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A Collection of Imbolc Poetry

I dedicate this page to our Lady Brigit and the young Sun King growing again.


(poem by: Jill Yarnall)

IMBOLC

So the skies rumbled and the snows came,
And everywhere down through the centuries of this gray night,
Came women gathering to pray,
And to sink their hands into the dark earth.

They gathered seeds and prepared them for planting,
They meditated in the icy darkness,
And they celebrated the lambing of the first ewe,
To hasten spring.

And when through the earth they felt the stirring,
They sang songs encouraging the tiny seeds to grow.

In the dark, wet soil you can smell their work still;
They are digging along beside us. Listen!

The north wind carries their song across the snow,
This Imbolc night.

As the Earth prepares for Spring,
Wise women gather in circles to await the promise of new life,
And to sing praises for the green earth.

And so do we, here now,
This year, and every year.

Welcome Imbolc!


(poem by: Silver Dragon )

Awakening

Buds, as pale green lunar moths
Land overnight on the naked birches
And comes the warm Spring light
They will unfurl their sticky, verdant wings
And shed Winter's dark shell


(poem by: Aleaf Bacharous )

Oimelc

Ancient White that covers All-
Stars of Light that melt in sky-
Winds that howl, Oreads Sing-
Keep your Candles lit and high-
Imbolc-tide but once a year,
Make light the dell, enchant good cheer.
Tip the Brew and Sing a Spell-
A time of Great Growth for to tell-
Come forth soon now from the Cave-
But not to soon... the Winter scathes
The fire warms,
The waters do not run-
The winds do pull
the owls hoot
All the Ancient Name-

In The frozen Berkshire Peaks
The Sun will Wax Again.


(poem by: Steven Craig Hickman)

The Circle and the Flame: in celebration of Imbolc

The Circle and the Flame for Imbolc
Wolf moon rises, broken promises
are healed and the feast begins:
as they say, “in the belly”,
the wintry light is pregnant
with Summer’s milk and flowers;
ewes’ udders waken light
and all the wights delight;
Tribe and Land, language and rocks,

meet in the circle of this flame:
the bones of earth, elemental nooks
of all the circle’s measure
hold the ancient tribes in bondage
to the laws of fealty;
knowledge of this old way
begins in words borne of valor:
deeds of ancient warriors dying
for the people of the Land;
remembrance of this light,
the women show their troth
sewing banners of the woolen cloth
with twisted threads of memory
to hold the thoughts of poets strong;
spider, asp, and wasp; thistle, gorse, and nettle:
all children of the goddess lands:
keepers of its mysteries;

Niall of the Nine Hostages knows this truth:
the Old Crone cast her eye upon him,
and he recognized the green spark of goddess tears;
the center holds, the Bilious, the World Tree:
golden leaves waving above
gathers the tribes into the inner circle;
so in the dead month, under the wolf moon
we celebrate in feasting,
when raven’s nest and lark’s sing,
and rain brings lambs to birth;
for then the Old Woman of the year,

Cailleach, rises with her white wand,
a bride of spring, breathing power
into the Winter King, releasing him
from his dour sleep of harsh snow,
while serpent lords scatter
to the four winds of time,
knowing their time is at an end;
then the “Exalted One”, Brigid,
golden haired, encircled by children
comes among her people
to celebrate the Feast of Imbolc!


(poem by: Lady Gueneva)

Brigit

In a glass
Of scryer's black
Visions of life
Bring full impact

Wells pour out
Your sacred flame
Prophetic words
In wisdom's name

The womb impregnated
With poetic rhyme
Birthed to life
In seasons time

Summoned
In your healing light
Be with me on
This moonstruck night


(poem by: Hedgewytch )

Bridget Bright

She is known as Brigid Bright,
Goddess who shines against the night.

At Cille Dara, at the setting sun,
Her sacred flame is kept by one.

Nineteen times the earth turns round,
As sacred springs come forth the ground.

Twenty times the sun has burned,
And now the Goddess has returned.

Alone she tends her thrice-bright flame,
Born of her heart that bears her name.

The Dagda knows Brigid as Daughter,
Triple Blessed by fire and water.

Poets call her name to inspire.
And healers oft gain from her fire.

Wayland too would know her well
As hammer and anvil ring like a bell.

A sorrowful cry did she give meaning,
When first she brought to Eire keening.

Oh Sacred Fire against darkest night,
Burn for Brigid, for Brigid Bright!

Fire in the head...to quicken us.
Fire in the cauldron...to heal us.
Fire in the forge of the heart...to temper us.


(poem by: Cerris )

BRIGHID

Her face is full, she is dressed,
Dressed in splendour.
A ripple spreads, her face undulates
Broken,
Broken into infinite pieces
Through that infinity
I am taken.

The mists surrounding my pathway
Clear, lucid.
I follow, winding. Deosil, deosil
The peak is shrouded
But I know
I know she waits

I pass the fire, the rebirth
The joy
She is waiting
Arms extended, grace of growth
Dreams alive
Memories of child, memories of youth
Bringing them to her bosom
For rebirth
For my life path

An offering I give
Enveloped, entranced
Womb-like waters
Flowing, creating, being

Vision ended, beauty untold
A glance up, she is hidden.
Clouds hang like a shroud
Over her face
Hiding her beauty

But I know
I know she is there


(poem by: Diane Stein )

Night of lit white candles
darkness turned into light
"everything she touches changes"
feast of waxing flame
fire of heart and hearth
fire on the mind
flickering of spark
quickening of air
warming into inspiration
thawing in her innocence
snow into desire
"she shines for all of us
she burns within us all"
sipral heat of life
"she shines for all of us
within us all she burns"
the fires to create
"she shines in all of us
she burns us all within"
awakening arising is her need
"she shines for all of us
she burns within us all"
Her candle is our only source


(poem by: Neeltje & Paul Hoftijzer)

Imbolc

Many grey veils, wrapped up, a old wish woman, mother earth in winterplumage.
this is the moment...

the sun rises, a sky in all the colours of cold and
silence. a flame of warmth breaks, cutes through fog and rags.
this is the moment...

unbreakable rare it pokes upwards, bud of snow and
spring green: the young bride. as for ever,
endless nourished by the first ray of the sun.
this is the moment...

I hear in the stable the birth bleating, weeping the
feast song on mother earth...
this is the moment



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Disclaimer

Credit has been given where known. I make no claim as to being the author of the poems appearing on this site.