"morrigan" poems
Has black wings,
and dusty feathers.
Brings dire winds
and awful weather.
Flies in packs,
dark news wearer.
The skies rats,
heavens tearers.
The grim shadow,
Morrigan's arrows.
With greed they'll shallow,
and feast on the gallows.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 4:39 PM UTC
"You're the Ariel to my Prospero"
He says grinning
with dagger pearl teeth
that could nibble my ear
or easily rip out my heart.
Ignorant of his mundanity
He does not know of those
who came before.
Names are relative.
"You're the Puck to my Oberon"
"You're the Tink to my Peter Pan"
Heard 'em all.
Plight of the Manic Pixie
Not Dream Girl.
Charming Sassy Childish
girl.
Sidekick Extraordinaire.
But lower than Robin to his Batman.
Messenger, Trickster, Mischief Maker.
Companion.
Adventurer.
with a temper ten times his size.
A power unnamed. Unused.
Never Enough.
Never enough
to Want to challenge her master.
ProsperoOberonPeter
I will drink the poison for you.
I will sink the ship.
I will find the ****** flower
and enchant the Fairy queen.
Follow orders, then twist them.
With some glittler and a devilish smile.
Crazy Tiny
girl.
Too pixie to hold on to
Catch me Boy!
Alreadycaughtnoneedtocatch.
Little ****** Manic Pixie
Yearning for a kiss
a touch
a word.
When you're a manic pixie
there's no trio
no male sidekick to choose
over
the hero.
But the hero gets the girl.
Manic Pixies live to serve.
Not dignified or wise enough for Royal Athena.
Not ruthless enough for the Dangerous Diana.
Without the darkness of the Morrigan.
Virginity isn't a choice.
It's part of the job description.
Could I be your ladybird?
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 11:46 AM UTC
It’s not much, I mean, but
uh, nothing, sorry, man I got butterfingers
slippery as my tongue, here
did you drop something, are you sure?
cause my thump-thumping heart dropped
so hard to the floor when it knew you were near
that it bounced right back up
right where it goes, then straight out my crown chakra,
only to dissipate and erupt
into Truth
the literal and the metaphorical
allegorical nebulas that resonate in full high-definition colour the way
all Nine symphonies played simultaneously
would look
sedimentary, like a cheesecake
when I first saw you, something
shifted in my horoscope with the same scope and scale
of a modern Greek myth – Prometheus rising, fire
in the eyes of one woman, that’s all
all Aphrodite could gather up—fix it to the mainstay, Odysseus
let’s get to it, in siren seas, eating weeds to survive
if there’s nothing left when Cthulu
comes alive, I hope at least
I’ll get to talk to you at a party
like, once, where we’ll mix some more
mythologies
Once Inana birthed the world, and Spider Woman showed her how
I could show you how Saraswati
makes music, and old Bacchus stays on his feet
Care to play my Isis? If that makes me Osiris
then drown me, chop me up. Throw my body
to Mr. Lucifer; the Morrigan will come to inspect your ****
and finding it satisfactory
will whisk you away somewhere better
How’s that last part sound to you, eh?
there’s not much left to waste in the techno age
of “nothing in moderation,” with all our
degradation,
defamation,
discrimination,
and mild inflammation caused by
nonspecific anxiety medications
in our nation of constant false elation,
so
my point is time
the one thing we got left to waste
is time, and I’m a dedicated pacifist, but
I wouldn’t mind killing
some of that, with you
Let’s blow this pop stand
and go hunting.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
I am a broken man
Broken beyond repair
Fallen deep into despair
Torched to ash like a straw man
I am a broken man
Crushed into fine shiny powder
Fragments of a ruined wonder
Now feeling empty like the Morrigan
Tempted to take the Scythe for the Hammer
I chained myself in desperation
A fools decision for a reparation
Death in turn I hunger
For life is a sweet ardor
The bitter sweet taste of reconnaissance
The salt and spice of resilience
'Tis what a broken man yearns with fervor
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 9:19 PM UTC
We come from power.
Our ancestors dealt in wiles,
Appraising glances at the world around
Lowered gazes and eyelashes that cast shadows
Hiding minds sharp enough to slit throats.
We come from deception and
Seduction.
Glittering eyes and soft thighs
Sculpted cheeks and long necks
Smiles that could cut
Diamond.
As you toil through the world,
Know that your body is the most dangerous weapon
These men have ever seen.
