Full Moon Brigid

Brigid by Joanna Powell Colbert www.joannapowellcolbert.com

Brigid by Joanna Powell Colbert

Some years ago I wrote a poem about Bridget, the Celtic goddess of smith-craft, healing and poetry whose time of the year this is – Imbolc.

The poem is a sonnet – a very traditional, literary form of 14 lines with a strict rhyme scheme. (For the poetry students among you, the rhyme-scheme here is ABBA, ABBA, CD, CD, EE – though some of them are half-rhymes).

This strict form seems wonderfully inappropriate for the rebellious pagan heart, and I like the contrariness of that.

Full Moon Bridget

Pregnant as she is with silver fire
gently she takes as gift my molten soul
and channels it into her waiting mould.
High above, the stars present a choir
to sing the labour rising like a smoke
from all the sweated achings of my heart
there in the smelt: the rusted rock, the fraught
old ore from my beginnings, each break
of hope, each abandonment and fear.
Pouring, melding in the silver air,
it settles in her mould, and cools, and stills.
Then she prises it, and hurls. It falls
clang! on her anvil… I am taut, and taught
that I was wracked, and now I can be wrought.

Alison Leonard

Thanks to Joanna Powell Colbert for the use of her beautiful drawing of Brigid


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