Showing posts with label irish poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label irish poetry. Show all posts

Monday, April 14, 2025

Draíocht Ceoil, Wards and Conflict #draíochtceoil #irishwitchcraft


This Blog post is an expansion of the TikTok Video on Draíocht Ceoil. Like and follow for more content.


 Confrontation is hard.

Especially if you're sensitive to tone, inflexion and nuance. Like being in a too noisy room, it can prompt a flight/fight reflex. If you have Misophonia it can be painful, physically and emotionally and not necessarily just shouting. Insulting tones, sneering, a condescending inflexion, can be more than enough to grate on your nerves. Sensitivity to sound energy makes such altercations more intense, on deeper levels. If you wonder why you can't shrug off snide comments, or seem to identify the undercurrent more clearly than others, you may fall into this category.

Online is no exception. Have you ever posted something, especially in support of what is clearly basic decency and human rights, only to have a bigot or far right hate goblin attack you? Do you dread opening your socials, when you see angry notifications? feel as if they can reach through the screen - feel as bad as if you were in the room with them? while sound energy is not directly at play here, a sensitivity to words, their meanings, their weight, can lend extra import to these exchanges.

And sensitive people are often sensitive to injustice, and put themselves in the front line, but the backlash takes a huge toll on their emotions and mental health. This is unfortunate, and yet, still no excuse not to do the work.

Confrontation is sometimes necessary.

Situations fester if not resolved. We try to avoid upsetting people, because we're normal decent humans, but often the tactics involved make the situation worse. In suppressing our own emotions or allowing others to break our boundaries we risk turning a small problem into a series of problems into a big issue.

You also have to stand up for what's right. You will attract hateful people whose emotions are invested in bigotry and cruelty, but that's nothing compared to the dangers faced by those directly affected. It can be tempting to use our dislike of confrontation as an excuse, but the work demands that we hold firm. So, in attempting to use our words, our music, our energy for good - we accept that there is a price to pay.

Wards

But we don't have to enter the fray unarmed. Sound energy can be used in so many ways, none more useful than the creation of wards. You can use a physical object, or use an aural trigger, or combine both to great effect.
In my upcoming book Draíocht Ceoil, The Sound of Magic in Irish Traditions (Moon Books, 2026) I go into detail on these subject but this is a little handy guide, and you might want to check out my youtube video with Lora O'Brien of the Irish Pagan School, or my class on Warding and Hexing at the same. All links below :)

A physical ward
Take a small object, something you can keep on your person, and especially one you'll have handy whether walking around or checking social media.
Find a piece of music, of any type of genre, that represents calm, courage and protection to you. It doesn't need to make sense to anyone else. It just needs to invoke those emotions in you.
Place the object near or on top of speakers, and blast that music at it. Let it absorb the sound, the rhythm, the waves of energy. Let it "soak" in it. This is your touchstone, your rock. When you are in a confrontation, hold it in your hand. The more tactile the object the better, it should engage your senses on as many levels as possible.

Its purpose is both to help you remain detached and objective, and to erect a barrier around you.


An Auditory Ward
Alternatively you can simply use the piece of music, of sound energy, by itself. The key to this is meditation, and visualization. You need to build an association of instant calm, of objectivity and distance, with that music. It's like creating muscle memory - you should be able to think of the music, hum it, or play it in the confines of your own head, and instantly feel the calming energy.




Combined Wards
Ideally you can combine both approaches. The stronger your association with the piece of music, the more you attach it to your physical ward, the more effective it becomes as protection. The physical ward is deeply rooted in Irish folklore, in the carrying of rowan berries and other lucky items to protect. The auditory ward is rooted in our ancient past, in the work of the filí and the traditions of poetic and musical magic.

Add words, that have meaning to you or words that mean Peace, Calm, Protection. If you like, using Irish (Gaeilge) words are the ideal. Síochán, (peace) Smacht (control) Cosaint (protection)

And keep fighting the good fight



1.
2.

Friday, August 27, 2021

Mael Bridge "A Brigit of Ireland Devotional" BOOK LAUNCH - I'll be reading #poetry at it #booklaunch #pagan #bridget #spirituality

 


“A Bridget of Ireland Devotional”

Join me at a FREE online Book Launch; a community celebration of Poetry and Devotional works

I will be reading poetry tomorrow night Saturday 28th 9pm Irish Time (1pm Pacific Time)

To celebrate the launch of Mael Bridge’s long awaited book, A Bridget of Ireland Devotional,”

You are welcome to join us on 28 August from 1:00-2:30 PM Pacific Time (starts 9:00 PM Irish Time) for poetry, prayer, & song. To receive a Zoom link on the day, you will need to register (see link below), or you can watch on Facebook Live on my Page, Brigit's Portal.

