As promised on my last giveaway, I am doing another one for Imbolc. There will not be as much time to enter since Imbolc is not too far off and I want to make sure the winner has their pretties in time.
Below is what will be in the giveaway:
Below is what will be in the giveaway:
- One $20.00 Cyber Gift Certificate
- Brigid's Cross
- 1/2 Ounce of Dried Juniper Tips
- 1/2 Ounce of Three Sacred Fires Incense
- Pair of Beeswax Home Blessing Candles
- Square of Hand-Dyed Linen
- Rowan Wood & Red Thread {to make a Rowan Cross}
$20.00 Cyber Gift Certificate
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| {cyber gift certificate example} |
I will email a cyber gift certificate of $20.00 {CDN/US} value to the winner which can be used either purchase from my Etsy store or to purchase services on my website. {$20.00 CDN/US value}
Brigid's Cross
I purchased this Brigid's Cross from a crafter in Ireland. It is approximately 6 inches and is made with reeds. One side has been glazed for protection {by the maker} and the side that is pictured is natural. Hang in your home for protection or place on your shrine/altar dedicated to Brigid {the Goddess or Saint}. {$15.00 CDN/US value}
This common juniper{Juniperus communis} was wildcrafted by myself. I am including in this giveaway, as it was traditionally used for blessings and purification {saining} in some Gaelic speaking places. It could be added to water for blessing or burnt as an incense during you Imbolc purification and blessing rituals. The winner will receive a half ounce in a re-sealable baggie. {$4.00 CDN/US value}
My Three Sacred Fires incense, is a blend that I made to be burnt as a devotional offering to Brigid. It contains various ingredients such as heather flowers, motherwort, lady's mantle, rowan berries and cedarwood {partial ingredient list}. The winner will receive a half ounce in a re-sealable baggie.{$4.75 CDN/US value}
Beeswax Home Blessing Candles
These are candles that I make for home blessing for both personal and client use. They were hand-dipped by myself using premium local beeswax and contain rowan protection oil {unscented}, nettle leaves, meadowsweet, lemon balm, hawthorn leaves, and elder flowers {all the plant materials were grown or harvested by me}. The winner will receive a pair of these rustic pretties. {$7.00 CDN/US value}
Hand-Dyed Linen
I hand-dyed this linen a while back for magical purposes, using various plant materials and is suitable for pretty much any type of working. I am including it in this giveaway as I thought that it would make a great brat Bríde, but could also be used for other things such as poppets or charm bags. The winner will receive a square that is approximately 9 inches. {$1.50 CDN/US value}
Rowan Wood & Red Thread
The wee rowan twigs were wildcrafted by myself and the thread was left out to be blessed last Imbolc. I am including them in the giveaway so the winner can make their own rowan cross, which could be hung over the doorway for protection and blessings {the Tairis website has a ritual outline here.}.
How to Enter the Giveaway
Since Brigid is often associated with poetry, I thought that this would be a good way to celebrate this part of Her. In the comment section, share a favourite poem or one that you wrote {please be sure to give proper credit if it is written by someone else!}. The winner will be drawn at random right after the closing date. Below you will see all the vitals:
- Only one entry per person.
- Entrants must be 18 years or older.
- The giveaway is open for all countries.
- To enter you must submit your poem in the comment section, otherwise I can't guarantee that I will see it.
- To enter you are not obligated to purchase anything from me or to subscribe to any of my social media haunts.
- All entries must be submitted by Monday January 21st, 2013 at 3pm EST.
- The winner will need to provide a mailing address to receive their pretties. The information provided will not be used for any other purpose than to receive their winnings. The information will not be given to anyone else, or sold to a third party.
*********
Good luck! :)
Laurel
Exalted One,
ReplyDeleteBlessed Keeper of the Well,
Giver of Inspiration,
Weaving words into a spell.
Stirring the cauldron
Lighting the flame
Raising the power
All in your name.
Lady Brigid of my heart,
Bless me this holy day
As the Sun returns
and Winter's chill led astray.
-Fawn Russell
Candles
ReplyDeleteDays to come stand in front of us,
like a row of burning candles -
golden, warm, and vivid candles.
