Manannan’s Daughter-Cantos five-Medb

She rides the gray stallion toward her village, stopping only to retrieve her weapons. It was good to run free, feel the wind, the sun on her skin. Time now to return. Her duties as chieftain’s daughter were many.

Sudden sound stopped her. Sliding from her mount, she was stealthy death moving through the undergrowth. Some slight sound warned her as she spun around, her sword struck from her grasp as she moved it to ready. She was slammed to her back before she could move to use her shield.

“The lady should return her toys to her father before her brothers miss them or she hurts herself.” He leaned down to help her up.

She easily evaded his hand, kicking his feet from beneath him, her sword kissing his throat. “I have no brothers. I’ll keep my toys.”

He rolled away from her sword, grasping his own, “Careful my lady, you could get hurt.”

“Better yet, I could hurt you.” She spoke through a wolf’s deadly smile.

They circle cautiously, watching each move of the other, studying, evaluating, planning. Shields ready, sword tips lazily circling, they watch for an opening.

She springs, slashing, then out again. The clang of her sword against his shield shatters the stillness. She hisses in disappointment at his escape. He swings his sword while she moves to balance again. She parries and spins, deflecting his strike.

Their dance of swords continues stroke for stroke, the advantage of one quickly taken by the other. Spinning, weaving, leaping, rolling, their bodies grow slick with sweat, lungs burning for air.

Approaching hoofbeats break his focus for just a moment, but enough. Her shield sweeps his legs from beneath him. Her sword dives for his throat.

“Stop.” Her father’s voice is imperious. “It is generally thought poor hospitality to kill the bridegroom before you bed him.”

“Lucky for you that my father arrived when he did.” Her sword still at his throat.

“I would not be lonely here.” He looks from her eyes, lower. His sword is at her stomach. She hadn’t noticed its light kiss. A scarlet thread seamed her belly.

She reached to help him rise, “My name is Medb.”

©2019 Maggie Grimes

Epitaph- The Progeny

Oh my fathers, can you tell me why? Why my skies are gray and my rivers filth? Why the forests are passing memories found only in legend? Why, oh why did you murder the sea?

Oh my fathers, when you were young, the sun was a golden disk in a vibrant sky. The earth gave birth to wonders of joy. The sea was wild and filled with promises. Your night was warm with the dancing stars.

What blinding greed drove you to create the world you bequeathed me? It is lonely in this world of gray silences and death.

©2019 Maggie Grimes

I wrote this many years ago when I first started teaching. I taught that all life is precious and interconnected. Conservation was the wise, sustainable use of limited resources. I hoped that my epitaphs for nature would help awaken in my students a sense of relationship to the world that is our only home. Burning rainforest, melting ice caps, dying reefs, we are running out of time. MJG

Chrysalis

The space too small
Cramped
Struggling for growth
Life,
It rips
The pain rends
But cannot stop
The push for freedom,
It fights through a tiny opening
Too small
But a hope for escape,
Exhaustion trembles the body
It must continue
Freedom,
Weak
It clings to the security of the past
The terrors of the unknown beckon
Tease
Entice
Terrify,
Iridescent wings catch the sun
It leaps
A shriveled husk remains.

© 2019 Maggie Grimes

Whether or not ancient Celts believed that butterflies were souls of the dead seeking the Otherworld can be debated. Regardless, they had to have seen the lowly, earthbound caterpillar, through pain and struggle, transform into the graceful, skybound butterfly. They must have marveled. MJG

Sons of Erin

Erin’s sons
For freedom fighting
Gray clad soldiers
Join the fray
Gladly strive
Tyrant’s yoke defying,

Erin’s sons
For freedom fighting
Blue clad soldiers
Join the fray
Gladly strive
Send traitors fleeing,

Glory seeking
Erin’s sons
Blood stirring
To battle march
Honor sends
A new home saving,

Fearsome warriors
Erin’s sons
Eerie cry
To daunt
And threaten
Ranks of foemen storming,

Erin’s sons
Meet other brothers
Each convinced of right
Mortal combat
Banshee wails
Sons of Erin dying,

Erin’s sons
For freedom fighting
Duty’s sacrifice
Is paid
Battles ended
In death uniting.