REGISTER to attend via Zoom. https://www.tickettailor.com/events/sunamongstars/556582

BRIGIT'S PORTAL to watch on Facebook (live or later).

https://www.facebook.com/BrigitsPortal

I am very much looking forward to seeing how our joint celebration unfolds.

Brigit's blessings.


1.
2.

Saturday, August 14, 2021

Bedside Manners ~ #Alzheimers and the #FamilyCarer a new #poemseries



Bedside Manners:Alzheimers and the Family Carer is a poem series exploring the relationship the Family Carer has with Alzheimer's - both the person for whom they care and the larger issue of the disease itself and how it affects every aspect of life.

The role of the carer is often interpreted by outsiders, framed in martyrdom or judged for any perceived heresy to the doctrine of self sacrifice. What carers find most difficult is often the refusal of others to acknowledge their loss, pain, frustration, stress and responsibility.

When we complain, the reaction is often one of denial - a rush to tell us how it's the disease, not the person or how privileged we are to be able to provide home care, how awful it would be if we were to put them in a home and so forth. Spoiler Alert - we KNOW it's the disease. Also we are the ones giving up our lives to care for the person, please don't tell us how it's a privilege.

These poems are based on personal experience and that of other family carers of loved ones with dementia.

They cover a range of experiences from heartbreak to hilarity, moments where we are lost and ones where we find profound meaning.

Each is accompanied on Insta by a fuller explanation, again directly taken from discussion with other family carers. Every poem is based on lived experience of caring for a relative, rather than professionals in the field, or advocacy groups.

BESIDE MANNERS is a series on twitter @gercelt with fuller exploration of each theme on Instagram @gercelt. If you want to add to anything said please do, 

Feel free to share (credit either Geraldine Moorkens Byrne or link to @gercelt) if you have writing to add (from personal experience only please) I'll happily link to it or you can guest post on Insta or Twitter. There is a hope that the full series may make a book to raise funds for Alzheimer's Research.


1.
2.

Thursday, June 27, 2019

The Hidden Jester

Hidden Jester

Grief comes,
in glancing blows
stealing up at tangents -
shards of promise, taut with loss,
might have been, should have been.
Nothing direct or clean;
but sharp cuts and sudden hurts
from shadowed corners.

Strange friend,
thief, despoiler
relying on one saving grace,
one charity of memory, doled out.
Taking more than giving;
a parasite of living;
poisonous flower, spreading
like a weed.

Hidden Jester
laying small traps
that catch you unawares -
the detritus of life, turned enemy
banal weapons that shard the heart
and once you start
you cannot stem the flow
and he has won.



1.
2.

Thursday, June 13, 2019

That Bizarre Moment When....

....you click on Amazon to update your Author page and you find your poetry collection is listed on N0 1 new released in "British Poetry"

The cognitive dissonance as you go:
"YAY" and also at the same time "BRITISH? WTAF?"

In the end though, cos I'm as vain as the next poet, Yay won :)

(I'm under no illusion, I'd say I'll be No 1 for apx 24 hours but hey, thanks Amazon any way :)



In other news, thanks so much to kind people buying it and reading it on Kindles Select, and please do leave a review! A review is so important to Authors on Amazon especially, it means a huge boost to visibility. Click those stars :)

AMAZON.COM
AMAZON.CO.UK

1.
2.

Thursday, June 23, 2016

Gods and Radicals "A Beautiful Resistance:Fire" Edition is out now #poetry #poems #writing #literature #feminism

Delighted to see that Gods and Radicals Journal "A Beautiful Resistance: Fire" is out now; and very excited to be included in this excellent body of work with my poem "Eriu Addresses the False Kings" a rosc in the druidic tradition against the (failed) proposed demonstration by a notorious misogynist, rape-advocating, group. 
Please support this excellent publication, at the website below:


https://godsandradicals.org/a-beautiful-resistance-2/

1.
2.

