Posts Tagged ‘Imbolc’

Time slides as the seasons slide,
One into the other.
As the sun slides and the moon slides.
Time slides as the days slide,
Toppling over and over,
Rolling as the sun rolls, as the stars roll.

Garn Goch is covered in cloud again.
A slow drift, wordless love.
Seeds of rivers, seeds of seas,
Collecting on the stiff sedge
That lodges between the tumbled rock.

All slides on,
A smooth falling dance
Through winter, through spring,
Through summer.
A green slide and a grey slide,
Sun and rain.

A slow smoke rises, offered.
River mist: opaque as snow, radiant.
And the calligraphy of oaks.


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Imbolc Eve

The barking of dogs.
Hills white as sheep, as arched, as silent.
God’s simple smile is the morning sun.

A full moon pregnant with light, last night,
And always the river and a promise of birdsong.

The red dogwood, the orange willow
All blameless and bright.

We shall see, it seems, another Spring
Lean by the fireside, thin in the frosted mornings.
Shivered water, vacant sky.

Day begins with dusk, a folding in of light.
Sheltered in byre and sleep.
A new breath in before a sigh and singing white.

Dry old pine cracks and roars.
We must wait a while for bones to warm.
Faces searched for, no longer seen,
Lost along the long stretched roads.

Thin is the light, pale as primrose.

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Over the last hill
Our prize is the view

Where the village nests,
Wood wreathed, woodsmoke.

Gathered fields almost,
Almost ready for spring

But patient, cautious,

As unhurried as the morning.
Its grey lambswool clouds,
A blanket for Imbolc.


Imbolc morning:
Clouds like wolves,
And sheep.
Sun on all.

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The small fires
Must sustain us still.

Cold flows,
A cloudless wind
From the North.

Hope is our scarf.
Hope warms our hunger,
A thinly stretched continuance.

One small spark
At dawn
And the long,
Slow fuse
Of Spring
Is lit.

The beck and rill
Of Time.

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