Holy Brigid: In these times of burning churches That engulf the skies at night… Light the fire that guides our way. Kindle within us the flame of inspiration. We speak your name. Holy Brigid: In these times of grief and anger And these days of stolen lives… Pour out the quenching waters from your well. Come, bathe our tear stained faces. We call to you with voices raised. Holy Brigid: In these times of love and rage With all our might and breath. Holy Brigid: In the

When you stand before the fire There shall be no more weeping. The trees shall whisper and wind shall moan: Your fate is in your hands. What is the path of your choosing? How shall you walk this road? With spine that reaches, earth to sky And feet that tread surely. Drink now of the waters That bring life to your soul. There is nothing that will quench Your thirst like this. Set forth. Be well. Walk strong. T. Thorn Coyle Imbolc This is an offering for the annual Brigid in t

. A poem for Brigid on Imbolc Eve, dedicated to all in need, calling upon the face of She Who Heals He is lonely. Shadows of bombs burst loud In the empty apartment. Sirens doppler by. Pour out the healing waters on us all. Where love is, flows the healing balm, the soothe to soul, the ease to heart. Where love is, flows the mending of the world. She is searching. There is something that waits In darkened city buildings That will feed her soul. Pour out the healing waters on

A prayer for the Goddess Brigid, on this, Her day: Exalted One! You who kindle flames on every hill, For you, we light the fires. Exalted One! You who give the thirsty ones to drink, To you, we proffer water. Exalted One! You who shape the silver and the gold, To you, we give adornment. Exalted One! You who inspire poetry and song, To you, we sing. Exalted One! You who tend the birthing of the lambs, For you, we give thanks! Exalted One! You who heal our bodies, mi

To You. Above the white city On winking green hillside, I offered up my life… Not realizing in that moment, that I took it for myself. For I was a young priestess, Unknowing then that every gift We proffer, is given to ourselves. I have served the great bear Time, And danced with bees. I have drummed out bodhran Tunes of joy and sorrow. And always, ever, whether between hammer and your anvil, Or spitting incandescent Words of fire: My soul has sought to translat