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

Unladylike

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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Scathach

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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