© 2019 Maggie Grimes

Over the centuries, the Irish have fought in many wars. They were fierce warriors and greatly feared. The armies of both North and South contained thousands of Irishmen. Whether bluecoated or gray, they were brave soldiers fighting for their homes and honor. MJG

Manannan’s Daughter –Cantos six

I remember, or perhaps I dreamed, another time. It was a long ago time. Much is hidden in the mists of the past but moments stand out as in sunlight. The first memory is actually the last memory of she I might have been.

There was a battle and I fought crippled, being alone. My shieldmate was gone, he who guarded my back as I his. Being alone and knowing my fate, I had chosen the site of this battle carefully. The oak tree was ancient when I was born. It watched me grow, speaking to me in the whispering wind. I did not feel alone with it behind me.

They came laughing, seeing easy prey. My sword drank hearts’ blood twice and my shield crushed an unwary throat before they learned caution. They were angry at my impudence, shouting at me, rattling their swords. I laughed at them and they grew angrier. They charged. I danced amid the gnarled roots, dealing death. Time and time they came and could not take me. The roots grew slippery with their blood and mine. The ground beneath was darkened with it.

Time stopped as we fought. I know not how long we battled so. It was sunset when I next held thought, the sun’s gleaming, gold beneath the storm dark clouds. My arms burned and my legs trembled. My lungs labored with each breath. Everything was still. I looked at my enemy and ‘though the bodies were many, more still stood watching me. One stepped ahead of the others. Bigger, stronger, he was their champion held in reserve. The others fell back. He lifted his sword in salute and nodded his head. His eyes were kind.

I straightened and looked around me. The wind was cool against my face, sweet in my laboring lungs. The colors of the trees and fields glowed in sunset splendour. The air sparkled with amazing clarity.

I turned to the champion waiting still, patient. My fatigue, pain were gone, replaced by fierce defience. I raised my sword, delighting in the sunlight that jeweled its bloody length. I looked at the champion and my vision grew red. I screamed as the bann sidhe screams. I know no more. Perhaps my heart burst or his sword found it. I know not, for only darkness echoes.

These are my first memories, dreams of the distant time. There are others that came later as I remembered the sword. It was his sword. The coming of my shieldmate to be and the gifting of his sword are other dreams, memories to be recalled some other time. Some I might share but others, others well, we shall see.

©2019 Maggie Grimes

“Manannan’s Daughter” begins in prehistoric Ireland with the selkie’s tale and continues now with ancient tales of Irish heroes. MJG

Brigit’s Hands

Her hands are stories
Knotted with aged strength
Tales of labor, loving,
Her sweet face speaking
Tear-creased soft and laughing seamed
At peace in each day greeting,

Her hands are stories
Gentle with patient strength
Tales of labor, serving,
Her sweet face speaking
In family toils content
At peace in each day greeting,

Her hands are stories
Holding with enduring strength
Tales of labor, praying,
Her sweet face speaking
Serene in sustaining faith
At peace in each day greeting,

Her hands are stories.

© 2019 Maggie Grimes

Brigit, daughter of Dagda and Bres, was protector of women, of hearth and home.To all the women of strength through time, they raised us, taught us, loved us. May we continue to live their stories. MJG

Fionn MacCumhail

Finn has grown through ages
His tales
Extending
Enlarging
Feats of marvel
Compelling,
Giant
Against giant
Standing
‘Til reason
Cleared his vision
Marking disparities
Discretion changing valor,
Home remembered
And soon reclaimed
Trailing troubles
In his wake,
Wise Oonagh
Perceiving danger
Warmly welcomed
Hospitality homely,

Beware the woman
Whose home
And family threatened
Force no match for wit.

©2019 Maggie Grimes

The motto of this story is, “Don’t let your mouth get you in trouble unless you have a wise woman to back you up”. There is actually a more colloquial way of saying it but it’s rude. MJG

Cat on the Hill

The cat sits
Unblinking
Stationary on the hill
Dreaming ages past,

Rising wind sounds the Fae
Riding from the sidhe
Harness bells tinkling
Hounds baying
Horns calling, calling
Distantly lost,

The cat blinks
Then yawns lazily stretching
Saunters to his fireside
And home below.

©2019 Maggie Grimes

Dragon Eyes

Dragon eyes can never lie
Truth waits
In swirling opalescence
Enticing the unwary,

Dragon eyes can never lie
Promises tangled
In jeweled gossamer
Tempting the foolhardy,

Dragon eyes can never lie
Hope igniting
In ethereal gems
Daring the brave.

© 2019 Maggie Grimes

You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to get a dragon to sit still for a portrait. MJG

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