St. Brigid’s Day is coming in a week’s time. Last night my Scotland born friend Morag sent me a message with John Duncan’s St. Bride Carried by Angels attached. Brigid is not just an Irish saint. She has a strong following in Scotland and the Welsh version of her name is Ffraid. As it happens, for the past twenty years (maybe more!) a framed print of that painting has hung in my bedroom. Poets have a long tradition of using artwork as a touchstone and starting point for poems. So today, it is this art work that inspires the Poetry Daily.
St. Brigid is borne to heaven
On angelic shoulders,
in angel's pale hands,
the maiden saint,
the strands of her bright hair,
cascading waves above the sea,
borne up into heaven,
escorted by those soulful dwellers of earth,
keened by cawing cries from the sky.
Even in death her stiff fingers
point heavenwards with prayerful hands.
The first miracle maybe.
Showing no need perhaps for any other
sort of transport to carry her
across that final, ninth, wave.
To where the old people call
that perpetually golden place
where one will be maiden
all gates and boundary walls
dissolving behind the wave.
Copyright © 2019 Bee Smith. All rights reserved.