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Home Poetry Alan Robert Phillips

Alan Robert Phillips

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A Poem for Imbolc

Bridey of the Peat Heap,
Wake from your winter cradle
Where, hag-like, you fell asleep;
Don your blue mantle
Of crystal-shell,
Bend and stoke the embers of the hearth.

Bridey of the White Palms,
Encircle fields and woods
And work your magic
On Earth’s still frozen crust;
Seeds strain to break their bonds
And burst to life.

Bridey of the Kine,
Milkmaid, Healer, Shepherdess,
Your prophecies are woven of the dark
As well as light:
One cycle of the year
Before descent to night.

Bridey of the Smithcraft,
Axe-head, palstave, knife and spear,
Flashing magic of the sword
Drawn from the heat;
Light the inner fire,
Guide us through the seasons of the year.

“Spirits of the mud and wind and fire” –
The story may or may not be believed –
“In the belly of the winter lies the spring,
In the belly of the Earth are we conceived.”

Alan Robert Phillips


Last Updated on Sunday, 05 February 2012 19:47  



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