Days past fall behind us,
a gloomy line of burnt-out candles;
the nearest are still smoking,
cold, melted, and bent.
I don't want to look at them: their shape saddens me,
and it saddens me to remember their original light.
I look ahead at my burning candles.
I don't want to turn, don't want to see, terrified,
how quickly that dark line gets longer,
how quickly one more dead candle joins another.
Constantine P. Cavafy
Blessed Brigid of the flame. Holy is thy holy name.
ReplyDeleteWarmth of fire, steel and coal, Brigid, fair lady of all.
Blessed Brigid of the flame. Holy is thy holy name.
Music of the words to be, forged with your energy.
Blessed Brigid of the flame. Holy is thy holy name
For your warmth is in our hearts. Brigid welcome here.
By: the witch nextdoor.
A fine little magpie mocks me once.
ReplyDeleteI chuckle and give a sad smile.
But as I walk away, I have to say,
I did not see the other.
Two for Mirth,
By Me :D
We met as Sparks—Diverging Flints
ReplyDeleteSent various—scattered ways—
We parted as the Central Flint
Were cloven with an Adze—
Subsisting on the Light We bore
Before We felt the Dark—
A Flint unto this Day—perhaps—
But for that single Spark.
-emily dickinson
Whose woods these are I think I know.
ReplyDeleteHis house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
-Robert Frost
"We're waiting by the willow
ReplyDeleteOur milky milky cradle
Our lockets long have rusted
His picture worn and weathered
Our hair is in the garden
The roses in our toeses
Our heart are in the blossoms
Our eyes are in the branches"
CocoRosie ( do songs lyrics work ? :3 )
You could never believe I was more than your shadow. - margaret atwood
ReplyDeleteAnd then the flowers
ReplyDeleteThey all fall down
They dance around and they all fall down
The stars they glide
And the fairies fly
We all fall down
Down
Down
Down
To the ground
Pushed to the soil
Mud
Rain
Down
And when the dirt fills our ears
Covers our brains, smothers our fears
When our bodies are in the earth
We will have peace
A breeze touches my mind
ReplyDeleteAnd lends to me its strength
As I walk into the darkness
Of a forest hidden in shadow.
I feel the earth tremble beneath
Its power so potent and strong
The energy rises inside me
To meet the challenge to come.
I walk further into the darkness
To find the cavernous heart
Nature is my spirit twin
My heart beats to its rhythm.
For the magic held within these woods
Is older than the oldest
Primal and ancient it calls
I heed, I join, I know.
Embraced within her natural womb
The darkness is no longer frightening
As I meld my mind and spirit
I feel its call to me, its pull.
To be within this earthy womb
Is to feel like coming home
To know that within this place
I will find who I am.
A Jedge in the West comin from the South
ReplyDeletewith ruby sideburns, boy –
Always usin flowery languij –
The grim fightin hero's troubles
are always private –
He wants to know where "I fit in"
in herd wars –
Sometimes you see villains so ancient
you saw them in infancy
exaggerating in snow
their mustaches looking older
than yr father's grave –
"Thanks Marshall" – "I reckon"
I guess I better run on back
to Whiskey Row, Colorada,
& marry an old Tim McCoy Gal
or turn off the tele vision, one –
You gotta go a long way in the West
to find a good man –
So close the book,
The Courier, run by Steve, is a paper
wearing a sunbonnet.
Drive the cattle thru that silver wall,
help ladies to their hearse,
mouth in the sun,
That oughta do till Mexican Drygulcher
finds Redwing in the Shack
And Kwakiutls menstruate
Old Horses' necks by broken fences,
guns gone rust
I guess the gang got shot.
Kid Dream
Hid
In the leaves.
April 1958, Northport.
-Old Western Movies
by: Jack Kerouac
This here is one of my favorite Icelandic songs, that reminds me of the return of spring:
ReplyDeleteÓ hve létt er þitt skóhljóð
ó hve leingi ég beið þín,
það er vorhret á glugga,
napur vindur sem hvín,
en ég veit eina stjörnu,
eina stjörnu sem skín,
og nú loks ertu komin,
þú ert komin til mín.
