The Morrigan

Often was I warned of walking your ways, all men said you’d end my days.

Mother of ravens, mother of night, I seek thee now with all of my might.

Lady of magic, the phantom Queen, lead me now in my dreams. Unto your side and unto your will, Queen of the aethers my heart fill!

Heaven’s Queen and mistress in hell, hear my words and hear them well. Be I chosen by your hand to die this day, that will be, come as it may.

You who know the hearts of men, seeker of right, o’er moors and fens. Listen now unto my voice, I find your gaze and I rejoice. 

Come oh lady dark and fair, come ye lady of the raven hair. Here I shall await for thee, lady come to set me free!

This fickle mind of mine

Every day I reach to find the tumbling words of Imbass within my fickle mind.

But the day before twas burning bright, yet now the flame is dim beyond my sight. 

I stumble and misread, the embers that are reluctant to rise unto my most desperate need.

Far I search for flint and steel, the broken light within to tend and heal. 

But Imbass comes not at my behest, nor at the end of a long and fruitless quest. Rather rises the flame only at the lady’s bequest.

I bide the days by oak, circle and tide, I wander wither I am bid. Perchance upon a day to find the high house whither the copper cauldron of endless inspiration be hid and thus to at last bind, for once and all, my fickle mind.


Pain, I don’t mind it, hell I’ll take it where I can find it.

The wracking pain of a body broken, reminds me that I live yet, there are still words to write and be spoken.

The stabbing hurt of a shattered heart, reminds that I have the capacity to love still despite all my emotion being natty and tattered.

The dull throb of a lost soul seeking teaches in time all the world’s wisdom through tears slowly leaking.

The joyous pain of needle on skin, to write my loyalty in ink unfading. Pagan proud my faith never shaking.

Pain is a teacher as and yet unlike any other.  Heed it well as a gift from the lady and mother.

Oh the road.

Oh the road it calls me! It whispers in my ears to leave it all and just go and be. How wondrous fair must it be to live so free?

Leave the cage of managed time. Find a love and cease your feigned interest in work and modern world to mime.

Pack lightly, walk upon the road or at its side. Patient in the forest bide for the land it shall provide.

Come unto the beach dance among the shells, hide a while among the tides, forget a time your fear of condemnation and the burning hells.

Camp upon the mountaintop, and feel the pull of the fool’s wafting drop. Feel the primal thrill and let your heart grow wings to leap or cringe in fear to stop. 

In the endless rolling fields lay thee down down in a stand of heather and see what visions the day yields freed of endless dragging tether. 

By the river pause and catch a fish, mayhap it’ll be magic and grant you your fondest wish!

Oh the road it calls and I yearn so to go. To travel hither, yon, to and fro!

But the chains of duty bind and in time I think that I shall find, twas but another Road to travel, this of toil by hand and heart and mind.

I shall stop my ears and keep my way. Without regret at the end down to rest my head shall lay.

The round.

Come now and ring the cauldron round, here where secrets be told and truth be found.

Bar the line with salt from the sea, sweep the floor with a switch cut from a blasted wormwood tree. Sing the chant to close the way and on to see what is, was, and come as it may.

In the centre place the cauldron, scrubbed and blessed until it shines. Fill it to the brim with goodly herbs and finest wines. Dance the step aright, and ware of withershins, this is where the night’s magic begins.

In the shadows sway and prance, by the flicker-flame entranced. Be thee merry and be thee free. By the stars above let your pain off to fly, let go the holds that bind you. Let flow your tears and cry.

In the step find the grace, look upon the lady’s own fair face. Terrible and beautiful as the world in which she lives, hope and hate, light and dark all are the gifts she gives.

Take the bell and swing it round, that all who hear be blessed by its sound.

Now round again, the final pace, close the circle as it was opened, with love and will and no selfish desire base. Long hallowed may be this place.

Lay aside the bell and switch.

Know you are whole.

Lo and behold.

You are a witch.


Traitor! Fiend! Bastardborn with your whispering devils on your neck! You weakling thing you horrid speck! Is there a heart within you, no spine holding up your neck? No more. Here I shall your doings check.

You came and stole a heart that was not yours. You shaped a life in vain. In service you bound me, haunted by the love that hounds me.

No face but yours have I in my slumbers seen, not so for you I deem. Now let truth be known, no forgiveness this time. Your wretched heart by all and sundry shall be seen. Pray now fool. Pay for your crime.

You broke me, over and over, with a word and a whisper, quiet betrayals and torrid dalliance left my name a laughingstock. Yet I, I remained, steadfast as the world and stone and rock. 

I believed you could change but I see your true face now. Seven times and seven have I forgiven, now I take my own back, of the past I am shriven. I cast you out. From hearth and home be forbidden. From your damnable charms my heart is finally hidden. I pray in turn, as mine, your heart shall be riven.

No more, no more. My tears exceed your poorly worth. I deny your plea so keep them at their berth. Be gone from my sight and may your devils whisper in my ears no more. I return to the freedom of light and love and open earth and shore. 

Still here?  

Get out! 

There’s the door.

Tumble down the mountain.

Tumble down the mountain, from the peak you fought so hard to climb. Over jutting stone and on through cutting thorn, again and again the mountain slain only to be reborn.

Speak the words of prayer, take up the walking staff again. The wide base beckons the sharp peak cuts the screaming windy sky. What wonders hither must lie.

I’ve known this path before, it twists and narrows and hides the dangers that seek to maul and gore.

Onward, Up and do not fall. Fail and you’ll be mourned by none but the wolf’s distant call. Seek the firm places, the memory of beloved days and smiling faces, take the hardest path for it leads aright. Weep for the pain for there are none to judge beneath the black sky at night.

Strive now and stay the course. Patience will serve you over force. I know the cold bites deep. I know you see the scythe bearer waiting your soul to reap.

Defy him. The soft, false words of rest and comfort now deny. See the end in sight. Your own heart must choose to reach it or die.

The stumbling step, the first upon the apex. Now the pain and weight falls away. Your fire in the circle lay. Light it bright, glaring out into the night. Let all who see know that one more time you have scaled the mountain’s height.

Then to rest, your hurts to tend and waking find you once again at the mountain’s foot where only just the land begins to bend.

Ever is the mountain there, its shadow long upon the land. The climb ends, only when angels take you in the night.