Poetry Competition: Imbolc



Tiny spark

hiding in the dark

of the mother’s robes.

Infant light

vulnerable in that dark


small and still.

The sun child, still and small

tender from the birth.


as days lengthen

and buds from cold

their sap rising,

shoot and pulse and push

inwardly glowing,

outwardly growing.

From the darkness in their caves

and in their secret places springs all knowledge of

quiescent seeds.



In my own time, I cross the fields;

feel trembles in the gardens,

sense dances in the jungle;

on the shores

and I hear:

Pan plays the pipes, shifting slumber.

The Maiden caresses a dreaming earth.

And I, with no lantern

find my dark dreams;

to the time of not knowing.

I guard the child-light

hidden in the mother’s robes –

the child-light in the dream.

I can be light.


By Edi Ryagard

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