Know that you raise hairs on their arms.
Do not forget where you came from-
Generations
Of women who sold their bodies and their lies
To marriage or to strangers
But never sold their souls.
Women who used
What they had,
Ruthless and unapologetic.
This world has fangs
And we come from the women who said
I will strike first
Rather than be devoured.
We come from power, not ruin.
Just because we have been hidden away
Silenced and enslaved,
This does not change.
We hold something in us that temples have been built to
Stones slick and red with the blood of violent sacrifices
Made
To our full lips
Our *******
Our dancing eyes
Wars have been fought
Cities have burned
Civilizations
Have crumbled
**For us**!
And good.
Good, they will.
Good, bleed for me.
Kneel for me.
Pray to me.
Call me
Sacred
And lay awake nights dreaming of my flesh.
This world has changed
But not so much as you think.
Do not forget that you come from blood
From steel
From a survivalism that only we carry pounding in our veins.
They locked us away, and we sang through the bars
Sirens who needed no weapons to break our shackles
They told themselves they used us
While we bled them dry for the pleasure of it.
We come from power!
Power that cannot be stolen from us
No matter what happens.
They looked at us and they saw
Gods.
They saw
Death.
They saw
Salvation.
They saw
The Morrigan,
The Furies,
They saw
Kali,
Destroyer of Worlds.
They fell to their knees
And in their awe
Could only name their ships, their weapons, their
Deities
For us.
Your holy lineage
Beckons.
Take what you want
And don't forget that you were born to do it.
Demand worship.
Demand
Blood.
They deserve it
And they know it:
They fear us.
They've always feared us.
And they should.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 6:56 PM UTC
The Kiss of Ceridwen
by Michael R. Burch
The kiss of Ceridwen
I have felt upon my brow,
and the past and the future
have appeared, an eerie vapor,
mingling with the here and now.
And Morrigan, the Raven,
the messenger, has come,
to tell me that the gods, unsung,
will not last long
when the druids’ harps grow dumb.
Originally published by Songs of Innocence
Keywords/Tags: Ceridwen, white, witch, enchantress, sorceress, crone, cauldron, awen, throne, Morfran, power, Wales, Welsh, Druids, Banshee, Picts, Scots, Scottish, fairies, glade, raven, gull, King Arthur, Arthurian, Morgause, Merlin, round table, knights, England, stone, Excalibur, chivalry, Camelot, Uther Pendragon, Colgrim, Saxon
Apr 17, 2020
Apr 17, 2020 at 1:17 AM UTC
The Harbour quakes as we break your Boom,
The Nemesis Sails-Harbinger of doom,
A New Chapter - the Sly Celt Raptor,
Bain Shi proceed us-Scream in rapture
As The Bodhran shakes your eardrums shatter,
Lightning rakes- your defences Scatter,
It's raiding season!-Take your Oars!,
Boats filled to the brim with Ores and ******
our targets-fat Merchants waddle,
Crimson seas as the Forces Battle
The Morrigan Swaddles our mind with the caul (call)
no Mercy asked(None Given!) SLAY ALL
Widows scream as they're dragged to the Ship
Towns burn to ash in our wake as we rip,
A Blood red Swathe Through the Dawn in the east,
As the Nemesis Sails,The Harbinger Feasts...
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 7:08 PM UTC
Little Morrigan . . .
Crow still flies in my embrace,
My arms have your back.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 9:12 PM UTC
*Beware the sighting
of the Raven
They are her messengers
harbingers
of salvation or doom
Warriors
pay homage to her
to avoid the tomb
But she walks alone...
Mists swirl around her
as the battle
rages on
Mortal men
are wise
to honor
or flee her
She has the power...
The power
to heal
to protect
to choose...