Wednesday, January 7, 2015

Grand Canal Square In March #poetry #irishpoetry #Dublin #ireland



Grand Canal Square in March

Only in Dublin
would two swans
crossing the docks
greet you in March

Light reflecting
refracting the image
of urban life
and city living

hazy sun and
smokey stacks
 a tall ship mast
and two wild swans

Welcome to my city
cosmopolitan
21st century
metropolis

Welcome to my city
Viking terrority
mystical land
mysterious port.

(Photo taken March 2007 GCS Dublin, on the way from my husband's ( then fiancé) apartment to work.)

1.
2.

Friday, November 7, 2014

The Problem with Women #poetry #feminism #4thwavefeminism #irishpoetry #ireland

The problem with women


I post about issues, many feminist in tone
Abuse of the female, inside the home
or out on the streets in full view of all
Or insidious lessons that make us feel small 
And I say every time not all men do this
A line in my stories some men seem to miss
And I say that the male is vulnerable too
I say men are mainly good, and it's  true.
But then the replies start derailing the thread
As some men read things I never actually  said
Answer accusations I didn't actually  make
Argue the point for argument's  sake
I can talk about women broken and battered
I can post about young girls whose dream have been shattered
Without needing instruction from men who feel slighted
You're not like that? Good. I'm fucking delighted.
Stop telling me that and read what I wrote
Open your hearts and start to take note
Because some of your kind are doing these acts
Don't be defensive just be aware of these facts
Give your opinion without the lecture. I'll  listen
And I'll happily learn if there's something  I'm  missing
But in return when I point out your own oversight 
Don't call me a feminazi for daring to be right.
shrugging off debate with an injured defence
"Oh! The trouble with women is they take such offence ."


1.
2.

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Love letters of a busy life


To my husband Mark, who is currently trying not to nod off in work, having minded our poor sick baby all night in one room while I minded the poor sick toddler in another. And then we swopped. Some day my love, we'll sleep in the same bed, have a lie in, have breakfast in bed, have time to chat. Probably after the boys turn thirty. 

Hi, it's me
I'm sorry that I haven't been in touch
I see you every day, morning and night
so why write? well, our time is short
I seem to say hello, goodbye and sometimes
in between, a hurried I love you
but oh! it's not enough, my dear.
Here in my head we talk all the time
like we did when we were leisure rich.
I itch to tell you all the details of my day
and every way in which you touched them,
lightened them, help me carry the load.

Is there room
for love letters of the old type, the ones
that fill the spaces in a busy life? Recount
the dreams and hopes and fears of every day
renew the links that bind us to our life
and say, I would not live any other story
walk any other path, fight for any other cause
but you? You are my star, my stone, my roots 
and all there is to praise in heaven or on earth.
You may not know this but it's written there,
in shopping lists and texts about dinner -
whenever you read between the lines, it's there. 





1.
2.

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Leaf in Autumn

Leaf in Autumn

The gutters turned to streams,
torrents raging through the streets
as grey rain beat down on us
as the wind whipped us
as the sky turned dark.
As I clutched my mother's hand
I saw a leaf charge the rapids,
white water of the drains,
to spend one moment suspended
in the eye of the storm.
And I followed it as it journeyed
through the streets
out of sight but never out of mind.
I follow it still, when the rain howls
and the wind catches my fancy
blowing it where it will
Somewhere out there, it wanders still.

1.
2.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

I got a highly commended on the John Murray Poetry comp

Well, I am very pleased with myself this morning. I tuned in to listen to the results of the poetry competition, hoping that someone I knew might have done well. They read out about four or five poems, including the category winners and a sample of commended poems. Imagine my utter delight when the judge read out my poem Aisling and commented on it. The standard of entries was so high, it was a compliment to be included.
What completely impressed me was the standard of the junior and senior school entries - there's a lot right with our country when our youth has such a passionate and literate voice.

If you visit http://www.rte.ie/radio1/thejohnmurrayshow/ by tomorrow there should be a podcast to listen to of today's show. My poem "Aisling" is read just before the overall Adult winner is announced.

1.
2.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

September 2010

September unfurls with quiet charm
The first palette of colours
to paint the year's end, tell the tale
of descent into Winter's cold arms.

...Protesting Autumn, calling out
- Joy and warmth and ripeness
still abide! Dance with me one
more time, before the leaves fall.

1.
2.

Friday, August 6, 2010

Underneath

A man on an escalator, did something silly; and reminded me that underneath the suit can be an innocent heart


Underneath

He's suited and booted;
shined shoes
Sharp dresser
serious man.

On the down escalator
busy eyes
balding head
being in charge.

