Imbolc haikus

a mist of ewes' breath
warm, steamy, smelling of hay
— her hands on the teat

small delicate hands
grasping the slippery teat
— milk froths in the pail

she sings so softly —
in tune with the squirting milk
that rings on the pail.

new-born lambs bleating
staggering on new limbs
— afterbirth in the grass.

life, so fragile
nuzzling into udders
— warmed by the spring sun.

on the cold hillsides,
every year the miracle —
frisky and tender.

lady of healing
of poetry and smithcraft
— white swan on the lake

the foster-mother
of many births — of story,
renewal and art.

fire in the belly,
life after abundant life —
the surge of the sap.

fire on the hearth-stone,
quiet, solemn ritual —
making Bride's bed.

first stirrings of Spring
it's so good to be alive —
year's awakening.

soft almond blossom
pale stars on the bare branches —
the dance unfolding.

— Yvonne Aburrow

Part of the third annual poetry reading in honour of Brighid

My offering last year

Imbolc

candle flames flicker,
a silver circlet of stars -
the rustle of silk

a silent virgin,
gender indeterminate,
tends undying fire.

not yet the coupling
beneath the stars, there's still time
for maiden blushes.

everything waits
for the turning of the world
spinning into sunlight.

the sword is ensheathed
the fire is smoored, slumbering -
healer moves softly.

fire in the belly
the quickening pulse of life
- earth stirs in her sleep

white, blush-red, pale gold,
all the colours of Brighid
waiting for the spring.

milky veils of steam,
the ewes' breath on frosty air -
the glint of gold eyes.

virginal snowdrops
modestly hang down their heads
secretly coy.

the ice melts, dripping
like notes on the harpsichord,
falls into silence.

the sun leans earthwards,
a blush creeps across soft flesh -
a flower opens.

pussy-willow buds
soft, sensual, silvery
open to her caress.

do you remember
the first time? the ecstasy
of buds opening?


A contribution to the second annual Brighid poetry reading in cyberspace.