Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Brigid of Kildare

She took a weapon
Encrusted with riches
Heavy with the power
To kill and to maim

An instrument of violence
Decorated with decadence
That haunted her dreams
And sliced through her conscience

Took it from her father’s house
Hid the heft of it in her skirt
Forswore her allegiance
To patriarchy and power

Then knelt tenderly in the mud
At the feet of a beggar
Beat the sword into plowshare
And death became bread


  1. I reckon great minds really do think alike:>) Hope your St Patty's Day was a happy one. Thanks for your comments over my way and the shout-out on yours. I'll be back to visit.

  2. Beautiful. I am so glad you and Shiny found each other too!

  3. Really liked the power in this poem; I visited St Bridget's Convent in Tallinn Estonia last year.

  4. Thanks for the kind words, Shiny and Annie.
    Gordon, what was the convent like? I've read that Brigid has a following in Eastern Europe.

  5. I just visited a convent at St Eugene Mission outside of Cranbrook B.C. ..Powerful words

  6. Oh, Erin, I love this. I knew little of Brighid other than she was a patron saint of Ireland. I randomly chose her for the prompt. Now, I have read that she was, in fact, patron saint of the poets and milkmaids. A gentleman at my site left me a link to read. Purely coincidence on my part. I only fantasized about what life would been like during that time. Here is his link if you are interested,it is very interesting.