Category Archives: Poetry

We Are One by Ryan Sutherland

The knowledge we are One is the most fundamental
keystone truths beyond anything I could ever express as a poet or a man.

All around me I see reflections of your beauty;
its in the eyes and smiles of every woman I meet,
Perfect crystalline wells of creation from which poetry springs.

All of infinity gazes back at me from a chance encounter,
or a simple cup of coffee.

I can taste their essence, for they truly are goddesses to me
but you shall ever by my Queen.

The purest expression of Divinity I shall every encounter in any Land
or any World.

Sometimes the weight of the world and its sorrows presses down upon me, and like Atlas I must maintain a Warriors Calm.

This may seem like a burden but it is not. Duty and honor to serve our people keep me steadfast.

Its when my head is bowed for a moment in reverent awe that I can best recapture those past memories of you.

An arched brow, your gentle eyes or honey’d taste of your lips.

It may only be a singular moment – a heartbeats worth of time – but its when I am closest to you.
The feeling of you surges to the forefront of my awareness.

I am the bedrock of the Mountains, the vast unending Sky and the quiet allure of the deep blue Sea.

The knowledge we are one is the most fundamental keystone truths beyond anything I could ever express as a Poet or Man.

-Ryan C. Sutherland

Ryan lives in Canada and says of himself – being called by The Morrigan has been a defining point in my life, and a true journey of growth and personal transformation. There are no words that will ever express the depth of my devotion and service to the Land, our people and Goddess.

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Unladylike by Heather Lewis


You’re so cute, he says.
My lips retract, not a smile but
A feral baring of teeth.
I do not tell him the truth,
That would be unladylike.

I do not tell him the truth –
That I am dangerous.
That I am the eater of black hearts.
That I am the devourer of shallow minds.
That I am the seeker of truths.
That I am the giver of life and
The bringer of death.

He sees only
A round face,
Soft skin,
The temptation of ripe curves.
He is blind to the chaos
Barely contained by my
Tender flesh and frail bones.
He cannot understand
The wildness of me.
He cannot know the ravenous hunger
For things he could never dare to dream.

And so I smile and say thank you,
Just the way I was trained to do.

(c) Heather Lewis


Heather says of this poem

I wrote this piece several months ago, I had strayed from my spiritual path, caught up with life and only recently found my way back again. As I was reflecting on the Morrigan and what is she expects of me, it occurred to me how the way women are socialized to accept traditional gender roles often clashes with and suffocates those aspects of womanhood that the Morrigan seeks to nurture in us – basically how women can often finding themselves hiding their wildness and power – all the things that a patriarchal society doesn’t understand and therefore, fears. And so I just started writing about the way women are often perceived versus the truth of womanhood and by the time I was finished, I had this piece


Heather is 34 years old, currently studying English lit and creative writing at Morehead State University in Kentucky. She has not previously been published, though she is currently working on a small collection of poetry and short fiction which she hopes to find an audience for in the not too distant future.

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Morrigan – Oil on Canvas

by Suzi Edwards-Goose

“Where talons rip and wrench and tear,
See her shadow standing there. . .
At moondark when the battle moans,
The raven comes to pick the bones. . .
Carrion claws through flesh are sliding,
When Morrigan the wind is riding. . .”

-Suzi Edwards-Goose

You can learn more about Suzi’s work or contact her via her website and her facebook page:

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Beyond the Veil by Alicia Lavoie

Beyond the Veil

Cloaked by twilight darkness,
Ancestral whispers swirl around me
On widdershin tornadic winds,
While crows dance overhead,
Their glossy black wings caressing
Rough thundercloud-peaked skies.

Cawing Raven, fathomless depths –
The Morrigan calls to me:
“I am within and without you,
Our breath united between worlds,
Where losing center brings you home
To the forged connection between us.”

I mourn for blood spilled
By repeated fists against delicate skin,
My voice silenced by cries of pain
As I fought to right myself years ago,
Seeking balance at labyrinth’s altar –
A yearning to find that lost girl.

