of oranges

I am faithful to apples.

And, as promised, here's the profane groundhog:

Imbolc Blessings: Annual Cyberspace Poetry Slam for Brigid

Today is Imbolc Eve, when it is said that the Goddess Brigid walks the earth among us. For the past few years, many bloggers have celebrated Brigid at Imbolc by participating in a Cyberspace Poetry Slam. Each blogger posts a favourite poem written by themselves or by another. Collectively, this results in a vast internet web of poetry being woven to honour Brigid, the Goddess of Poetry.

The poem I've chosen this year is by Alicia Ostriker, an American poet, scholar and author. I hope it resonates with you as it does with me.

Everywoman Her Own Theology
by Alicia Ostriker

I am nailing them up to the cathedral door
Like Martin Luther. Actually, no,
I don't want to resemble that Schmutzkopf
(See Erik Erikson and N.O. Brown
On the Reformer's anal aberrations,
Not to mention his hatred of Jews and peasants),
So I am thumbtacking these ninety-five
Theses to the bulletin board in my kitchen.

My proposals, or should I say requirements,
Include at least one image of a god,
Virile, beard optional, one of a goddess,
Nubile, breast size approximating mine,
One divine baby, one lion, one lamb,
All nude as figs, all dancing wildly,
All shining. Reproducible
In marble, metal, in fact any material.

Ethically, I am looking for
An absolute endorsement of loving-kindness.
No loopholes except maybe mosquitoes.
Virtue and sin will henceforth be discouraged,
Along with suffering and martyrdom.
There will be no concept of infidels,
Consequently the faithful must entertain
Themselves some other way than killing infidels.

And so forth and so on. I understand
This piece of paper is going to be
Spattered with wine one night at a party
And covered over with newer pieces of paper.
That is how it goes with bulletin boards.
Nevertheless it will be there.
Like an invitation, a chalk pentangle,
It will emanate certain vibrations.

If something sacred wants to swoop from the universe
Through a ceiling, and materialize,
Folding its silver wings,
In a kitchen, and bump its chest against mine,
My paper will tell this being where to find me.