Reaches out one hand
tips the metal
makes it sing
smiles a little smile.


Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

1.
2.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Want

Poetic Challenge for today is to write a love poem.
I have written several poems about the love of my life Toast and Belgian Chocolate; An Apology to Aongus Óg and This of Small Virtues for example.

Seeing as Valentine's Day is almost upon us, this is a small but heartfelt one for Himself.

Love poem

If he is tired, I only want
To smooth the lines of his day
And hold him safe.
If he hungers, there is no joy
In food or drink until
He is replete.
If he is cold, my only thought
Is to light a fire
To warm him.
I have no needs, I lack nothing
Until he hurts; and then I bruise.

1.
2.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Spaces

Deep in the night
Between last orders
And first light
Gods wander the city
Stealing dreams.
Pass them by,
If you see them
Do not stop or stare
Do not dare them
They are not at play.
They own this ground
From slick kerb
to guttered edge and
In between.
All the spaces.

1.
2.

Monday, January 11, 2010

Snow in Dublin II

Snow in Dublin II

At midnight
We found ourselves
walking a borrowed dog,
in a world
of white, frosted
under a diamond sky.

We were silent;
overawed by
that still cliché of snow ,
not a sound
except the crisp
break of sparkling cold.

There is ice,
buried under
the soft clean white.
No step
is quite sure,
so you take my arm.

We are
alone, intrepid
you, me and the borrowed dog.
We are safe
in this world,
under jewelled skies.

1.
2.

Friday, November 20, 2009

And then Earth turns.

She swims in the cold ice river
Of time and space, across the eons
Look at me, she says, extending
One flawless limb
Look at me, I am so cold and tired.
It will never end, this journey.

She sighs as the stars flash by
Silver trout in a crystal stream
How cold you are, they say
As they pass, How cold it is
She catches one on her long eyelash
And it freezes like a diamond.

Look, the others whisper, look
The light has bloomed, the light;
A tiny glimmer in the distance, calling
Her back to life again.
She waits until she touches the shore,
And then Earth turns.

1.
2.

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Twitter Fragments II

Twitter Fragments II

Or
how I feel on certain days....

i
The city moves, a slow grumbling yawn
shoppers drifting in lazy knots
high heels and blowdried hair
rituals of consumer glee

ii
Dublin awash with
post Arthurian hangovers;
spotted - more than one walking wounded
with Guinness pallor.
People with very shaky hands.

iii
Autumn encroaches on the last days of Summer
Fat old woman, ripe in gaudy colour
pushing aside the frail and ailing belle

iv
September sun
the cool balm of Indian summer
across the city like a gentle hand
a gift before ripe Autumn falls

v
Dublin is grey today windswept & autumnal
back to school blues & sad little doldrums
the first fallen leaves lie forlorn on the pavement

vi
Early Sat evening in Dublin;
the everday life of the city
abandoned for the tinsel glamour of its night life.
Mad, wild, woolly...

vii
hard seat, numbing both body and mind
I find myself dreaming of another future
reaching out for things no longer real

viii
Light steals darkness from my room
gentle thief, fracturing dreams
emptying memories to lay bare jewels of time

1.
2.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

The Returned Politico

On the pitiful sight of a man whose pursuit of power leads him to renege on his own solemn promise to quit political involvement

The Returned Politico

How sad a sight, the unwanted suitor
Pleading to be taken back, swaggering
As if he was invited. What tattered rag
of dignity he once owned, to warm him
in his leaving is cast now aside to be
trampled under muddy feet, as the mob
rush to mock and be entertained. Poor
fool, in his motley, thinking his words
fall on willing ears. The object of his love
Eriu in her stately beauty, turns aside.
Her protectors sheath their swords and
Send their lackeys to chastise instead.

1.
2.

Saturday, September 5, 2009

The Hidden Jester

Hidden Jester

Grief comes,
in glancing blows
stealing up at tangents -
shards of promise, taut with loss,
might have been, should have been.
Nothing direct or clean;
but sharp cuts and sudden hurts
from shadowed corners.

Strange friend,
thief, despoiler
relying on one saving grace,
one charity of memory, doled out.
Taking more than giving;
a parasite of living;
poisonous flower, spreading
like a weed.

Hidden Jester
laying small traps
that catch you unawares -
the detritus of life, turned enemy
banal weapons that shard the heart
and once you start
you cannot stem the flow
and he has won.

1.
2.