Translation:
Oh how light are your steps
Oh how long I have waited
There is snow on the window
A bitter wind that howls
But I know of a star
A star that shines
And at last you are here
You are here with me
One of my favorites is from the lovey Edna St. Vincent Millay:
ReplyDeleteMy candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends--
It gives a lovely light!
written too my totem
ReplyDeleteI am the Owl women
Once youthful and Lovely
Now aged and wise.
I sacrificed my false beauty
Upon the alter of sovereignty
and gained my wings.
No longer rooted
to the spot shall i be!
Now i fly free upon my wings!
I looked at my reflection
and was able to smile
in satisfaction.
(http://www.angelfire.com/magic2/imbolc/)- By Lady Gueneva
ReplyDeleteBrigit
In a glass
Of scryer's black
Visions of life
Bring full impact
Wells pour out
Your sacred flame
Prophetic words
In wisdom's name
The womb impregnated
With poetic rhyme
Birthed to life
In seasons time
Summoned
In your healing light
Be with me on
This moonstruck night
By Emily Bronte, How beautiful the Earth is still
ReplyDeleteHow beautiful the Earth is still
To thee–how full of Happiness;
How little fraught with real ill
Or shadowy phantoms of distress;
How Spring can bring thee glory yet
And Summer win thee to forget
December's sullen time!
Why dost thou hold the treasure fast
Of youth's delight, when youth is past
And thou art near thy prime?
When those who were thy own compeers,
Equal in fortunes and in years,
Have seen their morning melt in tears,
To dull unlovely day;
Blest, had they died unproved and young
Before their hearts were wildly wrung,
Poor slaves, subdued by passions strong,
A weak and helpless prey!
"Because, I hoped while they enjoyed,
And by fulfilment, hope destroyed
As children hope, with trustful breast,
I waited Bliss and cherished Rest.
"A thoughtful Spirit taught me soon
That we must long till life be done;
That every phase of earthly joy
Will always fade and always cloy--
"This I foresaw, and would not chase
The fleeting treacheries,
But with firm foot and tranquil face
Held backward from the tempting race,
Gazed o'er the sands the waves efface
To the enduring seas–
"There cast my anchor of Desire
Deep in unknown Eternity;
Nor ever let my Spirit tire
With looking for What is to be.
"It is Hope's spell that glorifies
Like youth to my maturer eyes
All Nature's million mysteries--
The fearful and the fair–
"Hope soothes me in the griefs I know,
She lulls my pain for others' woe
And makes me strong to undergo
What I am born to bear.
"Glad comforter, will I not brave
Unawed the darkness of the grave?
Nay, smile to hear Death's billows rave,
My Guide, sustained by thee?
The more unjust seems present fate
The more my Spirit springs elate
Strong in thy strength, to anticipate
Rewarding Destiny!
River Roads
ReplyDeleteLet the crows go by hawking their caw and caw.
They have been swimming in midnights of coal mines somewhere.
Let 'em hawk their caw and caw.
Let the woodpecker drum and drum on a hickory stump.
He has been swimming in red and blue pools somewhere
hundreds of years.
And the blue has gone to his wings and the red has gone to
his head.
Let his red head drum and drum.
Let the dark pools hold the birds in a looking-glass.
And if the pool wishes, let it shiver to the blur of many wings, old swimmers from old places.
Let the redwing streak a line of vermillion on the green
wood lines.
And the mist along the river fix its purple in lines of a woman's
shawl on lazy shoulders.
-Carl Sanburg
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
ReplyDeletemy heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
- e. e. cummings
Until the days are short
ReplyDeleteAnd my lies still,
I rest in fields of Gold
The luxurious air
Where countenance keeps,
I sit in fields of Yellow
There is not a soul left to see
Alone to enjoy seldom silence,
I stand in fields of Wheat
No where to sleep
They continue to grow,
I walk from fields of Shadows
Thank you for having this contest!
ReplyDeleteI hope that it is ok for my pick to be a song. Antlered Crown and Standing Stone by Damh the Bard http://www.paganmusic.co.uk/blog/?p=1007
ReplyDeleteThis is the one song everyone
would like to learn: the song
that is irresistible:
the song that forces men
to leap overboard in squadrons
even though they see beached skulls
the song nobody knows
because anyone who had heard it
is dead, and the others can’t remember.
