Magnetic Poetry

We collect fridge magnets.  Not obsessively, but occasionally… they make great compact keepsakes to bring back from our voyages, and some artists use them as a convenient medium for small pieces.

At out cabin, we have a sampling of the usual mix, plus several different “magnetic poetry” collections- including Shakespearean words and a selection of phrases from The Onion.  This has led to many odd sentences and slogans spread across the doors of the refrigerator there.

This weekend, however, something different happened.  There were three magnets- one with a Brigid symbol, one with a picture of Her, and one with a Celtic cross.  I moved them so that there was a little space cradled between them, and challenged myself to come up with something appropriate from the remaining words.  I did… and then, after pondering the result, She told me to write the rest of the poem:

My Lady’s fire can make drunk
The coolness of this world- only pour out
And see: Her well contains the flame,
Her forge flows with the inspiring drink
Of poets. Petal upon petal, Her flowered
Aspects unfold from either, both, other;
And as hearth flicker and struck spark
Flash across the earth, springs burst forth
From every hidden hollow; water, blaze,
And the hand of Art all strive, all proclaim
The power of Her name to a waiting land.

(The part up to and including “And see” are from the magnets…)

Advertisements

Cousin Bat

Those who know me know that I like (am mildly obsessed with) bats.  There are many reasons, not the least is that they are an Important Animal to me spiritually – I’m not going to use any more specific terminology because I don’t want to make any claims that I don’t have backup for.

They also, unsurprisingly, flitter into my poetry:

Cousin Bat

What are the ways to sing praise of the night-flyer?
Not hard: emerging at sunfall’s call, they dive,
Flickering through light-cones, prey-hunting, or
Skim swift past our heads, sure of course, seeking
To feed on pests, unwanted crawlers; or they sip,
Hovering daintily, at secret flowers, night blooms,
Blessing each with pollen from the last; or they spread
Seeds, a worthy outcome of fruit-greed: jungles
Regrow from their dung. Cunningly concealed by day,
Carrier away when the sun is gone, so loved by Nature
They arose twice, independent; soaring a six-foot span
Or hiding thumb-small in river caves; solo slumbering in leaves
Or spiraling in their millions to flow against the moon-
Wondering words as many as all their wings would not be enough.

Shameless Self-Promotion

Just wanted to give everyone a heads up here:  I’ll have a book review and a poem published in the June issue of Witches and Pagans magazine.

I’d be excited about this issue anyway- the theme is Polytheism: Many Gods, Many Paths, and there looks to be some really good stuff in there.

You can pre-order through the link… or check with your local Pagan/Esoteric/etc. store to see when they’ll be getting it in (or give them a mournful, pleading look if they tell you they don’t carry it 😉 ).