To choose
life or death
for you*
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
I don’t, don't speak human
when blue comes down to talk
in the clogged old crannies of the night
woman
with ornate skin
moves her arm
her wrist, her fingers
quick like the clicking of a tongue
quick glitter, gentle then gentler
and rippling, a water eye in blue
over hills and over muddles
see the crow fly
when time comes fluttering back to us
tell me again of the war
when mingles the sword with
flowering heart and the reeds
speak up, their
thin throats filled
with lore, and lure the scattered world here
here here
here
tell me
tell me, on and on the
tingling of mud as it is
lifted, lifted, to man, to callous,
like sun-forged flesh and force,
to his child, and the parting
of two lips
parting! the lifting, the toiling of tendon in the
riot of soul
over the woods! over mountains
see the crow fly, feel her shadow
when throe laughs, tickles the muscle
and even past wakes up
and even the gaunt clutched spine
of a thin sallow voice
perks up keening
hear hear hear
the beating of the feat
the beating of the nerve
when chant them men, and sole
and leather, with rumble
the rumble of war
when slides sly down the sweat and dust
and galleries light up
with walls full of human
and museums cradle little stones
little bones and calls
tell me
tell me tell me
even a crow can sing sing
sing one awake
Apr 13, 2022
Apr 13, 2022 at 10:34 AM UTC
She arrived right on
time, now she is forever
in my twisted mind.
Her razor love sliced
me deep, a never ending
river of blood seeps.
My heart and spirit’s
been torn, she killed me so that
I may be reborn.
Jun 7, 2020
Jun 7, 2020 at 3:04 PM UTC
My body holds in it the bones of a goddess whose worship was murdered by Time,
When fatal religion of midnight's mistresses comes alive again for tonight.
The veins of this country spread out from under me and carry the weight of our lives,
As distance between us is bridged for the evening and your years collide into mine.
Under the same Moon that looked down over you, I cross the river to the dead,
Who wander the road laid down so long ago that trees have sprung from where they tread.
You followed too readily gods dead and buried and traced in their footsteps the path.
Breathe your life into me, speak to me freely, let not my plea echo the dark,
Children of Morrigan now will we call upon as the Earth ceases to grow.
Seek now your answer and through the Arcana give justification to know.
- With my tongue asking thee, my soul commanding thee: accept my hand through the veil,
And if I am heard; spirit spare not a word and reveal then what secrets you may.
Oct 29, 2019
Oct 29, 2019 at 10:06 PM UTC
they say lightning
never strikes
in the same place twice.
an energy
the best minds
could not tame—
electricity shattering
amethyst atoms,
violent and brilliant
and free.
purple is the color of our energy.
firework flowers detonating
magenta and blueberry
at the periphery of the pages
where you spilled
your lavender blood
for my eyes only—
a display of intimacy
breathed in the quiet
of the witching hour
the first night we spoke.
your voice
resurrects.
you slice through white space
like a warrior goddess,
deft and dexterous
acid rain chaos
ubiquitous vengeance
upon your enemies—
cloaked in the raven-feather
mantle of Morrigan,
a phantom queen.
you bring death
from a thousand cuts
of your ball-point pen.
Apr 10, 2019
Apr 10, 2019 at 12:11 AM UTC
. red thread .
we did not know the red thread of fate, tied readily .
tied with inevitable red or ****** rags again.
a meditation on thread, mediation of red, i dream of you.
clearly your clothes remain the same, worn, washed,
pressed.
your ideas come different.
be well in your mending, despite the pain, raddled cotton .
pin to hold life again.
The two people connected by the red thread are destined , regardless of time, place, or circumstances. This magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break. This myth is similar to the Western concept of soulmates or a destined flame.
(notes for Morrigan, May the first cabinet be locked, the second also, yet leaving the red key in, please?)
Room Two.
. Bound.
comfort bound in clean linen.
arises with perfume, an uncertain memory.
what else will you expect of me . that, mis spellings or rags.
you see, i say it means nothing. leather bound, broken, words lost
in boxes.
notes.
:: bound ::
tied; in bonds: a bound prisoner.
3.
made fast as if by a band or bond: She is bound to her family.
4.
secured within a cover, as a book.
5.
under a legal or moral obligation: He is bound by the terms of the contract.
6.
destined; sure; certain: It is bound to happen.
Room Three.
.Crossing.
carefully you drew crosses on my skin. i looked at you ‘ kisses?’ no, you said, crosses……
notes.
i have been asked about secrets, secrets, that I should not tell, and I tell you that I have been kissed truly kissed, and the tear tore my face, a water stripe, dipped in agony and love for you that must be a secret you said, you said, so I will write it here and print it, and print it, and dip it in wax, the kiss.i have been asked
Room Four.
. Stitching.
i have done this, when all else are asleep,
stitching, thinking, listening to the rain.
then the voices stopped.
cover the surface . that stitching can be
rhythmic,
and never mind the capitals. clever words
confound.
the littled dress sewn quietly with love.
we have many more rooms to describe…….
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 7:00 AM UTC