RETURN TO BRIGID'S ALTAR by Yvonne Brewer

Return to Brigid’s Altar

Puddles, broken oak tree branches, sharp stones

interrupt her voyage. Many crossroads ahead,

voices echoing turn right, turn left, turn back.

Without a map, onward she boldly steps.

The song of honey bee guides her forward.

Burning rushes lingering scent, soothing any inner lament.

Walking now past a graveyard,

smouldering bones of all

she walked away from, all who walked out on her.

Cackling laughs at her chosen cloaked path.

Alas! Hope smiles snowdrops and fresh grass,

signs of Spring breathe Winter has passed.

Fearless she tip-toes towards the foggy green forest.

The mist fingering her bare blackened feet.

No time to rest. The beat of her warrior heart

thieves any fears of defeat.

Her soul is nourished by the distant sight,

the fire, the skies, the flames alight.

Daughter of Brigid, on your path though you may falter,

you too will arrive. One day you will return to

Brigid’s Blessed Imbolc Altar.

Yvonne Brewer lives in Cork, Ireland and has had poetry published since 2014 with Women’s Spiritual Poetry, including in their fourth anthology “Goddess: When She Rules: Expressions of Contemporary Women,” (Dec 2017). Motherhood has taken her down a very creative path and her writing is greatly influenced by her children, her dreams, nature and Ireland's past. In 2013 Yvonne self published an e-book called Breathe and Bloom. Soul Mother Meditations. Yvonne published her first poetry book, Twigs in 2018. Both are available on Amazon. Connect with Yvonne via her facebook page here.

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Comments

IMAGINE A WOMAN by Patricia Lynn Reilly

This poem invites you to look upon yourself with loving kindness… Gazing at your own true reflection, you will discover that everything you have longed for “out there” is already within you! I invite you to love your creativity fiercely. Faithfully plant seeds, allowing under-the-ground dormant seasons, nurturing your creative garden with love and gratitude. In the fullness of time, the green growing things thrust forth from the ground. It's a faithful, trustworthy process. AND it takes time and patience. Blessed is the fruit of your creative womb! I invite you to trust your vision of the world and express it. With wonder and delight, paint a picture, create a dance, write a book, and make up a song. To give expression to your creative impulses is as natural as your breathing. Create in your own language, imagery, and movement. Follow no script. Do not be limited by the customary way things have been expressed. Your creative intuition is original. Gather

IMBOLC by Caroline Mellor

The inspiration for this poem came after I watched a magical winter sunset and full moonrise from the top of Firle Beacon in the South Downs... Unusually for me, I wrote the poem quite quickly and changed it very little before publishing it – perhaps the energies were working through my pen! Imbolc is the mid-point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. It’s a fire festival which I particularly love because of its associations with Brigid, the Celtic Mother Goddess of arts and crafts, clear sight, healing, inspiration and nurturance of creative talents – something which, through my writing, I am always trying to connect with. I also love Imbolc because, with so much darkness and negativity in the world today, it is a time for hope, potential, visioning and initiation. With love and blessings as the light returns. Photography by Chanel Baran IMBOLC by Caroline Mellor I am the dream of awakening. I am the returning of the night. I am the tough green

WINTER SOLSTICE: A GIFT OF LOVE by Carolyn Riker

I’ve had several days now of alone time… It is unusual and a gift that I couldn’t see until I breathed it. I have been able to watch the sun’s rise through the grey of dawn and smile at the flickers of frost melting on the waving boughs of evergreen. It’s unique to follow daylight as it traverses the tempo of a cat’s soft slumbering purr. Night comes swifter and the glow of candles and the flames of fire comfort me more than the steady stream of always-doing-more. As much as I resisted, I needed this break. I had no idea how much my body was trying to tell me slow down until the exhaustion settled in around my joints. My eyes swam in molasses. Heaviness of I-can’t-hold-out-much-long, walked me to the throne of my nest. It’s winter’s gift of self-nurturing and love. It’s been a quiet proclamation of femininity and a need for comfort foods. Lemon crisps and cranberry, white-chocolate shortbread dipped in tea; I felt a hint of being pampered without

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