The primal Sovereign stirs then quakes
Inside Her earthly cauldron,
Shattering life’s veil of illusion;
And it is here, in this liminal place,
Where I offer up my insecurities
Before the Morrigan’s raised sword.

Alicia Marie Lavoie

About – Grounded in eastern Connecticut, Alicia is a caregiver, herbalist, Reiki master, soul midwife, witch, and writer. She earned a Bachelor of Arts in political science and a minor in journalism from Johnson State College in 2003 and a certificate in herbalism from Wisdom of the Herbs School in 2013. She walks with the Morrigan, Brigid, and Freyja, attempting to live each day in the present moment.

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by Caoimhin Ó Coileáin
What made Scathach
That vampire born?
How did the grey queen,
Spend her youth once before,
She settled on the Far Isles?
Before she became a warrior,
And was cowed by no man,
And yet stood still by the Hound’s side.
Before that was she a maid acower?
Scathach was not born
As the warrior lady but that she became,
Whose ice came first through fire
She grew and hardened,
From mewling frightened wretch.
What mysteries made Scathach,
That trainer of heroes,
Both brothers by blood and sword,
Whose love tamed the wild Cuchulainn
Who brought to him a complete soul?
To stand down the Connacht men unashamed
To face the Crow and spit in her face unafraid,
The Setanta became with her a man not just a warrior,
With her he became one true soul
About: Caoimhin Ó Coileáin’s ‘Scathach’ is from his anthology Fenian Whispers (forthcoming). You can find him on Facebook at Caoimhin Ó Coileáin.
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Warrior Heart

Heart warming
Fire of our heart
Our very own hearth
There are so many layers of heart
Peeling off those layers has become my work
Facing that which is present, when the layer falls away
When did these layers become what I knew?
Each layer offers feeling as it falls
My heart beats like butterfly wings; fragile, beautiful, open, sensitive, strong.
I reclaim the inner-most part of my being, my hearth.
My hearth fire roars and burns with passion.

About: Brooke Ravenwood is a priestess of the Morrigan, her work is reclamation, through rekindling fires within and supporting journeys towards sacred sexuality. Contact by email: brookeravenwood [at]

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Filed under Answering the Call, Healing, Poetry

Prophecy of the Morrigan

Translation by Morgan Daimler.

Peace to sky.
Sky to earth.
Earth below sky,
strength in each one,
a cup overfull,
filled with honey,
sufficiency of renown.
Summer in winter,
spears supported by warriors,*
warriors supported by forts.
Forts fiercely strong;
banished are sad outcries
land of sheep
healthy under antler-points
destructive battle cries held back.
Crops [masts] on trees
a branch resting
resting with produce
sufficiency of sons
a son under patronage
on the neck of a bull
a bull of magical poetry
knots in trees
trees for fire.
Fire when wished for.
Wished for earth**
getting a boast
proclaiming of borders***.
Borders declaring prosperity
green-growth after spring
autumn increase of horses
a troop for the land
land that goes in strength and abundance.
Be it a strong, beautiful wood, long-lasting a great boundary
‘Have you a story?’
Peace to sky
be it so lasting to the ninth generation

*scíath means shields but also “fighting man, warrior, guardian”. The usual translation here is given as shield, but I prefer the imagery that comes with warrior, however it may also be taken as “spears supported by shields, shields supported by forts”

** alternately “wished for by flesh”

*** this line “boinn a mbru” is often translated as “calves in wombs” or something similar, assuming boinn should be boin or boinin – calf, and taking bru as womb. I believe in this case boinn is actually ad-boinn, a form of apad meaning to declare or proclaim, and bru here means boundary or border. I think this makes the most sense in context with the preceding and following lines.


Translation by Morgan Daimler, reblogged with permission from Living Liminally. You can also find Morgan on Facebook and Amazon.

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