A collection of poems depicting an ardent connection with physical, historical and mystical Ireland. Blood feuds, cattle raids, cows, crows, and fearsome goddesses flow through the pages forming themselves into a Celtic lovers’ knot of poetry.

Once the Bone Fires Burn to Ash


Once the bone fires burn to ash,
falling snow, white as mother’s milk,
veils Anu’s Paps and marks
the start of winter’s tales.

After the sowing, the growing, the reaping,
after the raising the killing, the cutting,
after the work of sorting, culling, smoking
salting, pickling, and packing, now that drifts
lie man-thigh deep in passes we need
not fear a raid till spring.

Now that babes are kicking strong
in round taut bellies, we’ll share butter,
ale, oat cakes, bacon, and stories of our folk –
the brave and bold, the cowardly and weak; 
of noble acts and treason;
of battles won and lost.

Mere weeks ago, no person dared
to speak of blood for fear the gods
might misconstrue and send us
what we wished for.  Tonight, the ghosts
of dead men fill the room, bodhrán 
sounds, pipes swirl, women hurl
Morrigan’s dread battle cry across the room.
Bard plucks upon his harp and once again
relentless fate entwines her fervid warriors,
ardent queens, shape-shifting gods, and heroes
in destiny’s harsh coil.

Author’s Notes

In 2014 Stephanie Ladd Anderson sent out a call to join a Priestess Pilgrimage to Ireland.  There are moments in life when I know without question that I should say “yes.”  Though I’ve learned to trust this feeling, I would have agreed anyway.  Happily, in this case, having previously taken an excellent on-line course from Stephanie at (http://owlandcrow.saladd.com/), I already trusted and appreciated her judgement and execution.  She did not disappoint.  The tour Stephanie put together, guided by Amantha Murphy (http://celticsouljourneys.com/) and Rose Mummery exceeded all expectations.  I am exceedingly grateful to all three of them. 

Amantha took us onto the land and opened enough space and time to let us hear its voice.  I came away with an enhanced ability to communicate with our living planet, a skill I now practice every day, wherever I am.  Ireland made it easy.  Magic still rambles through the landscape and stories hover round every wellspring, bush, crag, and rill.  The land is beautiful, domesticated, and wild, empty and inhabited, tragic and gloriously joyful – it embraces paradox and lets it sing.  I’ll always be grateful to and inspired by Ireland’s myths, landscapes, his/herstories, and all its denizens – animal, vegetable, human and fey.