I asked J. L. Stanley, the woman whose poetry often moves me more than almost any others, to suggest a poems for Imbolc. She sent me many. I cannot choose among them, for they all bring me to beyond myself.
As I get older I appreciate poetry more and more. Poets are those who can take us to the edge of all that words can say, and help us look beyond. Here is one by J. L. Stanley. I will offer others.
He is this year’s winter king,
A solitary sorrow, a sacrifice to spring.
A cold, hard fire, a boundless stream,
Of heedless yearning and hallowed dreams.
Ignited, she writhes in a breathless trance,
Wild and shimmering in the sacred dance.
He breaks her, blinds her, burns her sin,
Then weaves her gently beneath his skin.
Seizes a moment of her naked soul,
Carves her heart, and makes her whole.
A poem in birth, she is a fevered light,
Captured and claimed in the winter night.
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