Offering to Brigid

Blessed Imbolc! My annual offering to Brigid comes with much excitement, as new poems by Sappho have just recently been found. Brigid, for those who are unaware, is a Goddess not only connected to poets, but also to survival:

There is perhaps no goddess more appropriate to invoke when survival – whether physical, emotional, financial, or spiritual – is an issue. For while many goddesses have survived the destruction of their culture by cloaking themselves in new names and new legends, we know of none who have lived so long in disguise as Brigid. It is 1600[+] years since her worship was surppressed in her homeland, yet her wells are still visited and her name kept alive by devotees who still honour her feminine essence, even when they no longer define her as goddess. (Patricia Monaghan, The Goddess Path, p. 174)

For those of us who are struggling, for those who cannot be heard, for those who despair that our work will be lost forever, Sappho speaks to us from the Archaic Past*. Her words of Elemental Sisterhood*, translated to English by Anne Carson, resonate then, now, and in the time yet to come. Blessed Be!

someone will remember us

I say

even in another time


* These ideas, and many others, can be found in the work of Mary Daly.

Offering to Brigid

Blessed Imbolc! In the spirit of Idle No More, my annual offering to Brigid comes from Lee Maracle, First Nations poet and author.

Bent Box (My Song)


My song hails

from a bent box

drums of earh tears

enjoys the unbending

of woman spirit

issued through a voice


in androgynous souls.

This voice

penetrates silence

cracks barriers.


I can build

a bent box, shape its womanly contours

build fire from moss

light lives

sing man-song

birth children.

But I cannot penetrate

the dark hidden pleasures







Offering to Brigid

Blessed Imbolc!

Today marks 20 years since I was called to serve the Goddess, since I named myself Witch and took my place amongst those reclaiming, remembering and revisioning a new world into being.

In that spirit, I make the following poetry offering to Brigid on her sacred day, as part of the Seventh Annual Brigid Poetry Festival. The words are a scrap of poetry by Sappho, translated by Anne Carson. Blessed Be!

stars around the beautiful moon
hide back their luminous form
whenever all full she shines
on the earth






Poetry for Brigid

It’s that time again! Here’s my entry for the Fourth Annual Brigad in the Blogosphere Poetry Slam. Happy Imbolc!


Beatrice Cenci was a young Italian noblewoman executed in 1599 (with her stepmother and elder brother) by the Pope because she was involved in the murder of her father, who had imprisoned and abused them.

Alimitra David wrote a poem, Beatrice of the Cenci, that takes place on the eve of the execution. In it, Beatrice calls out to her mother (who died shortly after her birth). As it is a long poem, I am only sharing the first and last stanzas. The entire poem can be found in Impulse to Fly (1998).


I don’t ask
that you
come to me here
to hold me and
cry as Lucretia and I
have done for
years I
don’t ask you to
come and be as
we are a

voice against his
will like my
smallest finger
against the
stone gate of
the courtyard

Mother I don’t
pray you back to
this place only
sing to me
from wherever you are

oh sing to me Mother
I will climb your voice
hand over hand
high over these
robed men who
curse me

sing tonight
for tomorrow they
will cut me loose
at last to fly from this
motherless place
this place of
fathers and
fathers and
more fathers


Mother do you
love me do
you love me
broken as I am
do you love my
feet my hands
my face do you
love me when I
hear you and

do you love me
when I can’t
listen when I
blind and deaf
in water with
no current was

it your voice in
my dream was it
mine calling names I
don’t remember when

this night will
become morning
I have heard
rumors of
morning of
sunrise and
figs ripening

Mother I call
to you not to
come to me here
only sing for me
wherever you are