Wake-robin on forest floor,
crimson sedge of lily’s life --
pistols of purple passion to spread
seeds of healing, seeds of love,
pet of Airmid, woven through
the carpets of healing plants
her cloak has spread. Constant reminder,
leafed in dark green, of the jealousy
healing and love can ever bring.
Spring calls to the currents of memory,
courses the blood with promise of life.
All the splintered catastrophe of winter’s
ice finally no more than water to raise
the herbs that heal the harm done
by cold and grim fingers stealing life,
steering cold fires of envy and duplicity.
Erin so green and hidden in mist, full of promise
wisdom -- rich and vibrant gifts,
strong of spirit and clear in tongue --
cursed with being unable to forget
every wrong that has ever been done.
Even the gods, Tuatha De Danaan, fraught
with all the weaknesses of man. Rich in wisdom
playfulness and strength -- strong passions
carried deep aches, when gods are led a stray.
Airmid, daughter of Diancecht, sister of Miach,
walks in the hills and mountains tending
the searcher, warrior and elf. Footsteps,
marked by the scarlet Wake-Robin, never
return to the pantheon of gods. Father, full of envy
unreasonable jealousy destroyed the brother
she loved. The brother who even in death
committed to healing, left her a map
about his grave of every healing plant
the way of its course and relief of pain.
Even through tears her heart was relieved
knowing her brother was a healer in heart
and deed. She gathered to her cloak
for memory and teaching healing arts,
plant and seed so each could show
others the gifts in nature’s screed.
Father could not let daughter have peace
in grief and destroyed the patterns of healing
wrapped in cloak so herbs were spread
random and stripped of meaning throughout
the Island’s green land. She left --
took herself to the hills far away.
Where I hear from seeker, troubadour,
warrior and wanderer in grief -- she tends
her pets and practices her arts. She heals
the physical harm, charms the heart to release
its scars, teaches those worthy of herb use
in seed, stem and branch, the pressing of blossoms
and the teas whose scents prevent illness and death.
The Isle of Mists still carries mysteries beyond
science’s reach. Holds on to secrets for which
technology can never reveal or heed. When the wind
calls cross sea and firth every one of the true blood
hears on every part of the earth. The gods are moving,
the land must be strong, come with your healing,
come with your songs. Bring good cheer and let
your hearts sing, come with love and neighborliness
so other’s in nation and creed can grow from your gifts.
3:41 PM
03/15/09
Alexandria, VA
Author notes
My number was ten so it is Airmid and Wake-robin
Please tell me what you think, what it makes you feel, how you are moved.
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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... a wonderful story, full of hope ,
♥
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Dysfunction and grief, envy and pain cannot still those who seek to heal. I think, for truthfully I do not know, perhaps that is part of what my spirit is about, healing pain, bringing peace, teaching love. I tend to see how things fit and flow, whether in a kitchen design, office design or how people fit together. The talents we receive are blessings and it is part of time upon this earth to learn how to use them. I am learning, slowly.
Love,
Tom B.
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The words and images in this work of poetry are stunning. The second stanza takes me to the next level for, I so yearn for warmer weather, fairer skies, and the passions that the season ignites.
Thank you for introducing me to "Airmid". I felt every sense heightened within the framework of this exceptional story-poem. The sadness in her loss, when it came to her dear brother. The joy he left in "healing". The "Jealousy" of her father was well written as well.
You did a splendid job with your given prompt. I wish you well in the contest with this entry. It was an interesting story and exciting, with soothing edges, read.
I wish you the best in the contest. Great work as usual!
Much Love Always ♥
Renee
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Thanks. When it comes to narrative poems, I am never sure how good my skills in spinning a tale are. Glad you enjoyed.
Love, Tom B.
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love it!
such a story you paint with your words, with such emotion and imagery....lovely indeed! was a pleasure to read !
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This was a delightful challenge. The story teller in me got loose on this one. Glad you enjoyed.
Love,
Tom B.
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Here is your goddess/flower
10-AIRMID [EER-meet]~FLOWER~WAKE-ROBIN
The gods are moving...
I felt a surge of myth within this verse,
an amazing retelling of a goddess brought to
her calling by death. It flows, not one hitch.
Sensory becomes so involved here as you take
care to weave in all natural elements that surround. Blue
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