Shall I tell you the secret
and if I do, will you get me
out of this bird suit?
I don’t enjoy it here
squatting on this island
looking picturesque and mythical
with these two feathery maniacs,
I don’t enjoy singing
this trio, fatal and valuable.
I will tell the secret to you,
to you, only to you.
Come closer. This song
is a cry for help: Help me!
Only you, only you can,
you are unique
at last. Alas
it is a boring song
but it works every time.
-Margaret Atwood
Three years she grew in sun and shower,
ReplyDeleteThen Nature said, "A lovelier flower
On earth was never sown;
This Child I to myself will take;
She shall be mine, and I will make
A Lady of my own.
"Myself will to my darling be
Both law and impulse: and with me
The Girl, in rock and plain,
In earth and heaven, in glade and bower,
Shall feel an overseeing power
To kindle or restrain.
"She shall be sportive as the fawn
That wild with glee across the lawn
Or up the mountain springs;
And hers shall be the breathing balm,
And hers the silence and the calm
Of mute insensate things.
"The floating clouds their state shall lend
To her; for her the willow bend;
Nor shall she fail to see
Even in the motions of the Storm
Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form
By silent sympathy.
"The stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear
In many a secret place
Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
And beauty born of murmuring sound
Shall pass into her face.
"And vital feelings of delight
Shall rear her form to stately height,
Her virgin bosom swell;
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give
While she and I together live
Here in this happy dell."
Thus Nature spake—The work was done—
How soon my Lucy's race was run!
She died, and left to me
This heath, this calm and quiet scene;
The memory of what has been,
And never more will be.
- William Wordsworth
My favorite poem is Neil Gaiman's "Instructions" simply because it has the power to make me read it in Neil's voice, every time I read it. It goes like this:
ReplyDelete"Touch the wooden gate in the wall you never
saw before.
Say "please" before you open the latch,
go through,
walk down the path.
A red metal imp hangs from the green-painted
front door,
as a knocker,
do not touch it; it will bite your fingers.
Walk through the house. Take nothing. Eat nothing.
However, if any creature tells you that it hungers,
feed it.
If it tells you that it is dirty,
clean it.
If it cries to you that it hurts,
if you can,
ease its pain.
From the back garden you will be able to see the
wild wood.
The deep well you walk past leads to Winter's realm;
there is another land at the bottom of it.
If you turn around here,
you can walk back, safely;
you will lose no face. I will think no less of you.
Once through the garden you will be in the wood.
The trees are old. Eyes peer from the under-growth.
Beneath a twisted oak sits an old woman. She
may ask for something;
give it to her. She
will point the way to the castle.
Inside it are three princesses.
Do not trust the youngest. Walk on.
In the clearing beyond the castle the twelve
months sit about a fire,
warming their feet, exchanging tales.
They may do favors for you, if you are polite.
You may pick strawberries in December's frost.
Trust the wolves, but do not tell them where
you are going.
The river can be crossed by the ferry. The ferry-man will take you.
The answer to his question is this:
If he hands the oar to his passenger, he will be free to
leave the boat. Only tell him this from a safe distance.)
If an eagle gives you a feather, keep it safe.
Remember: that giants sleep too soundly; that
witches are often betrayed by their appetites;
dragons have one soft spot, somewhere, always;
hearts can be well-hidden,
and you betray them with your tongue.
Do not be jealous of your sister.
Know that diamonds and roses
are as uncomfortable when they tumble from
one's lips as toads and frogs:
colder, too, and sharper, and they cut.
Remember your name.
Do not lose hope — what you seek will be found.
Trust ghosts. Trust those that you have helped
to help you in their turn.
Trust dreams.
Trust your heart, and trust your story.
When you come back, return the way you came.
Favors will be returned, debts will be repaid.
Do not forget your manners.
Do not look back.
Ride the wise eagle (you shall not fall).
Ride the silver fish (you will not drown).
Ride the grey wolf (hold tightly to his fur).
There is a worm at the heart of the tower; that is
why it will not stand.
When you reach the little house, the place your
journey started,
you will recognize it, although it will seem
much smaller than you remember.
Walk up the path, and through the garden gate
you never saw before but once.
And then go home. Or make a home.
And rest."
-Neil Gaiman