Mhor Rioghain
Over his head, shrieking,
Is a naked hag, leaping quickly
Over the points of their weapons and shields.
She is the grey-haired Morr’gan.
****
The torches of the Badb,
virulent rain-clouds and sparks of blazing fire,
were seen in the air over his head
with the seething of the fierce rage that rose in him’
****
“The Garden of the Morr’gan,†I said, “that is,
îchtur nEdmainn. The Dagda gave that land to
the Morr’gan, and afterwards it was plowed by her.
After a year she killed Ibor Boiclid, son of Garb,
in her garden. That year her garden grew pig-fennel,
for the son of Garb was her kinsman.â€
****
But as for the men of Ireland, Badb and Be’ Ne’it
and Nemain shrieked above then that night in
Gairech and Irgairech so that a hundred of their
warriors died of terror. That was not the most
peaceful night for them
****
In the Wood of the Badb, i.e. of the Morr’gan.
For that is her wood, i.e. the land of Ross,
and she is the Badb of battle and is called
Be’ Ne’it ‘the Wife of Ne’it’, i.e. the Goddess of Battle,
for Neit is the same as God of Battle.
****
“I saw a naked trio upon the ridgepole of the house.
Their spurts of blood [came] through them, and the
ropes of their slaughter before/in front of their necks/throats.â€
Burning
Why do I burn so… My insides feel ashen and charred. I want to stop fighting but I’m not sure when I started or why… and if I quit, and the enemy was really myself, then surely if I cease to fight, then I will kill I and all things will end… Perhaps I am dead already… I’m never sure whether I live or if this is a dark dream of some nether realm I have been consigned to… or maybe both. I feel my soul wrench within me, seeking to change that which I do not understand. Guilt is the first to take credit… like the IRA, it always takes the credit for whatever negative emotions I’m really feeling… bastard… Then peace, unvwarranted, unproductive, and unnecessary… Then agitation, equally unproductive, but makes you think you could accomplish something if you were to get up and do it now… Usually at 11pm – 2am… The next is the despair that lurks beneath it all… The source of my anger, pride, and ego… It loves to bring up the past. It loves it when I hate myself. “It won’t give up, it wants me dead…” – Trent Reznor… So I string this load of bullshit together to map out the process so I can look back later and work it backwards when I feel shitty… As long as I keep pushing forward something has to give way for me… right?????
Burning Reverie
Burning Reverie
by Casey Sheldon
When loneliness is tangible
Just like it used to be
My insides feel unmanageable
And I desire to flee
But still a stubborn inner urge
Demands that I do stay
A strength from inner power surge
That holds me day by day
Each passing hour a torture true
Yet I am resolute
With every single thing I do
That sorrow I refute
Momentum slow like chorus building
In one moment my heart’s filling
With the laughter of the soul
Who’ll die and hope to be made whole
To dance like flame and walk o’er water
And count itself as cannon fodder
Another wave upon the shore
That humankind might take one more
Step toward its final goal
To then assume the Kingly role
And finally at last to find
Perfect Presence; peace of mind.
