ANOTHER in our series of publishing poems from the Limerick City of Culture anthology, ‘Dream of a City’. This one, ‘Sacred Places’ by Desmond Grady, is hymn to the unfolding of inclement Spring and her ancient rites here.
Sacred Places
Bone-chilled we trek through lungfuls of mist/ on Ireland’s first day of Spring, across soggy fields to a hidden place, a low stone ring
where white rags bloom on hazel trees, season in,/ season out, she clasps an oak church/ small as a weathered purse, hallowed water at her feet.
A clutch of rushes, fashioned in the four directions,/ gifted by a mysterious hand, her amulet/ against fires and ailing animals, for centuries.
I circle around her, like a planet, a sphere, whisper/ soft familiar sounds on my mother’s wooden rosary,/ calling down this woman: Shakti-Shekina-Mary-Bridhe,
while high across Knockfierna, seven short miles/ as the raven flies, Donn, the god of truth awaits.
Astrolabe Press, 2014
